Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Mahnoor Kamran May 2017
I climbed slowly,
slowly on the mount of aspirations,
On        succint        savoury        dreams,
As i see the success peaking from thousand miles above.

I grip the cold stone
tighter, harder,
My passion,
my hardwork,
As i swiftly float
from    the   ground.

Snowy
zephyrs
of laze and evil,
Reign against me,
trying to break my hold.
Yet the fire of my
determination,
Still burns
within.

My thick woolen
coat hugs me tight,
My faith, my values,
Protecting me from
the blizzards of
jealousy, vile,
As i wind
my way
upwards.

A glance
backwards,
And the horrid past knocks
on the veins of my sullen heart,
Yet this soul will give up
no more.

The weary body,
driven by heraculous force,
through the steep slopes of time,
Against enormous storms and stints,
With an armour of patience,
Finds itself on dome of
success.

Ah!
fleeting
moments
of unscathed bliss,
Enamour for success,
And it's sweet sweet honey.
That slowly melts in my heart,
On top of the mountain,
Where everything is
freezing.

From
the top,
the hardwork,
the giant path looks small,
As the heart prepares to climb,
Another                              mountain.
No goal is small. No dream is small. And neither the sacrifice and hard work involved to attain them. And dreams come in all shapes and flavours, just like the paragraphs of this poem!
I am not some street cowboy punk
i am a quiet sweet rampant drunk
i play the spoons with the air of a saint
i have a tongue that can swallow paint
sour and acrid, the tone of my voice
i have never left without a choice
punched back sideways
even more today than tomorrow
for your heart i will bed, steal or borrow
Superman don't have ***** on me
don't need no wings now i am free
saving the restless, curing the weak
you can laugh at me when i dance like a freak.
I will kiss you when i drink too much wine
when i am restless and hungry you will be mine
I will do nothing when you are nothing to me
i will drive you crazy with all you can be
no more talkin no more of that ****
i'll hold you apart, break you bit by bit
if you're too polite i'll bite my tongue
i'll whip you and shake you, then i'm done.
carefree to be careless, shareless boy talk
tell me to go and i will surely walk
don't ask me to be kissed or hold my hand
i am not that girl that you left unplanned
i am a midnight demon on ferocious terms
i grasp you and hold you tight and firm.
I am not lost, or fragile or broken bound
i am not looking for someone to make a sound
i am no paige boy scarlet harlot wild child thing
i am not yours, can't you hear your telephone ring?
I am a sordid freak of gigantic endeavours
i will solder your heart regardless of your tremors
i am torturous and painful and weak to the bone
i am the mightiest fallen, can you not see my throne?
i have a **** me, buck me, tie-me-tight gaze
if i look at you slowly, be patient but don't wait
i want everything and all and i want it now
i am no gleaming bronze statue know-all-know-how
i am surely what you ever thought you knew
i am surely what you never thought when i met you
i am free to please anyone at night
i am free to sit and cry by candlelight
alright now, oh baby its all right now
**** me gently and i'll show you how
to be nothing more than anything is something i suppose
but i really can't tell for the state of your clothes
you dress me up slightly more than your vision
i've never met a person with such succint precision
and well here i go, superbly astute and blunt
never did i see such a spectacular *** ****
and well that is really the way that i go
i fly here, there, everywhere i flow
i am not some pretty naieve little thing
i am a mess of entirety with 2 engagement rings
i'm living with despondence and its ******* me off
******* batman i hear you cough
come see me, come stay a while
come see me, come see me, and i will ******* in style
st64 Oct 2013
gently fall now
go to sleep . . . go to sleep
it's what you want, anyway
too witless
to see what tumbles into your mind
when your psyche decides to take that funnel-trip
into the curlicue-recesses you hate to find


there, on the edge of your ear sits a world
some troglodytes wait to inhabit

two inches deep into the toe of a steep-mountain
waits a hirsute creature to unlock your marsh-dreams

outside the bulge-belly of your *sick-and-*******-fat
judgment
stands an accosting evangelist to sort out your lovely-list of sin

a reticent boy reaches out to catch the flying-thing
between his fingers, he can feel the pulse of fright.. and he lets go

beyond the bland-sidelines of a mall's congested parking-lot
cries a pimply-teen, snotty-tears: get the hell out my head!

adolescent-parents make latent-choices born of lack
baby gets a cig-burn and unexplained accidental head-fall

a sufferer battles to survive the output of night-riding fiends
yet scoffs heartily at their existence in broad day-stacks

brother gabs to brothers, finds poor-sobriety in parochial world-eye
och, no matter - let little sister (s)weep succint-harmony

an unsettled-recoverer spits feverish some colourful flasher lingo-gobs
as nobody knows what threat he carries in his hacking-chest

busker-dreamer-***-star plays and plays to no-pay café-audience
it's called street-corner blues for those in the know

an ageing-dame tarries departure, yet smiles genially at all her guests
****, but are these flippin' noisy folk really related to me?

uninvited chap with wily-scythe comes by to help out some
only the sick can smell the rotting-book of his gaunt-art

there awaits a pestilence within dark-cartwheels you can't see
well, all because you're too blasted-blind to lick that-a crap-wax out!




(mind so asleep)

wake . . . UP...!


guess not, huh?
wait then.. until that moonlight slants your way again
and then, guess whose mind will be sweet-milked
and your fine-assurance be stunning-hostage
as you shut-down wide-open thoughts
the things you close debate on
in the dayyyyyyy-time..
better be ready
to daydream
into your
self




how elegiac a tribute then
to
the unwoken..


tất cả chúng ta ngủ..




S T - 25 ox-axe
axe ****** judgment of others..!

yeah, I think.. tonight - I'm a-gonna HOWL at that silent, mocking moon.. wake up all them sad and lonely-monsters inside.. I mean, who do they have to talk to.. ??
ok, relax.. joke!
                          ha ha, said the brown-cow.. mooooooh..
or.. I'll just smile politely.. again.. and wink at the night-sky :)






sub-entry: when

when will we wake up
to see
that the world is NOT
what we think it is
or what we see

when will we
wake UP..
and see that
the cloak is
so
heavvvvvvvvvvy.....


(nice self-imposed penalty.. just nice)
Nat Lipstadt Jan 2016
~~

First & Foremost

~~~
a friendly competition,
not of erudition,
more a contest of
speedy eruption

who will be first,
for quenching their thirst,
on not any but only
every,
day of their togetherness,
to declare, swear, affirm,
that their love for the other
is the greater


a race
where both win,
by crossing the
ever-moving forward,
the unfinished line

a never static series,
much more than merely being
a claimant of a trite first place,
more akin
to momentarily being
at the head of an unending
mathematical
progression,
(1 + 1 > 2)
solvable if and when
leap frogging
over each other,
extending their combined reach

when one is
first
to pronounce
this daily blessing
at the
beginning of the
new awakening twenty four,
of their joint custodied
imprimatur,
silently implied,
I love you
with a simple syrup summary



first and foremost

one, if by pillowed whisper
two, if by text

a succint messag to the other,
their love is coming fresh direct,
with an invading intensio,
deserving recognition
that a new edition will be
published
on this very day,
with the
same exact
freshly steaming coffee'd,
bannered headline,
that my love for you,
my darling sweetheart is


first and foremost

condensing with a
yellowing smiley face,
in these illiterate days of emoticons,
unacceptable,
yellow carded,
though summarizing acceptable as

F & F
or
1st/most


formats
that have been adjudged
to be
an A-Ok entry,
in the contest
without a foreseeable ending
and

that no one,
but only both,
can possess
the winning record


~~~
6:21am
Jan. 9, 2016
nyc
Mark Ball Oct 2014
O if I could only write
Poetry worthy of your
Reading!
Find clarity in
Complexities.
Make Art and rhyme
of the unspoken.
Offer up my words
As tokens of my
Vulnerability.
Then, then you would see.

If only I could write a book
worth reading past the first few pages.
Not the type for school that
you read in stages in order to maintain
your vitality.
A book you can drown yourself in
without glancing at a screen.
Words you can devour
rather than glean.
An idyllic scene.
Far from the person you know best.

If only I could write myself
in a play.
My life mapped out from day to day
with instructions on my whereabouts
and actions.
Our conversations would be succint, artful
and with purpose.
I would have long, coherently structured
speeches and
always have the right things to say,
expressed in the wittiest way.
My life would be dictated by
Your entrances and exits.
All my plot lines resolved in
Act 3;
That would suit me.

O if only I could write those words;
The ones worth saying.
Those words different from our
Daily utterances.
Those words you have been
meaning to say but have not
yet had time to shape them round
your lips.
If I could write those words, I would.
Unfortunately it's just me.
But I will try, I promise.
Just you see-
Long. Criticism accepted
Assumptions of your observing Mind

come to me as ripples on a Pond

Pondering about your true Muse

and the reason you cling to Her

Her is the woman I know Dearly

an adorable succint writer Following

Artistic Suns who are never Myths

but the living prophecies Unraveled

With every beam focusing at The

core of your microcosmic ******

Awesome Sustainer of Illusions
Blood is not Water
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2020
i don't have the patience to gamble...
i couldn't sit there and tempt fate...
or predestination -
make a joke from karma -
but i'll somtimes make a quid's buckle
worth better spent nonetheless
spent on a bet...
i heard this metaphor before...
but apparently it's new...
the bet? well... either the home team
wins... or the away team wins...
but both teams need to score...
it's a quid... i had the most joy
finding a 20 quid banknote on
the pavement once...
that too was a "bet" regarding where
and at what speed i was walking...
i don't gamble...
i don't gamble on horses...
i don't gamble on dogs...
the odds are... as always the same
plateau of odds...
a bit like attempting to catch
a mosquito by the testicles wearing
boxing gloves
...
elephant memory:
i know these words are not mine...
but... for the time being:
they must be mine...
i don't gamble because i don't like
to make a summary of karma:
this cosmic wind of causality as merely:
best be entertained by a gamble...
i don't gamble because...
i could never make it into a habit...
i could never attempt to find
a needle in a haystack...
sooner i'd be willing to catch
a breath of the wind while running
naked with a flute to hear
the flute resound with my breath being
missing...
eh... forget the flute... running
naked with a half-empty bottle
of cider... at the right angle...
i'll catch the wind playing its first
musical instrument!
why didn't i find fun in driving a car?
i would prefer a bicycle -
and a horse -
i never found fun in gambling...
flipping a coin and calling: heads or tails
was always more fun...
i never liked chess - i never warmed
up to it... draughts... sudoku... backgammon
and mahjong...
poker... a game of chess is hardly
intuitive... it's not: heir-sein...
it's such a detached monstrosity of...
labyrinths...
you can't make a mistake in the present -
and in the same present correct it -
since there's the narrative -
the cascade - i'd sooner be bound to reading
a book...
i don't own a car... because i don't mind
taking the bus...
although i'd settle for a bicycle and i'll still
dream about a horse...
gambling... to have to devaule cosmic concepts
akin to karma -
no grand yawn from the depths
on my behalf... this same old same old:
same mediocre...
middleground, haystack claimed this
body beyond any to come
anticipations from Everest...
this life that eventually has to become
an introspection...
and that's of course - minus what's sacrificed
on the altar of collective memory -
the other's whim of memory -
down the line... when only introspection
matters... and no one is really invited...
how sad it must be...
to have attempted certain feats in this life...
for... a yawn from the mountain
and a transient ref. point of some other
minding his journalistic integrity
of: duly noted?
it's not so much a "vanity project" critique...
but... i try to perfect the most basic
tasks... like rolling tobacco while walking...
something i can retain and invite myself
back into: from the devoid of self external
world...
to have ambitions akin to: climbing a mountain...
and what if that doesn't attract
journalistic voyeurism?
what then? apparently after the feat...
humanity as the mountain yawns or simply
ignores...
gambling... what is it, that's ncessarily "won"?
when all that's won... has to be...
gifted upon death's altar...
beauty, wisdom...
everything - imagine if death was corrupt...
and somehow allowed transactions
of future investements - akin to:
beside the two coins for charon -
a mummified body to add grit and wager!
death at a turkish bazar!
gamble or haggle -
beside: do we really need an opera house...
for someone to sing an aria?
i'm very much worried about: investing
in something - while at the same time -
finding to self-gratification in due process -
having to linger for third-party journalistic leeches
to make due summaries...
in the end... i don't really gamble...
1 quid a week...
on the already stated chances:
a bit like attempting to catch a mosquito by
the testicles wearing boxing gloves...
a world-wide renowed d.j. will earn
about 100,000 million a year...
i like being my own d.j. -
a tennis player will earn... this much...
but a ping-pong player... will only be seen
at the olympics...
tennis: a game of 7 rectangles and...
11 judges (enough for a football team)
and... 6 ball boys / girls...
and why would i even want more money?
spend it on what?
i'll buy a pair of shoes when the shoes
i'm wearing will start to wear down...
it seems that after a long enough time -
you: neither forget - nor unlearn the basic
propensity for spending money -
earning it very vague -
spending it is even more vague -
luxury items become: tacky -
there's a reason why champagne is champagne -
once tried: forever abhorred...
in terms of meat: it's not what meat it is...
it's how you cook it...
no good butchering an argentinian cut
of steak if you'll make: roast beef from it!
then again: i never liked spending money...
and... i never managed to acquire
the companionship of the opposite ***
that would otherwise spend it for me...
oops? i don't like restaurants because:
i much prefer to see myself wash my hands
before i start to prepare a meal...
on the topic of clothes...
i sometimes look at my cats...
the same furr - day in - day out -
why would i dress for a season - marry myself
to trends? that doesn't invite the accusation
that i do not wash myself -
or that i do not wash or iron my clothes -
why... bother fashion that's on a bigger whim
than the ******* weather?!
lately the price of books have gone up...
here's to me not buying a book -
vinyls... jazz vinyls are low...
10 quid a liquorice spin...
but this is nothing that could ever become
consolidated into a home -
but then i'm... too much into my routines...
and: i couldn't ever wish or want...
to keep up with keeping up appearances...
this apathy doesn't stem from a nihilism...
it stems from a depressive lethargy...
depressive lethargy is depression -
when it's not elevated to the romance of
melancholy... and "oh i'm sad"... oh oh...
no... i'm just tired of seeing the usual suspects
of keeping a life make-belief
succint informal casual convo. in a fish & chip
shop *******' worth of antics!
i can be polite to doctors...
oh hell: i'll charm them... they know the diagnosis...
but i'll be ultra polite... because...
i'm the one who will think about
biological cancer as botanical cancer: mistletow...
which it is... if you have ever seen
it in the wild...
i need a woman like i need an ulcer...
esp. the sort of woman that's a tapeworm
of transcendental a priori -
something that i'm "given" without prior
experience...
perhaps for men all women are: a priori specimen...
and for women... oh my god...
there's no a priori man...
there are only a posteriori... without the ability
to cut off a piece of time and themselves included
in it from the grand wheel of fortune and what's
to come: died within a year...
2 weeks after the death she shedded her
widowhood and became impregnated
by an already engaged man:
or some other wild old tale...
in bad, light?
oh... the time i realised that going to a brothel...
was not as rewarding as going
to a turkish barber shop?
that time... well... that moment is still alive
with me... i stopped going to a brothel
after i discovered the joys of...
having ones hair cut and one's beard trimmed...
is probably better than ***...
certainly better than *******...
as i always try to remind the 3rd party sources
of the moral highground argument...
believe me when i say that i don't mind
the dodo project - the cul de sac antics...
i'll the complete man -
although incomplete -
as i will not be a father, nor a grandfather...
hell.. my grandfather is ******* at me
that he didn't become a great-grandfather!
in terms of biological timing:
he should have become a great-grandfather!
does that make me any less or a lesser man
when: as a mortal man: i am to be wed
to - bride death?
Butch Decatoria May 2016
I can't believe how much I love him

   don't stop these spells of static stirrings
   won't wash it away, like sleep
   in my succint showers
(rightly, comely in my hand)

And still I absorb
the absolute-arrangements of him,
the bear-bulk hulk of him

still I swoon,
   aroused with naive-named niceties
   ceremonial dreams of touchable torches...
And I am overcome,
by flagrant fuels, aflow
ever the more juvenile
   for who am I / to have
   the grand spectacles of him...?

I can't imagine why I love him so
   can't begin to convince or list it
   don't keep this leaping lush of laden love
   ungoverned / inside...
I won't ignore it
I can not hide
I want to tell him
   like laughter spreads its joy
   he's a riddle to be reveled in,
Want to know the questions
his face the answer I want to see...

It is he that silences
the noise of me,

it is he that revises
the mistakes of me,

it is he that spends
the worth of me,

it is he that lifts up
the truth of me

I can't believe
I can't begin

how much I am
                            in love with
him...

— The End —