"summarizing" poems
~a question of a thousand dreams~^
“Where are you going now my love? Where will you be tomorrow? Will you bring me happiness? Will you bring me sorrow? All the questions of a thousand dreams, what you do and what you see”
this one composes itself
for all dreams go unremembered
the first, the thousandth, the every in between,
erased by the push button of opening eyes
but dreams come, marching in, saints mining the raw materiel
the quartermaster has stored, awaiting requisition by an
unarmed unnamed corp, witnessed but never seen
these dreams wisped soft willow budded, tempting taunting,
leaving nothing but unanswered questions that colored come
in black and white
elementary clues,
a pillow indentation,
single hair that stretches
across the sea between two pillows that is blonde or red
but
certainly unmine,
dregs of soured sentiment linger like the
aftertaste of too many coffees and stainless steel beers
heated summers breezes give no succor or relief,
and the rain following gives no pleasure,
for now you are hot and soaked,
but somewhere in there a dream is part replayed,
and eyes widening in major league surprise,
the question acknowledged, the dreams quest hinted
she has gone, neither happiness or sorrow will she
provide on the morrow, no toweling of your wet hair fair,
and you awake sweat besotted, it is not rain, just pain,
and it is only one dream a thousand times repeated
and what you do and what you see
is the abraded night ahead, and
you bitter laugh, for there is no more other than to think,
the question answered, and you beg relief by
uttering
“perchance to dream”
3:49 pm
see the notes!!
someone accuses me of Plagiarism
because I did not acknowledge that the quote in marks and Italics was from a famous song written 39 years ago
so here is my response to
“just saying”
congratulations on ******* me off
and yes I agree, you do not know the rules
“#1: Quotation Marks Are for Quoting People—Verbatim
Perhaps it should go without saying, but quotation marks are for quoting people. Quoting doesn’t mean summarizing or paraphrasing; it means repeating exactly what someone said. If you put double quotes around a phrase, your reader will often assume that someone, somewhere, said that exact phrase or sentence.“
http://thevisualcommunicationguy.com/2013/09/11/10-things-you-really-need-to-know-about-quotation-marks/
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 3:59 PM UTC
"Poetry is confession, obsession, reflection.
Empathic minds, valentines, hope divined.
It's a kiss, whispered sweetly" (2)
who needs challenges, commissions.
kicks~in~le butte~
when heaven heaves rains, one downs tall orders in
short shot glass verses, which glossed over at its
first communion(cation,
come back
months later
to subtract - another
poem from where it lay dormant
on the doormat
of my sub~sub~terranes
of my diluted subconscious au natured dry & rugged terrain
a favored poet,
a secretive admirer,
whoa~whose~her truthful name, I've yet to uncover,
but whose one true soul inspires me repeatedly,
ana~lyrically licks me into
dredging from me
un begrudgingly
and yet,
another love poem,
she herself wrote when elixiring (commentating (3))
'pon one of mine,
a long long time ago
Alas! Alack!
unnaturally immodest,
one concedes,
when obviously a Super~Woman!-cedes,
seeds in three verses, what I could never unknot
nor uncover
so I requite & requote with
unlabored pleasure
miz patty m's
primary terse verse,
neither secondary & never tertiary,
her absolut perfect mixed drink
defining, summarizing,
the essences of love
*"(Love) Poetry is confession, obsession, reflection.
Empathic minds, valentines, hope divined.
It's a kiss, whispered sweetly"*
I concede, in deed,
and in writing,
I know nothing,
of writing
of only love poetry
and all the great predecessors,
elsewhere lyricized, named and tabulated,
by yet another women, (1)
I will take my weary words elsewhere,
and if
perhaps,
disguised as a woman,
(Natalie, Natasha, Natali
see note below)
perhaps my verbal herbal insides,
my turgid insights,
will be shorter, sweeter,
but never more completer
than those of,
who can syncopate it
in rhyme
and the naming of my
predilection,
by mid~initial,
will give a measuring
of solace, and
a kiss and hug from my mirrored selfie,
having been unsuccessful at
my one chosen endeavor,
only love poetry,
adieu,
I, due,
utter
Nevermore
M>
Sep 2, 2025
Sep 2, 2025 at 3:38 PM UTC
~~~
for our children and their children
~~~
the reason we say so oft,
in whispers emboldened,
I love you
to our children
is not the utility of
its summarizing brevity
no, no.
it is because
the eloquence of simplicity
supersedes any other poem
we could ever write...
~~~
July 26 2015
Jul 26, 2015
Jul 26, 2015 at 9:14 AM UTC
<>
for the early morning teach
<>
she's young, beautiful and thinks her life is cursed,
in the past, subject of some of my poems, her health to nurse,
yet, as is normative, you fall into & out of a well of touch,
until you accidentally once again path cross,
she provides a precision mathematical status update
"i'm fairly certain things are like at least 38% worse."
it is 1:38AM for you,
the not unnoticed ironic minute and hour
when the night ether has prematurely worn off,
rising time close but not nearly close enough,
a dark dose of a sleeping nurse's aide seems inappropriate,
and TV reruns seem like an insult to your brain
instead you turn on some belle string musique,
a Grande Messe des Morts,
a chorus,
singing a high mass for the dead,
while opening all your various email luggage and baggage,
smiling as you read a poetess's message of
laughter behind tears
"i'm fairly certain things are like at least 38% worse."
and Mississippi ******
your uncontrollable mixed drink of her emotional
Grenada grenade cocktail,
flavored with musique, paintings, and words and a nearby beloved's
gentling sleep sounds,
has you writing your own protest poem,
your very own,
oy vey, grande messe,
about lives that were supposed to be
pictures of perfect artistry
and for but a word or two,
instead, a painting of a life that got hung upside down,
and indeed,
leaving a grand mess and no one to help clean up
alternatively weeping, laughing as you are thinking,
smiling recall
Laurel and Hardy's summary definition
of living a life's of ill begotten, misventured adventures:
"Well, here's another nice mess you've gotten me into !"
but 38% worse?
not an even-steven rounded up 40%,
should I write you only 38% of a poem, teach?
or more accurately, more mathematically,
138% of what was writ before?
and you recall your older, prior words
about the love hate affair between
you poet,
and the beauty of written brevity
(her style)
and you give her this then,
this rambling, scrambled, attention paid notification,
word attentiveness, a summary of your readings
of her cheddar sharp and honey mustard sweet retorts of
pained poetry,
it is insufficiently but perfectly sufficient,
a summarizing phrase that opens
and yet
briefly encapsulates all that
you are feeling for her
"thinking of you"
or the 38% larger version thereof -
***"Well, here's another 38% more
nice poetic mess
you've gotten me into!"***
Jul 20, 2016
Jul 20, 2016 at 5:01 PM UTC
Extra lessons after school
Explaining how you are not yourself
Such small words used so simply
Cut like knives through your chest
'She'
Paraphrasing arguments
Summarizing discipline
Faceless family with too much on their own plate to understand
Why you don't like what's on yours
'She'
Tightness in your chest not because your binding is too small
But because it isn't
The name of a state has never hurt so much
'She'
You look in the mirror and grimace
Shower so fast you don't have to see yourself
Roll their words in your mind until you're leaning over the toilet
'She'
Humming summer days fade into early autumn nights
Long days enforce what they have already told you
Dress code laws repeated by tongue
And hasty dressing in changing rooms
Hoping they won't notice you
'She'
But you are an active volcano
There are wolves in your chest and lions in your brain
And they can't change you
You get home and look in the mirror and sign into skype
A simple word that only drops one letter
Has never had so much power
He.
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 10:16 AM UTC
Poem Analysis
1st read, I thought gibberish,
2nd I thought Hmmm,
3rd I thought interesting,
4th I felt genius. billy
your poem comment-dissects my poem
my process,
a marathon interview for a new poem pole position,
limb by limb, word by word,
chewed and re-chewed,
like a tiring piece of bubble gum,
the flavor remaining ebbs, but is not extinguished,
and can live in your mouth,
forever
and the praise and this poem,
not a rodomontade,
for your comment dear Billy,
is the process description of a poet’s labor,
from word first to a baby’s birth,
gibberish into genius
emergent from first pain, then pushing, then tilled, at long last,
the dirtiest immaculate conception beautiful
billy reads my rambling, silly abstruse^ & wrote me:
*1st read I thought gibberish,
2nd I thought Hmmm,
3rd I thought interesting,
4th I felt genius*
this is a much loved critique
for I well recall each step of creation,
a summarizing parallel
that your words+genes replicated so well,
forgiving you a minor typo, Billy,
it was genus, not genius that you meant
(but then again, why quibble over a miscellaneous, harmless, delighting, tiny little extra i...not me, said he, my muse ego )
Billy has gone gray dotted, but his dot, his comment,
with gratitude,
in me, he,
lives for ever
I feel gibberish coming on...
Mar 21, 2019
Mar 21, 2019 at 2:50 AM UTC
The breath in my chest
Scraped against my esophagus
As the preacher read his
Introductory scripture and a
Mourning loved one doubled over
In grief and despair as she
Struggled to bid adieu;
The hairs on the back of my neck
Stood horizontally and
Perpendicular to my concrete floor
As I heard the sweetest soul I know
Choke on her sobs on the
Other end of the receiver,
As she struggled to understand
The onset of pain and finality
She was forced to swallow;
My stomach hollowed and
Acidic anger bubbled and carved out my insides
When I read my best friend's texts,
A series of words
That seemed too cruel to be true,
A riffraff of interrogatories and
Unsettled punctuation,
Summarizing the momentary suspension
Of her resiliency
As she processed the
Breaking of her heart;
And now I lay motionless
On my mattress,
Hot tears masquerading behind my
Tightened eyelids as I writhe in
Empathy,
Alone in my incapability
To end the pains and the woes of
Those around me,
As my body thus must then grieve
For me.
Aug 24, 2015
Aug 24, 2015 at 12:13 AM UTC
~~
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*
~~~
Jan 9, 2016
Jan 9, 2016 at 3:41 PM UTC
she's running toward me.
full on. not stopping. this is it.
the kiss to end all kisses.
***** "the titanic".
***** "the notebook".
we're the real deal.
should I run to meet her? should I stay and let her come to me? wow, I have a lot of responsibility in this.
she's getting closer.
god, I missed her.
I hate space. we didn't need space. I just need to get to her. hold her. that would make this moment perfect.
that and rain. rain would help. make this seem more cinematic.
I digress.
BAM.
she's here. in my arms. en mi brazos.
warm to touch. sweet to smell.
her face is buried in my chest. she's breathing heavy, trying to inhale me.
we stand still, filing these moments in our minds.
she lifts her head and looks in me.
her eyelids are red and puffy, remnants of tears linger. but her eyes are deep. clear, blue, and deep.
I know what she's thinking.
she's thinking what I’m thinking.
fireworks. explosions. BOOM! impact.
she's is summarizing her entire speech into this one action.
her "I’m sorry”‘s.
her "I missed you”‘s.
especially her "I love you”‘s.
all summarized in one pleasant forceful kiss.
this kiss feels amazing yet it feels new.
this kiss isn't a "we should have sex/peer pressure" kiss where both our minds are elsewhere.
nor is it "hello/goodbye" peck.
this kiss is real. it has passion and fire. It is deep and selfless. It’s an expression not a formality.
don't get me wrong; it's not a gross sloppy "get a room" kiss. there is no groping or petting, heavy or otherwise.
it is indescribable.
it feels like it lasts second and years at the same time.
it is so good yet bad because I know I will never feel that without having to feel great pain first.
losing her, even if it was only for a small period of time, was unbearable.
when she eventually did pull away I tried to think of something appropriate and clever.
I thought and though and then, "I love you" came out.
that’s it? that’s all I could come up with? I could do better.
but then I realized.
I couldn't.
there was nothing better.
I loved her more than I could put into any other words.
yeah I ripped off a Natasha Beddingfeild song but it was true.
I couldn't think of anything catchy or witty.
just I love you.
simple and easy and most of all, true.
Oct 31, 2010
Oct 31, 2010 at 3:14 PM UTC
beautiful words written across paper
so many thoughts and dreams
put to rhythm
many scattered reminiscences
all put into one small paragraph
summarizing that person’s life
feelings put into words
words put into thoughts
thoughts put into dreams
dreams put to rhythm
poetry.
Nov 9, 2011
Nov 9, 2011 at 5:23 PM UTC
one of those fancy 10 word poems I see so often
I tried to write the truth
Jul 8, 2013
Jul 8, 2013 at 7:34 PM UTC
I have fear of seeing you, necessity of seeing you, hope of seeing you, uneasiness of seeing you.
I have eagerness of finding you, worry of finding you, certainty of finding you, poor doubts of finding you.
I have urgency of hearing you, happiness of hearing you, good luck of hearing you and fearfulness of hearing you.
So to speak summarizing, I'm ****** and radiant, perhaps more the former than the last and also vice versa.
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 1:22 PM UTC
alliteration intervening invasion,
a bed-throned life journey summarily unasked for, reviewing
follow behind the collected beaming seams,
to the discolored end-of-a-whiting rainbow of writings
sack in hand, sack'd yet surfeiting,
gleaning the falling bits,
inventoried stories, the poor and the glorious
light droppings,
stir'd and stor'd in hopsack bag,
woven intervals of clashing fabrics
trilogy of
me, myself and I,
following falling, trailing, failing flalings
cross currenting, swirling,
disheartened chest heaving cursing
if only, a mite more sipping
of courage everlasting
here a memory,
there a visionary,
happy haunting,
glaceing eye dreams
keepsakes of a life
modesty and poorly lived
error prone, choices weak,
father confessor to the supremity of oneself
played safety first,
thirst quenching
with the unsatisfying yellowed bursts
of "it could be worse"
but these stuffing,
gleanings of a life,
uprighted night, declining days, admixture of son and moon,
women's flashing eyes inviting
happy danger and ending disaster inevitability
this sifted treasure chest
of self-selected retained
cursings and blessings,
the measuring cup of a tragedy
well acted, quantifiable pathos superb aplenty
a play veined with comedic relief,
a Falstaff for every Hal,
compare and contrast
your essays on the container storage
of dusted cells morning-mourning
summarizing gleams gleaned from a life well....dissatisfaction satisfied...truth in poetry
Apr 3, 2016
Apr 3, 2016 at 9:32 AM UTC
Proust kept a log of his untidy mind
inviting readers in to sink, or swim
some find their thoughts are much of the same kind
some feel it's all particular to him
great literature ought to resonate
but still meets a diversity of taste
those hawthorn blossoms of his endless prate
some readers find a shapeless verbose waste
a shorter form fits my attention span
of seventy iambs in rhyming verse
within a reader's mind I dare hope can
evoke a self-consistent universe
a monument to years spent pent in bed
Marcel's rich life was mostly in his head
Dec 29, 2016
Dec 29, 2016 at 5:12 PM UTC
Endless darkness envelops the young girls classroom
She sobs silently awaiting her nightly lesson
His shadow looms with her in his toxic embrace
Her heart stops
So does time and space
Suspended and vulnerable- she is schooled
He forces down her cries of wrong answers with manipulative lips
And whispers his answers in her young ears
As if she can understand him
He doesn't care as his hands begin to creep
She tenses
Knowing whats to come
A routine pop quiz
Her instincts scream at her to simply skip
It wasn't mandatory, she could walk away
She doesn't
She knows what must be done
His hands still creep
A whimper breaks from its cage
So does a glimpse of his rage
A pain in her side
Reminds her not to say a peep
Or pass the notes summarizing his lessons
His destination reached
As if bleached
Her color slowly fades
Her essence
Once a plethora of iridescent lights
Now chained to his chalk stained hands
Are as black as an eclipsed sun
Knowing nothing else but his lessons
She obediently lays
She tries to clear her mind
Focus on her answers
Tries to leave whats left of herself behind
Distractions weren't acceptable
Wanting simply nothing more
Then for her life to be like it was before
Before pop quizes
And true or false test
Before projects displaying your talents
The talents teacher spent weekends making sure she knew like the back of her small hands
But teacher needs her focused
Though her cries are no longer caged
They go unnoticed
Why would teacher care to notice?
He was teaching!
She trembles with the pain
All the hatred and disdain
Emotions cloud her head
The questions began to run together
Adding to her dread of another lessons end
She prays that soon it will be over
But not everthing has been covered
And teacher is always sure to be thorough
The young girl is panicked
Once again she can't keep up
She is lost
As a result, her work suffers
While teacher grades her work
His rage is unleashed
All her answers are still wrong!
Class was over
But detention was waiting
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 1:57 AM UTC
Intrigued about cremation,
I sought GOOGLE to assuage curiosity
significant questions answered
clicking the following website
https://www.funeralwise.com/plan/
cremation/cremation-process/
though summarizing article
some oven death defying act,
yet summarization satisfactorily completed,
thus herewith briefly describes
kickstarting, mystifying, pulverizing...
tantalizing, yielding, enterprising, lasting,
yelping, holding, surviving dearly departed
1. deceased identified
2. official cremation authorized
affiliated with deceased
3. lifeless body prepared
4. medical devices removed
5. jewelry recovered
6. corpse secured
into burnable cremation receptacle
7. encased entity transferred
to retort i.e. cremation chamber
8. temperature range adjusted
between 1400 degrees -
1800 degrees Fahrenheit
9. 1.5 - 2 hours elapsed
10. magnet applied
residual metal removed
11. remains ground into ashes
12. once process completed
remains secured within urn
13. family representative entrusted
with ashes.
Burnt offerings distributed
ideally according to stated
wishes of beloved,
whose remembrance sustained
as tears expended
necessary to mourn
eventually sorrow lessened,
photographs visited
after crushing grief decreased.
Jun 2, 2019
Jun 2, 2019 at 2:35 PM UTC
***when you accept the ‘I love you’ invite, coolly quietly
understanding this is but a summarizing way of saying,
let’s enter the gated fence to friendship, locking in & out,
the delving reveals to follow are truths more costly than
any fiction, you see only the too real, how much pain can
exist, survive, be survived, quietly thrive, just beneath the
skin’s preternatural strong thinness, holding us in, together
while yet a sieve, separating the granules of our composition,
the coarser fail to penetrate the finer cells, the molecular level
is where the sensory Alice in Wonderland world coexists with
the blunt exhaustion of so much agony, too much, and in the
early morn these words appear of their owned and freed volition,***
do what you must do to repair yourself
***...and you confess to understanding that to heal oneself,
you must heal others, and that separate and unequal
sorrows can somehow heal each other, praying for ex,
exfoliation, exhumation, excalibur, expelling all the ex’s
so new skin self repairs, a great miracle that, and that
human reparations are a thing you alone initiate, inhale,
fostering a belief that !we! is the solution, the only...
5:46am
11/28/20
Nov 29, 2020
Nov 29, 2020 at 6:14 AM UTC
For many years,
I didn't own a
television.
I didn't want one.
The news gave me
anxiety, and most of
the movies were
horrible.
Bad actors,
terrible acting
and predictable plots.
I wasn't buying any
of it.
My Dad loved
watching movies.
He often used the word,
contrived
when summarizing them.
I remember watching
The Grapes of Wrath
with him.
After the movie, Dad talked
about leaving in his will,
a list of his ten favorite
movies for his seven kids
to watch sometime.
He wanted us to know
him better.
He forgot about it and died
a few years later.
I always thought Dad had
too much faith in mankind.
But, after watching The Grapes
of Wrath again, maybe he
didn't.
I hope we all live until
we die.
May 19, 2025
May 19, 2025 at 9:31 AM UTC
Indeed
this important and yet impotent word,
sometimes hurled with mighty scorn,
or quiet whispered ruefully reflectively,
empowering, yet so weakly confessional, that
it is a word equally reveling in overarching wonder,
or a summarizing a simplicity of inability,
to surrender by weak agreement…
indeed,
that selfsame word,
indeed,
I’ve employed usage unthinkingly casually,
mis-appreciating its power of causality,
used so often in poems, slipping it in to the
hilt, succinct dagger of irony, killing easily,
and yet only 17
thousand
poems of the mega-thousands here,
have been designated with the honorific
#indeed
Jan 20, 2024
Jan 20, 2024 at 2:30 PM UTC
This is,
A quick attempt at sketching the overall picture,
A collection of existing material,
Summarizing the essential characteristics,
And offering a novel interpretation of
The “self-actualizing personality.”
And the gifts,
That set them apart,
And that are underutilized,
They are,
Misunderstood,
And underestimated,
By peers,
By society,
And by themselves.
The gifted rarely fulfill,
Their full creative potential.
This is particularly true,
For gifted women,
They don’t fit stereotypes,
Society has,
Either of women,
Or the gifted:
Typically seen as men.
The highly gifted are rare,
In the population.
Those with IQ’s,
Of 150 and above,
Occur five to seven times,
Per ten thousand.
They are never quite sure,
If it is good,
Or bad,
To be very bright.
It is difficult,
For average persons,
To identify,
With their gifted counterparts’
Superior cognitive abilities.
If feedback is internalized,
A self-conception,
May be constructed,
Based on underrating the self.
They are experiencing in a higher key.
Jun 16, 2016
Jun 16, 2016 at 11:19 PM UTC
Valentines Day of 93, a star was birthed to the world
extremely gifted from the womb with big things to unfurl
A broke product growing up on the streets of Lynchburg
Red Top to be exact with a message to the world waiting to be heard
At the age of 9, he found his passion by scanning thru old notebooks
that his mom kept private with her thoughts of cold world that’s been shook
The process began by summarizing what he read thru the English text
slowly got good with it but the question remained, what’s next?
Senior year of high school, the unthinkable would take place
one individual would turn heads from his diary of hidden hate
felt from those around him & from those who did him wrong
expressing how he was breaking down inside & didn’t know how to be strong
A nervous wreck before getting on stage to confess his inner feelings
but finished it like a concert to hear the applause raising up to the ceiling
But that was years ago & sometimes I question if I’m really star worthy
like I should keep my poems to myself cause this world doesn’t deserve me
but it makes me think of the things that I’d like to achieve
or the other people who need my guidance to believe
How could I be the star in my mind if the spotlight which is mine that I’m scared to possess
then to hear those who admire me tell me that I’m the best
Yea a star was born on that cold Sunday evening but seeing that star shine scares me
yet the feeling of overcoming the odds still manages to compel me
☆ Poetic Venom ☆
Sep 23, 2018
Sep 23, 2018 at 8:57 PM UTC
Oh, my god
This poem!
Whenever I try to make her stand on the reality line
She flutters like Marilyn Monroe’s dress in the imaginations of men
I tell her to keep herself on one meaning
But she defies me
While wearing the interpretation mask
And when she tries to describe the battlefield
She is looking for the effects of kisses
On the collars of the soldiers who are tied down in their trenches
With fear and hopelessness
But if they were to be blown up
And their bodies were every where
Her words would be meaningless
For she hiding behind symbolism
She can’t sense the children’s horror from the bombs
And their attempts to huddle against the remnants of destroyed walls
Her cheeks do not hurt
Like mothers’ cheeks dried of their hot tears poured while waiting for deferred letters from their absent sons
She does not take the risk of thinking
So, she can’t believe any truth
She does not pay attention to my damaged life
Which has been crushed by the harsh machine of days
She is trying to make her words beautiful
So, she sprinkles rose water on an erupting volcano
She is too comfortable with death and even praises him
She is summarizing all this loss, darkness, combustion, destruction, chemical weapons. black banners, coffins, skinning , deprivation, orphanages, curfews, warning, sirens, barbed wire, tanks, thrumming of planes, explosions. ****** blood shed on the side walk, death, ashes, displacement, emptiness, charred bodies, mass graves, coffins, body traps, yelling, sadness, anger, hunger, thirst, vigilance, slapping …. etc.
She summarizes all of this in one ward
War
While I am, the poet stand in the middle
Watching my body jump from death to death
For nothing
Just to let the poem come
But after all this trouble
She only comes imperfectly
Sep 17, 2019
Sep 17, 2019 at 11:01 AM UTC
I died as i sip, the last inch drop of memories...
Tasteless, unfragrant, fragmented vacancies...
Recollecting, regulating the blurry negligible visions...
Recalling, rewriting, summarizing the Summaries
It felt like Treachery, disregarding this treasury...
life is a Memory, and then it is nullity...
Or at least that's what the wise man said...
We drown ourselves in each shot and swim out with a sigh
Sometimes with a gloom and sometimes with a smile
But in the end, both fades away,
And oh how quickly they fade away...
As if waves washing away our names written on the shore...
it fades out to presence, to sense another sore
sores, like old chest boxes, we dive deep in each,
swimming into it's memories, bone narrow they breached
like Leeches, we **** on our melancholy as we silently screech
watching pains as days turning to wrinkles, as closer we reach
We build our future, though we live for the past...
We all get obsessed and we all get attached...
We move forward to looking back trying to find a meaning...
But after all, Life is a memory, and then it is nothing...
Or at least that's what the wise man said
Sep 25, 2020
Sep 25, 2020 at 5:37 PM UTC
Lost in the forest of memories,
The map of depression is the only guide i see.
****** razors, burning glass,
Death and darkness is all i ask.
Summarizing this story this paper will shred,
Asking for this to be over, asking for death.
Close my eyes and there you will be,
Open my eyes and all i see is me.
Where did you go when i needed you most,
the love you claimed to felt was just a hoax.
I know i will find my love, this is for sure,
Lost without a map, in search for her.
Nov 17, 2015
Nov 17, 2015 at 12:59 PM UTC