"swapped" poems
I don’t care,
That you don’t care,
About caring about
What I care for.
And you know what?
I don’t care that
You won’t care for
the only thing that I really
care for.
What if I care about
cake? Would you not
care about cake?
Would you not care
ABOUT CAKE?
You care about cake, of course you do.
I can see it in your eyes and by
that tell tale dribble at your mouth.
Cake is something that will
make your legs quake with
butter cream goodness.
A good cake baked,
makes you proud to be
a cake baking citizen in
a country that will let you
bake cake.
So what if I care about
democracy. Would you not
care about democracy?
Would you let people live
in fear of the **** of a gun,
Would you care that there
are those who are on the run
from tyranny and violence
who know pain and loss,
that you could only
wake up from,
in a cold sweat?
As you turn and toss
in your memory foam bed.
There is more happening on this Earth
Then cake.
There are greater causes
than choosing between
Thortons Double Chocolate Celebration
and that traditional Victoria Sponge your
Mother-in-law won in a raffle last week.
The struggle humanity faces, is to live
in harmony with each other.
It cannot be resolved with cake.
You cannot bring democracy
to a country with cake.
Or can we?
What if we swapped,
Non radar detectable aircraft
For dairy delectable foodcraft,
What if we swapped
12inch shells for
12 thousand babybels?
What if we stole
RPGs and gave back
MSG’s (they’re less harmful
in the long run, if thrown at you).
What if, for once, everyone cared.
And then we’d get somewhere.
Every voice in every home
Would not be a voice alone,
And for once, we’d all agree about the fact
we like cake and democracy for all.
Mar 16, 2010
Mar 16, 2010 at 8:19 AM UTC
Poetry is a mask in reverse
created from just a mere spark
bringing to light
who we really are
out of the depths of the dark
Despite ourselves
we try to hide
in the realms of our daily lives
and then poetry's
visceral therapy
weaves magic spells
from our fingers
right out
of our minds
Suddenly, there is no choice
but to allow those masks
to be dropped
like a sudden change of fancy
at a medieval ball:
Naked eyes for coverings
are swapped
Yes…the command is given
ornate masks slip
with a splat upon
the floor
Suddenly, all dancers look
upon each other's faces
discovering treasures
they knew not before
Pregnant silence reigns
and only then
does the true dance begin
in bransles' or corantos' countered moves,
a new quiet
drowns out the din
Let it commence!
in festive air,
all attempts to hide
are in vain
Subtextual glances
and heady music
create sensual tension
profane
The wine is flowing
smiles glowing
and soon release will
bear fruit
as the dance is danced
without inhibition
and all pretenses
start to uproot
And so it is
in poetry…
All those masks
are thrown down
the words just
trip
from beyond our lips
making magic
from adjectives and nouns
Now, our words drip upon the paper
revealing the secrets divine
our souls are coaxed out from the layers
melting your
sparkling poets' hearts
into mine
Apr 1, 2016
Apr 1, 2016 at 4:52 PM UTC
"I love you."
Their true feelings spoken, There's something to be said,
To share their feelings - they're no longer weak.
As they lay there in bed.
As they lay there unafraid to speak.
They can't see their future without one another.
A deep a relationship, they are almost there.
Emotions still roar like thunder.
Hopes and Dreams, they now share.
Not just sleeping together, but Making love.
They hide no secrets, Tell no lies.
Each other - They're proud of.
Arguments now lead to Compromise.
It's their first time.
Emotions take over.
Touching, Kissing, Feeling,
Passion - the wait is over.
Their feelings for each other, yet again, grow.
Every one gets along fine.
Questions, Answers, Conversations flow.
Nervous - Meeting the family for the first time.
He says he wants to be more serious - She agrees.
Relationship is stronger.
Arguments forgiven.
Would we happy with each other?
What we have, is this right?
Frustrated with each other.
First fight.
He is lost in her beauty.
Many Dates passed, the first now a memory.
Dates and Dinners, Drinks and Movies.
Date two, Date three.
The first kiss - He gave her.
A memorable night.
Both on their best behaviour.
A romantic dinner over candlelight.
No hesitation shown.
Arranged first date - No-one stalled.
Spoke for the first time on the phone.
Nervous - Dialling their number, first call.
Exciting emotions unlocked.
The start of a relation.
Numbers swapped.
Shared a conversation.
"Hello, Nice to meet you!"
Apr 4, 2014
Apr 4, 2014 at 10:58 AM UTC
Two men, one poem.
This day, on this site.
Two men wrote to me.
One called me brother.
The other, an arrogant *****
Called me little.
One shared his life,
With humility and gratitude,
Then, I lost it.
Wept. Baby like.
Honored me with trust.
Swapped spit stories
That bled into my brain,
And a tattoo appeared on my
Writing arm, one word,
Humility.
One boasted of his beans.
His bean counting reads.
Analyzed his trends,
Predicting by Christmas (!),
He would have this many.
His **** poems he informed,
Would be published.
What need did he have
For punk-u-ation,
His rants, his **** stream of words.
Better than mine,
Just cause his stuff I said,
Not my cup of tea.
What a crazy place this place.
Holy and ******** sided.
Humble humble, always humble.
He invoked, this arrogant one,
God's name.
Not knowing I talk to Him.
So I rang Him up and said,
How did a little peenus-genius
Find his way onto this
Holy Place, HP, of kindness.
He smiled in brevity.
Did I not create both,
Angels and devils?
I love God's brevity.
His commas, his question marks,
His pointed punctuation.
I love that He could create
A man whose sight of
Me, unseen, but found capacity
To love me in ways
Undreamed.
Because I peered in to the man's reveal,
Saw quality, value,
Saw humility.
So of arrogance, I said,
I would write.
But it is of humility
I will sing,
Of loving human kindness extraordinaire.
Of weeping endless.
At the joy afforded me
To read so many lovely poems,
Here.
If my poems never see the
Imprimatur of a publishing house,
It matters not,
For I have seen a human being
Weep real tears reading mine.
I have shed rivers of my own
Upon discovering yours.
Humble, humble.
If it is glory you seek,
You will find it,
All alone. ************
Me, I live here, in the midst of a
Good Company.
Sept. 7th, 2013
Sep 7, 2013
Sep 7, 2013 at 4:49 AM UTC
When we met,
you made my heart wet.
Like morning dew of hope,
from Heaven, chemistry crept,
with hope and regret
of everything you may
and may not get.
Your faculties tasted me
in anticipation...
How my eyes' light
might look in your bed,
how my words ringing
swam in your head.
You perked me up like sweet grass,
onto my taste buds you bled.
Our souls danced
and sang in embrace.
When we parted they said,
Well if that's that,
mission accomplished.
Whether covert or conscious,
whether or not
she even calls him,
we have loved once again.
Less a natural reaction,
more an inexplicable combustion.
From that day on it was destined,
from admiration swapped and accepted,
We could never return
to who we'd been.
Jan 2, 2015
Jan 2, 2015 at 10:03 PM UTC
The play is written to be staged in a pub or a large cave like yurt in Cardiff. Its action and dialogue provides characterisation, with sound and lighting being used to establish context. The setting a darkened pub corner that is modelled on The Bunch of Grapes in Pontypridd. There are only 6 characters, five speak in haiku-ed verse with the exception of the Drunk who acts as my 'Greek Chorus'.
- Hand-in-hand she enters to **** her thumb in a corner
- Chocolate ice cream soda demanded from Daddy
- Joking banter ceased slowly as the regulars all begin to quaff their brown pints
“Balll uut eass swept -
Chimrrrrr, Chiirriica,
war is never won”
- Church quiet, the village pub listened lips clamped tears swelling
“ ***** cut swapped with eyes -
Chimerica, Chimerica,
war is never won”
- The cornered hero of two Afghanistan tours is seen regressing into childhood**
The set darkens slowly then after 30 seconds a spotlit conversation in lines and stanzas begins.
Haiku and tanka that inspired the coming play include:
*********** -
thoughts sought, taught and wrought,
testosterones
Fighting aggressive games,
Afghanistan camouflage
Globalism and War -
cloned greedy conspiracy,
that third tower
Titled selfish-self-grandiose,
deliver warring terror
Springs cut Irises -
dripping vital red not purple,
far from my window*
.
Apr 28, 2010
Apr 28, 2010 at 11:11 AM UTC
It’s the strings of a guitar that remind me of coca butter skin. A warm-hearted harmony transfixes my mind to the california king with ripped bed sheets. If only you hadn’t tickled the left side of my heart, I could’ve hidden my smile. You were unexpected, a scientific anomaly. Blind sided by nervous laughter and beautiful eyes, You’re my Sandra Bullock. You’ve saved me from the darkness of my heart, from all the self-appointed doubts and belief I am everything... But a good man. It’s the white of your eyes that tells me I’m safe, the dimples of your smile let me know, you trust me. In the years before you, I lived like rusted iron, never thought about, never cared for, looking used and broken. I was all of these things, because I wanted to be. I feared of caring, petrified to look into blue eyes, saying, I love you. Weather with luck or broken tan lines, you’ve frozen my fear. Our first memory is beneath bedsheets, hiding from the friends on the other side of love. If curiosity kills the cat, I believe I have 8 lives left. That’ll be long enough to show you that wrinkles above your nose during laughter, is the cutest feature I see. It was a clouded night sky when we first swapped, I love you’s, I still smell the apple pie we shared. I’ll cross my heart, hope to die if I forget our five hour mindless midnight argument, we are young adults with minds of children, only we find ice skating funny. Everything I have is yours, praying that it’ll be enough because when the sky falls down, I’ll want to be standing right next to you. You’ll be the calm before the storm, the rainbow after rain has seized it’s descent toward troubled grounds. When oceans become puddles, I’ll look back for nervous laughter and beautiful eyes, saving me from the darkness of my heart. I know it’s darkness shall never return, the white of your eyes enlightens the charcoal pieces. So when the sun burns out, I’ll never be afraid. I’ll have you shield me beneath bedsheets, hiding from those on the other side of something, not yet known.
Nov 4, 2012
Nov 4, 2012 at 7:50 PM UTC
I've slowly fallen, like Satan, from the graces
swapped paces and places, to capture different faces
but the wanderlust on my breath is strong, taste this
It's hard to bond when half the time I'm gone
black hair, curves, four leafed clover thong,
afternoons snoozing and browsing Netflix
flashes of my life till I'm on to the next bit
I can't get no respite, I just might break my next flight
for this chick, hopeless romantic, can't stand it
but lately I've been ghost on this whole scene
mind stolen like my future is a bandit
who's mind set is all about the greed
a fiend for the green presidents that sink further into my dreams
calling my name, telling me it's worth the pain to gain
have pockets on swoll with no shame to get a foothold in the game
thousands would be pocket change but the man in the mirror
doesn't look so set, half ****** dressed for bed
wishing he could disappear for a bit, maybe never come back
the king of disappearing, yeah he likes the sound of that.
Jun 23, 2013
Jun 23, 2013 at 3:51 AM UTC
An Archangel dazzled as lightening! Swapped, clasped the wings as an eagle’s talon beneath:
Climbing the thrones of Heaven swapped Lo! “An Archangel” Lo!
an Archangel? Hypnotized a soul with a lance in a trance? The crown
Of
The
Arch type
To
Her
Fingers, flowers in the moor in the hands. The ancient manor
Of Archangels in the palaces of time and space, it takes two to tangle that “Iam…that...iam”; Germania the Archangel!
Sep 17, 2009
Sep 17, 2009 at 5:38 AM UTC
Calabash Squash
A Poem by Eclipsing Moon-blood red
entry for a contest...rhythm
Hip- hop jury swapped
Hippity- hoppity sequestered they stop
Bibity- bobity alone on the cobblestone.
falling in- falling over
The balcone wailing, and buckets pailing, and hailing, and
Scaling
The walls and ramparts the cannons were whaling
Moby dicking and schlicking the schlock of the clock… hickory dickery ..where is the Doc?
Blind mice made the move..up one "grandfather side.
... and
Over the top .
Now wasn’t that a quainty dish to set before the Queens …
in drag
© 2011 Eclipsing Moon-blood red
Sep 15, 2011
Sep 15, 2011 at 4:04 PM UTC
Looking back, we never saw this coming.
Our roller blades had a relationship
with the warm summer ground on Friday
nights when our parents would gather
over margaritas and wine; an escape hatch from
the 9 to 5 work week. We killed fireflies the
way we chew on hearts of the ones we love,
rubbing their luminescent bulbs on
the toes of our shoes so that our steps
might light up the night for just a little
bit longer and maybe, just maybe,
we could hold off on growing up.
Looking back, we all wish we could have stayed.
But bare foot soccer on concrete turned into
binge drinking, and alcohol poisoning
and neighborhood gatherings stopped being
kind. We swapped Air Heads and Pokemon
cards for flavored condoms and a drivers
license, only to find that everything
we threw away was worth so much more
than the high school bullies, and boys with roofies,
and the girls with tears running down into
their tissue stuffed chests. We gave
up our golden years, and to make up for it
we stuff Prozac down our throats with a
desperate belief that childhood happiness
can be found in an orange pharmacy bottle.
Hoping, I think, that someone will come along
and tell us we've done everything right,
and would we, for our reward, like our innocence returned.
Looking back, I guess we just couldn't comprehend.
We never knew that every day the pages turned
and we were slowly losing our love of fun dip
and cheap private-school valentines. We were
starting to forget the pride that came with
the title of King in foursquare, or the way
it felt to let go and jump from the highest point
of the swing. Instead we staked out cafeteria
seats and tried to figure out why having
blonde highlights, or contacts instead of glasses
suddenly made you better than everyone else.
Looking back, it all seems so sweet.
Then again, they say hindsight is 20/20.
Feb 17, 2013
Feb 17, 2013 at 12:38 AM UTC
Creased lines in your cancer bed sheets
and red wine spills still remain
from that time you celebrated
your chemotherapy success.
Drug-blue cocktails were swapped
for beers from cans,
needles for straws and hospital-stock-
comfortable-armchairs for the advertised sofa in your part furnished floor.
Friends came with warm welcomes prepared
in the back of taxis coming from the city,
they came in wide eyed staring,
holding wine bottles remembering your once real wig of hair.
Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 9:50 AM UTC
He stuck two sticks in the mud
Forked like a moccasins's tongue
To hold both poles while we smoked
Camels we stole from the coal
Truck man and drank homemade
Wine swapped for a knife and a dollar
To the drunk up the holler and a can
Of sweet corn ten years old still dusty
And rusted but the trout hit it hard
Anyway like slow flies on a slow
Golden Saturday a long time ago.
Oct 31, 2015
Oct 31, 2015 at 10:06 AM UTC
We are the generation
Of a million friends,
At the click of a
Button,
Accept,
Like,
We have so many friends
But no one to talk,
To our face,
What happened to contact,
Is the world too
Hostile,
Scary,
Darkened,
That people fear to go out,
Explore there
Village,
Town,
City,
Where did you meet?
"On-line"
Where did you date
We dated on
Facebook,
Twitter,
Swapped pictures,
This is the first time
We meet
You look shorter?
You have diffrent eyes?
"What you have Five kids"
"From six dads"
"What you were in prison"
"On bail"
You still live with your
Mum & Dad,
But thats what happens,
When you only have friends
Within a screen, not real life,
Go out
Mingle,
Talk,
Friendships,
Are born with the connection
Of real life, not behind a
HD screen,
We are becoming
Generation Friendless,
Lets change that,
Turn off your
Computer,
Phone
Tablet
"Go on you can do it"
Go out in the real word
Make real friends
Not the two hundred behind a screen.
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 6:41 AM UTC
As excited as I am about the end of the semester and Christmas approaching, the bitter cold this week has almost frozen me. Don’t get me wrong, winter is a great time for fashion, but the cold weather is not for me. I would prefer to stay inside with a huge glass of hot chocolate. Aside from cocoa, he secret to staying warm is to dress in layers. I’ve tried to do that with this outfit but I’ve failed a bit.
The majority of this outfit comes from The Yellow Rose, which is a locally owned boutique in my home town. The blanket scarf and shirt are both from the Rose. These boots are from Maurices, but could be swapped for converse or duck boots. The coat is from Aeropostale.
It’s safe to say that I have fallen in love with the blanket scarf. Not only are they adorable, but they also provide ample warmth. They can be worn with nearly anything, including this great shirt. This shirt has a tassel tie underneath the scarf which means it could be worn on it’s own, if you aren’t as big a fan of the blanket scarf.
This jacket is a life-saver to say the least. The reason it works with this outfit so well is because the green in the scarf is the same green on the jacket. Army green goes with just about anything. The sleeves are a sweater material which makes them warmer than normal. You could dress this up a bit which a nice trench coat or long cardigan. You could also change the boots out for black booties or flats.
This outfit is perfect for Christmas parties or Christmas dinners. It has all the traditional Christmas colors and it will keep you warm.
However isn’t only for Christmas. You can easily wear this at any time during the winter.
Hopefully this has given you a bit of holiday wardrobe inspiration. I know holidays can be a stressful time for some, but the outfit you wear should be one thing you don’t have to stress about. Stay warm and stay comfortable.
I hope your break is wonderful and filled with joy. I know we all need that after those finals. I’m sure we’re all ready for present, family time, and much needed sleep. Spread Christmas cheer this year and enjoy the time off. May your Christmas be merry and bright, and don’t forget the Christ in Christmas! He is the only eternal Gift that keeps on giving.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-brisbane | www.marieaustralia.com/vintage-formal-dresses
Dec 10, 2016
Dec 10, 2016 at 4:22 AM UTC
She breathes out deeply
with worn out lungs, tired lips,
still expecting those couple hundred faceless friends to say something,
to even acknowledge her.
Of course,
she doesn't know what gives her the right to deserve their attention,
neither does she understand the concept that she,
like others,
happens just to be another face upon faces.
A penny amongst pennies
thrown carelessly into a pool of broken wishes.
Yet, despite the impression her cold experienced smile
still brushing the innocent minds of her
so called 'friends'
would happen to give.
She is, still wishing.
And it's the wish, the one day,
the just maybe that makes all the difference.
See that's the beauty of a wish,
it's something with no value,
it can not be swapped,
sold nor created.
And thus it's such that an acknowledgment,
a simple 'Hello',
can still be held as a wish,
despite it's shockingly slim chances of happening
without
actual. social. intervention.
Why are we wishing?
Mar 6, 2012
Mar 6, 2012 at 5:42 PM UTC
When your atoms collided
Like leaves in the rain
Did they ever suspect that they’d create
Something so beautiful and happy and right?
Before though, they were strength and wisdom and might.
They've not changed or altered, only swapped places
To form something so perfect, nothing needs changing.
They've been stars and food and other people alike,
But when they formed you, it was nothing but right.
Your atoms collided in a beautiful way
To form your fingers, your toes, your face.
When I touch your face and to look into those eyes,
I just see more perfection residing inside.
So when I tell you I love you and that you’re perfect
Look at the leaves in the rain
And believe it.
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 6:07 PM UTC
I lost the pounds.
I dyed my hair blonde.
I joined the volleyball team.
I stopped wasting my time at church.
I gave away my virginity to the first guy who asked for it.
I dropped all of my AP classes.
I created a Facebook account.
I started wearing different clothes.
I swapped out my lame friends for a new set of popular and pretty friends.
Do I feel better?
Of course I do!
Well...
Sort of...
I mean,
Yeah, I lost my college scholarships.
Yeah, I hate my new friends.
Yeah, I'm not going to graduate on time.
Yeah, I'm stuck with a kid that I'm not ready for.
Yeah, I have to live on the streets.
Yeah, I hate my job.
Yeah, I've lost everything that's dear to me,
But...
I should be happy, right?
People said that I needed to change,
So that's what I did.
I was sick of hearing that I could be better...
Sick of hearing that I was too innocent for life.
So,
I took matters into my own hands.
I gave in.
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 11:26 PM UTC
Writers are quite dangerous.
She came to the bar, to watch,
And listen, to hear stories.
Carefully, I tread. For fear,
That my own diction, would become
Trapped in her world of fiction.
Though, of course we swapped pieces.
And still, only selected to paint,
A vision of my own creation.
Small freedoms, but they matter most.
As I'm a prisoner to demon's I host.
Be wary poets, of power most foul.
Ensnaring half spectres of being,
In a prose, a thought or a feeling.
Reality is as real as you write it.
Sep 23, 2018
Sep 23, 2018 at 8:49 AM UTC
Some days I stare at my hands,
Trying to find my singularity-
Individuality!
Lost in the muddle of plurality!
When you exchanged my heart,
And swapped in your own.
Dec 3, 2012
Dec 3, 2012 at 6:30 AM UTC
The audience, silent, took a breath in unison
Included in the orchestra was every instrument imaginable
Banhus and Gadulkas played folk and polkas
The brutish brass, bodyguards and protectors of stringed melodies
Included in the orchestra was every instrument imaginable
A concert harp, plucked by fingers long, smooth and sharp
The brutish brass, bodyguards and protectors of the woodwind class
Saxophones provided a melancholy lilt, the timp was traditionally built
A concert harp, stroked by running fingers, smooth and sharp
Every sharp and flat note was passed through the throaty reeds of oboes
Saxophones reminiscent of ‘jive’, the timp in its size had nowhere to hide
This exhibition of musical traditions played late into evening with no intermissions
Every sharp and flat note accounted for, motifs carried whispers of folklore
Banhus and Gadulkas, swapped stories with bassoons and bagpipes
The exhibition had finished, piano keys rested, every note has its operatic death
The audience, silent, took a breath in unison
Jun 14, 2016
Jun 14, 2016 at 8:56 PM UTC
As a child I always covered my ears
whenever I started to hear my
parents fighting about whose weekend it was
And I hated that term
Whose weekend it was
Like they owned me
As if I was nothing more than some
quarrelsome barter being habitually swapped between living quarters at the end of every week
Sometimes I wished nothing more than to be
invisable, camouflaged along the wall
of dusty old antiques
Because the only ones you ever saw
fighting over them were old people who smelled
of pastries and lilacs
But I got tired of waiting for that
And I got more tired of the ********
small talk and forced awkward smiles
and when push came to shove,
At eight years old I was tired
of being handled with kid gloves
I grew up feeling like a token of fair trade
And in school I learned that fair trade
really wasn't fair at all
Some were taught to run while others
are forced to crawl to cross the finish line
but even that can't buy you time
Because at the end of the day
I still find myself coming back to that
original thought of the antiques along the
wall of items that nobody bought
And when you see that your only
company is dust and stale air,
life finds another way to remind you
that nothing is fair.
Feb 7, 2014
Feb 7, 2014 at 2:50 PM UTC
The Cam passes through
behind a chain hotel belonging to the Hilton
with its lights always on, a 24 hour midnight sun,
that lasts all day until a power cut comes along
and covers bedroom maids, halfway through a job,
in complete silence.
And home I go, slight lightening in the distance and
the road remains long, bending only once
and carrying on straight thereafter
mounting another road heading south until it meets no more ground,
except a bridge over a mouth of a river leading
to somewhere safer than here ever was.
My coat's corners misses your hand
and no expanse of green, mountainous land
could ever be sold or swapped for it.
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 11:16 AM UTC
I find questions to the answers damning;
They quote the darkest volumes,
And speak in whispered tones
That haunt my mind with lemmings.
Thrilling chills reverberate
Throughout my spine, intoxicating
The superfluous influx of aeon.
In Elysium I await.
Forgotten songbirds’ melodies
Are ripe within their own stages,
However, the message behind their incantations,
Mocks the frigid winds of change.
Apologetic reverences deny the peaceful hum
Of every ***** and flute of desire
And of all the lyres to be strummed.
Stumbling upon a corpse of old,
Necrosis doth eat away,
Putridity and phobia have at last been lead astray,
Maggots upon maggots, an **** of disease,
Now struggle for control here,
In the epitome of our dying age.
The eyes that once saw hope,
And the heart that once felt love,
Our absentee in place of rot,
And are swapped with rustic carrion.
The dismal breeze that flow
Swiftly under the crest of raven-wing,
Solidify bones as well as the toxins that
Cryptically burn and sting.
A creation of mass panic, euphoria
Are bound to allow riot’s treason,
A repentance of nostalgia
For uncountable reasons.
Alas, we have but come close enough to success,
To amount in a drowning of failure,
To kiss the shores of dreams come true,
And to be denied of those dreams’ savior.
Jul 6, 2013
Jul 6, 2013 at 12:09 AM UTC