"sweeping" poems
The horror, the rain,
The misery, the pain.
The factors of teenagehood
And its ghostly being.
From nasty rivalry,
The silver teardrops quench the
Hunger of discaring boys.
They move on to their next victim.
Words like love, hate, *****
Are thrown around and toyed with.
Teenage socialism is a witch,
Sweeping misery across the generation.
Heartbreaking, the look in their eyes,
Well up with tears, victims to lies.
Teenagehood, it grasps you
By its crooked claws.
From your peace, it rips apart
Your soul and leaves damage in its trail.
Why do we have to suffer?
Why can’t we return to the world?
The world we loved and cherished.
Toys and songs, now perished.
Puberty, hatred, fear,
They all add up to one phase in life.
With its treacherous fangs.
Hurt from distrust brings misery near.
With sympathy to all,
For a long journey ahead.
Hold on to your sanity,
For the reason you have previously read.
Apr 23, 2018
Apr 23, 2018 at 10:46 AM UTC
Kudos to Kaepernick.
I just cannot drown all my beliefs and ideas, even if it contradicts my flesh and soul. When I heard that not standing up to the tune; that has always succeeded on sweeping all of the messes underneath the sad reality, to be deemed as subversive, I know that Rosa would definitely clench onto the seat tighter than ever.
Kneel, my friend, kneel.
To drag our body out there, all over the precious hills and fields, while acting as if the scale has always been set fairly beneath you all this time, will hurt you more than myself. How can a mere matter of things decide our future, our destiny? We shall shape our fate, you shall shape your own fate, and to be judged on the perception biasedly built in the name of order for thousands of years, is a situation that should not be endured by anyone or anything in a tiny dot within this vast universe.
Kneel, my friend, kneel.
And for that, I cannot stand proudly and profess my love to you as of now, even though I will always wear my heart on my sleeve for you to see. To be cheated, to be manipulated, to be deemed as surplus, by those at the tip of the plateau, that cunningly asked us to forget all the tangles and wrangles for the love of this sacred land, while unashamedly distribute everything off the land, off the ocean amongst them, is the last thing that we should allow to happen. I am one of those people that are not able to put on the mask on top of our meant-to-be honest faces, to say hail to the thief is worse than the eternal grief. I have never dreamed of burying the hatchet with them, not even for a second and if I ever do it, I shall be condemned and dismissed for forgetting the roots, the fons et origo of mine. To love you does not mean to stand still to the soulless melodies, to love you does not mean to bow down to the meaningless piece of cloth that has overseen countless infiltration and bombing over the years.
Kneel, my friend, kneel.
To love you is to fight for the rights of many, by any means, even by not standing up. When black is no longer the symbol of miserable, filth and calamity, we shall then breath with ease, stand on our feet and fully embrace the real meaning behind all those majestic words.
Kudos to Kaepernick.
Oct 23, 2017
Oct 23, 2017 at 10:09 PM UTC
White man, right man
Seriously uptight man
Black man, whack man,
Cutting him no slack man.
Red man, dead man
Never be the headman.
Brown man, down man.
Treat him like a clown man.
Stereotypes, stereotypes!
Notice how it rhymes with hype?
The habit of the ********
A bitter fruit that’s always ripe.
Poor man, for sure man,
Can’t afford a ***** man.
Waiting on the shore man,
Sweeping out the store man.
Broke man, stroke man
Too poor to smoke man.
Struggle under yoke man.
**** of every joke man.
Stereotypes, stereotypes!
Notice how it rhymes with hype?
The habit of the ********
A bitter fruit that’s always ripe.
Fey man, gay man
Nothing more to say man.
Please just go away man.
No equal rights today man.
Liberal man or little man
Nothing but a middle man.
Playing second fiddle man.
Never solve the riddle man.
Stereotypes, stereotypes!
Notice how it rhymes with hype?
The habit of the ********
A bitter fruit that’s always ripe.
Oct 18, 2015
Oct 18, 2015 at 4:04 PM UTC
Feelings, the treasure of ones heart,
A flame, cast ablaze by the purity of righteousness, warm alike sunlight, yet not as burning or uncomfortably hot if exposed too long,
As embracing, as a motherly tugging hug, full of love and dearness,
It feels so gentle, like a soft breeze, sweetly touching the blossoming petals, after a soft rain pours water over their delicate, little bodies,
So warm, as if enlightment were close to reach beyond the border of consciousness, growing strong and happy, alike a peach tree,
Celestial is what it tastes like, sweeping over my transience in awe,
It is but an emotion, which would soften a stone hard heart and make it alike cotton and wonderfully sweet as candy from amongst heaven,
Inner peace, served on a golden plate behind a courtain of sunlight, describing the greatest pleasure,your drink and thankfulness for what you have, without greed, the desire to have more, despising violence,
And even though humans will keep on living, such whilst being in a wretched, poor state, destined to fight on and hope for the better,
Living, is what I find very beautiful.
~ Umi
Apr 22, 2018
Apr 22, 2018 at 6:07 PM UTC
I come from sunlight,
The sweeping of leaves,
South London streets,
Lurburnum seeds;
Hot semolina,
A spoonful of jam,
Hands full of gooseberries,
That's who I am.
I come from rose petals,
The sound of the fairs,
The smell of candyfloss
Mist in the air;
I come from warmth,
My parents hands,
Outings to parks,
Both small and grand.
I come from knowledge,
True and false,
From nursery rhymes,
And stories and pictures of God;
I come from gentleness,
A quiet afternoon,
From visions of loveliness,
Sewn on a spool.
I come from two worlds,
With different ways,
A threaded pearl necklace,
And sensible soles
A mother and father,
I think I knew,
I came and I wandered,
I looked at the view.
By Mary **
Jun 19, 2018
Jun 19, 2018 at 7:33 AM UTC
As the days grow cooler now,
I start to face the question, How?
It’s been so long that I can’t hear your voice,
But as the day draws near I'm left with little choice.
To tell you now just how it was,
That you took my heart and then hit pause.
You never knew and I don’t blame you for that,
But in misdirected anger I still hissed and spat.
On that day - so late in November,
The sights the smells - your smile I still remember.
Merry and Jovial we relaxed by the pool,
The evening breeze welcomingly cool.
As the sun set and the sky filled with stars,
I started to feel like I was heading for Mars.
The feeling was alien overwhelming me so,
A feeling of love …
I couldn't let that show!
And I’d never let it go!
It tore at my heart and split me in two,
Surely this could not have been all because of you?
It’s closer now the time we’ll meet again,
I know it won’t be easy - a meeting of pain.
I have my plans and I'm sure you have yours,
But I'm not going to force open those doors.
I’ll tell you my truth on the hold that you had,
It was not a craze or in passing a Fad.
It was what it was but I want to move on,
But that’s now not to say that I want you gone.
Understanding and Acceptance is part of us all,
It’s just how you cradle the rise and the fall.
It was never your fault it was me through and through,
I should have just come out and said it to you.
I loved him then and would have given my all,
But time and again I stood up just to fall.
I’ll never forget you I don’t think that I could,
But moving on is something I should.
I'm not looking for feet sweeping kisses and a lifetime together,
I just want you to know my life isn't over.
Feb 7, 2013
Feb 7, 2013 at 3:23 AM UTC
Bedrooms are intimate. Showing someone exactly where you breathe is special. To see it, they have to worship every breath that goes in and out, even if your exhale is poison.
*The walls still smell like you
Last week, I pulled the sheets off the bed. I placed them in the burn pile.*
I do not wish to see you.
*This week, I painted everything a new color, a darker shade.
I pulled down the Christmas lights and let my stars burn out. I placed them in the burn pile.*
I do not wish to see you.
I ripped stuffed animals off the shelves and letters off the dresser. Even the photo album went in the burn pile.
I do not wish to see you.
The flowers off the desk... They were dead anyway.
I do not wish to see you.
Everything in a bedroom is sacred. Not everyone belongs there; you sure didn't. You kissed everything with fiery lips and charcoal dust and I am still sweeping up. I continue to find your ashes in my bed.
I do not wish to see you.
You took everything. You took my air and gave me back poison. I couldn't tell the difference. But the worst thing you took from my room is me.
I do not wish to see you.
I do not wish to see you.
*I put you in the burn pile. I see you in the flames. I see you everywhere.
I start to tear at the drywall.*
Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 9:01 PM UTC
slick body between
shoulders and hips
tiny legs
glued into place
sweeping
resting tail
so smooth in
its positioning
pointed nose
soft grain
days of work
the fox enters
the wooded
cabin.
Mar 12, 2015
Mar 12, 2015 at 5:58 AM UTC
I remember a night patrol,
we were sweeping some streets
& we happened upon a basketball game
being watched on an ancient television.
It was the Chicago Bulls vs. the Pistons,
none of the locals watching it
paid us a bit of attention,
their eyes never left the picture.
Basketball seemed more
important than
this War on Terror.
That was just another time
that the ludicrousy
(or fruitlessness)
of our mission
seemed apparent.
**** it,
Go Bulls!
Apr 30, 2015
Apr 30, 2015 at 6:32 PM UTC
I hold this jar of fireflies
Under the moon
Stars
And wind
They float inside and wait
Sweeping across dewey grass
I count them
One by one
On and off they flicker, see?
Twilight I set them free
Don't they look so lovely?
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 12:01 AM UTC
A late hour indeed, darkness over land, but
A bright light shines from a moon above
As a shadow sweeps across the surface.
For a moment, it stands emblazoned, precarious
Adumbrated phoenix in the sky,
But it does not flare out.
Sweeping lower, the form resolves,
Alights narrowly on a fine branch.
For a moment, it struggles for balance
But soon it finds a niche, stands true;
Visage of wisdom in the night
But not without flaw
Not the swiftest, lacking in grace
Lost territories in cunctation.
Still, secure in its plumage,
Into the night, ready to fly:
Hunter poised in the trees
It soars aloft
Nearby, another branch inhabited
Not a vision this one, a voice.
A lighter weight, a softer presence
Harmonious to the calm
Tones of beauty to the air
It rings forth
Awhile, this one too struggled
It tried the songs of the mockingbird
Some rang esthetic, others strange,
But now its own song found:
Anthem sung for the heart
Chorus all may hear
Birds of the night. Dark to dawn
Their habits thus have been.
Now with the new morning,
A change in the season;
Mind and Song together to the sky
Light out for the lit horizon …
~D.B. Guy (May 2008)
Nov 3, 2012
Nov 3, 2012 at 2:23 AM UTC
They say the pen is mightier than the sword
If this is true then God was the sword and you were a pen
And I was the pencil who laid you a foundation of erased mistakes only for you to trace upon them as if they didn't exist.
And I was cast in the bottom of some cluttered bag
while you were gently capped and placed in a box lined with blue silk,
And you knew I would always be there to test the waters before you spilled the pages with your brash delicacy.
But you needed me and I craved you for completion.
Together we created sweeping illustrations and lengthy novels with dozens of sequels.
We depicted a tale of modern love in our ball-pointed journey.
But my graphite stayed intact while your ink started to run out.
I could see as our pages unfolded that your colors no longer spread as boldly.
You became more and more invisible as I desperately etched harder and harder into every page hoping to give you clearer guidelines
but you no longer had it in you.
And soon enough we couldn't make anything beautiful.
You had run out.
And I'm still hopelessly drawing maps desperate that you can regain what you once had and use the indentations on previously blank pages to find your way back to me.
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 11:11 PM UTC
We all look forward to the snowdrops
The harbinger of spring
In many shades of white
Offtimes tinged with green
Beautiful, oh so beautiful
Sweeping swathes of green tinged white
But they shrink into nothingness
Against the aconite
Aconite of deepest gold
Brighter than the sun
Aconite the first to show
Amid deep winters gloom
When the aconite first does show
Bluetits start to flit and sing
You see it's not the snowdrop
Who is the harbinger of spring
Mar 12, 2015
Mar 12, 2015 at 8:42 AM UTC
Sitting a top a cold mountain
I was thinking to myself
As I had my eyes shut,
Wrapped in warm clothing
Bottle of whiskey at my feet
Listening to the eagles soar,
The trees swaying,
The clouds sweeping through
I imagined this warm feeling
Her, laying there naked
Velvet sofa with a book in hand
Legs wide open and tanned
She was so pure so clean
She bare her beauty to me
Soft delicate skin raised my hairs
I could maul her with my thoughts
But I decide to just eat her
Eating between her soft legs
As she read and drank champagne
Moaning after each sentence she read
She would put strawberries in my mouth
As I licked away at her lips
I dipped my strawberries inside her
Since I had no whipped cream
I was stone and she was flesh
An energy so pure in the night
Then, I opened my eyes
In front of a fire, I sang
"To hold you at my fingers tips,
To cherish the gold in the world,
To be set free forever in my mind"
Mar 7, 2018
Mar 7, 2018 at 12:41 PM UTC
I was never looking into you
I was only pouring an image of myself onto your canvas
Of course I didn’t know
it was me looking into me
this was the mirage of my desire
always in the shape of a question mark
and you
a sweeping mystery
oozing something toeing the peculiar line between *** and titanium (cold, edgy, sharp - trembling
between pain and principle
like blazer and tie
or more like halfway-unbuttoned-shirt-and-slacks on-with-no-tie
(it was like you were making an effort!))
It was ***
but it also wasn’t ***
(I am empty
I am full)
I keep building up and up and up
all these images in my Mind
(which never shuts up)
(a never-ending narrative
She spins and spins and succumbs
only in those rare and passing circumstances)
constructing people like buildings
only the scaffolding is imaginary and when
the architecture folds in on itself
soulless
and my beloved figurines come toppling down on me
why do I still get so surprised
so stung
so lonely in that
hollow and distant way
(like your Mind is echoing
in on
Itself)?
My Mind is like quicksand
devouring streams of memory with ease
forever unsatisfied and craving more of the same
sharp edges and all
praying for a satiation in some distant future
She knows will never come
Only here
in this tiny universe
can I spell out anything resembling rationality
from the mess and junk and tangled tendrils of my Mind
Only here
can I extract bits and pieces of thoughts
and try to puzzle them together
until they make sense
until I can separate “Me” from “Reality"
And what doesn’t make sense
what I need to understand
is why I feel so beset
with this heavy magnetism that
overpowers me to the point of
paralysis
(with little to no room for breathing)
and why it was you
who pushed me into this feeling
and you
who is still pulling me along
far past the threshold of my resistance
and I am done
and it stings
Sep 13, 2018
Sep 13, 2018 at 12:51 PM UTC
I will miss you like the moon longs for the warmth of the sun in the morning.
I will miss you like rain that miss a rainbow.
I will miss you like a dry land that longs for water.
I will miss you like sand coving the foam waves sweeping away.
I will miss you like the end of a twig of trees that can't wait for the dawn to rise.
I will miss you like a dead seed that longs for spring.
I will miss you like a crystallized virus waiting for the right time to return to life.
Feb 16, 2019
Feb 16, 2019 at 8:42 AM UTC
Room 1648
Opening my eyes to
The streaming sun light
Stretching my body
In the heat of the day
To the sound of the sea
Seeing
How lucky I am
From the 16th floor
Looking out at
Sweeping palm trees
Stretch of South Beach
Echoes of beach life
Resonating all around me
Feeling the freedom of happiness
Of peacefulness
Finally
Down at the beach
Sand between my toes
The rolling waves washing
Over me
The taste of salt on my lips
The wind in my face
I lose myself in the expanse of ocean
Glistening under intense sunshine
Your depth of care eventually saving my life
Binding us together as husband and wife
Feeling the freedom of happiness
Of peacefulness
Finally
Oct 9, 2013
Oct 9, 2013 at 10:34 AM UTC
You're like a white, hot flash of lightning.
Burning with passion and heated desire.
But just like a lightning strike, you never stay for long.
One flash, bursting across the sky, filling my heart with excitement,
then gone again.
And just like the lightning, you bring the thunder and the gale.
The darkness of a thousand rumbling clouds sweeping across my sky.
Shaking every branch of my being and rousing the rain from my eyes.
All in one flash, bursting across the sky, filling my heart with a beautiful dread,
then gone again.
Jul 20, 2014
Jul 20, 2014 at 2:23 PM UTC
She was a hurricane of a girl
Sweeping in
Hair blowing
Destructing everything
In her path
It's a beautiful destruction
Crisp leaves
Blowing around
Autumn laughter
And hearts breaking
It's a beautiful destruction
She leaves behind
The magic of her love
She tears up land
Steals your time
Ripping your heart
Into pieces
Leaving you
Forever shattered
Oh, but what a
Beautiful destruction
You have left behind
©sierraelectra
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 7:44 PM UTC
when we are in love
we are raw red hearts
bleeding
exposed to the flesh
of the night air
in crisp, sharp breaths
ventricles open wide
as its beats paint
the stars crimson,
skylit rubies
baring all
peeled back touch
of cells like
the muck of our guts
spilled out yet
somehow contained
My insides are
braided, like veins
pumping life into universes
receiving the tender fire
of your jeweled, earthy words
rising to meet each kiss
like an abulation
I am
boiling cherry broth
in this heat-licked ice
that melts upon the tongue
in salted frenzy,
delightful
Wash over me
Hold me in cupped hands,
gently
Take me by the tips of
my soul's hips,
firmly
for I am at risk
of being pulled into
the sweeping monsoon
of
your
forever
Jul 26, 2018
Jul 26, 2018 at 6:05 PM UTC
At Ellis Lake, an overcast Sunday afternoon.
A lake divided into two, oddly shaped bowls in the middle of the city, surrounded by a constant stream of birds, wind, and traffic.
A spotless white swan cleaning herself on a grassy knoll, ferretting out whatever filth lurked deep within her feathers, then smoothly sweeping her sideways bent head across her back, as if to remember the long forgotten affectionate touch of an absent lover.
A gaggle of four grey geese combing the lawn for food, waddling in unison side-by-side.
A line of five mallards barreling down the hill into the water.
A multilateral crescent of black and white pigeons receiving harsh dictation from a trio of angry snow geese strutting before them.
A red-faced duck slowly approaching in the quiet expectation of food, then the arrogant acceptance of the lack thereof.
Jan 28, 2015
Jan 28, 2015 at 11:13 AM UTC
So it came to pass at last and sad to know a Timber has fallen
It stood in strength tall and strong for over seven decades
Resplendently toned it spread an uncompromising foliage
Masterly in domain magical in reach attaining untold grades
Humble in origins yet grew with endeavour and knowledge
Distinguishably it cut sway in tundra and in lush green glades
Son of sons of the Land held roots countenancing no crawling
It reached for the stars and danced reasons with every shades
Ran with the sun and sat with owls and vipers for tutelage
Sweeping the very highs and the lows in communal trades
In the jungle of sharks and vipers it be known who's in Charge
A Timber has fallen while the rains falls and blue clouds fades
There's now a mighty hole in the earth and rivers are swollen
Leaves scatter and branches beckon hundreds of onward bridges
Leaving best Princess, flowers and saplings for love and largesse
A notable trunk laid supine free to roam without worldly cages
Odes will enter dancing in guises and tears flow without finesse
A Timber has fallen and dirges will ring out for a man of all ages
Yemessia bows and says Adieu My Senior, we will meet again.....
[email protected].
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 10:29 PM UTC
when I was six
I asked God
to let me fly
I didn't think
I would be lost and high
on saturday's night
when I turned seven
I asked God
to help my mom with the counts
Now I trade "love"
for people's bills
when I was ten
I wished on a shooting star
to bring a guy
to fill my heart
I never imagined
I would be sweeping the floor
looking for the missing half
The day I blew the thirteenth candle
I told God to let me grow up
nowadays I only beg him
to let me go back
Jun 16, 2014
Jun 16, 2014 at 12:11 AM UTC
sometimes i feel like i’m two creatures caught
b
e
n
e
a
t
h
skin
sharing one body.
my tongue rough- sandpaper, broken glass, too many curses
while the lips around it burn with apologies
fleshy brooms sweeping up the messes
of another woman.
i feel like there are two animals
each fighting for their right to shine through
they’re voracious in this battle— it surprises me that their clawstalonssteeth don’t break through the thin expanse of flesh to the outside.
i have two women living within my skull
one wildroughfighting— slinging glasses and insults.
face paint, bones and bottle trees, fire and ash
wet pine needles under bleeding feet.
the biting creature who leaves bruises on the lips of men.
the warrior, Artemis. laughdancing through flames.
a bear, a wolf, a cat, a bird.
animal in nature.
the other fights with words.
elegant, gentle, soft, break able-- everything the other
cannot afford to be.
goddess of the hearth, she feeds her comrades like children
keeps fires stocked with woods
and binds bleeding arms.
this woman carries pitchers of water
writes sweet letters to missing friends
and opens her soul to many lovers.
am I some crude splice of these creatures?
am I a ******* of these mothers— each passionate
one biting, brackish tides, slow moving rivers, still ponds
the other a warm, clean bath?
am I both simultaneously, or am I wearing one face while the other
watches behind mine eyes?
I am the moon—
full and loving, dark and hiding
and something in between.
yeah, that sounds about right.
something in between.
Nov 12, 2012
Nov 12, 2012 at 5:07 PM UTC