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MARGA Jun 2018
your precious smile,
that never failed to shine;
a heaven-sent beam,
that made my heart your realm.

2. your tenderness,
that gave me bliss;
how could someone be
like you, so dearly?

3. your good vibes,
that surpassed all tribes
in giving off the positivity
i need for my stubborn reality.

4. your talents,
that awakened everyone's hearts;
you are my significant inspiration,
you give life to my life's ambition.

5. your humility,
that's filled with sincerity.
while everyone else is toplofty,
you remained lowly.
not everyone as wonderful as you,
could show meekness too.

6. the happiness you shared,
at times when smiling is something
i never dared;
darling, it meant everything.

7. for your meaningful silence,
that gave me a better comprehension.
although your stillness was tense,
i knew in my heart it was never a rejection.

8. for your music,
that never halts to flourish.
music, your depiction of aesthetic;
through you, the melody will never tarnish.

9. for being your genuine self,
you gave me potency to do the same.
shamming is no longer something i'll play, for you taught me how to
end that witless game.

10. for bringing me daily sunshine,
for setting the moon & the stars aligned;
my everyday became better,
and i will treasure you forever.

there are way more reasons
on why i love you for real.
through the passing seasons
i could slowly & slowly reveal
and show you how i truly feel.
as time passes us by,
i would no longer hesitate
and keep my sentiments ensconced.
through the coming weeks, months and years,
as long as we have all the time
i would dauntlessly lay out to you
that the way i feel for you is true.
written with whole heart for my dearest .
let me tell you
that i am true
ㅡ and i always will be.
Megan Milligan Aug 2011
I. Shining Armor

To all those would-be knights in shining armore:
Make sure you have a goodly supply of silver polish on your person
Because this woman is sick and tired
Of all the tarnish she keeps running into.


Fakeness gets real old, real quick.

I ‘m looking for a man with manners, grace, respect and class.
Not someone who’ll ultimately turn out to be an ***.
I’m not looking for too much I think.
In fact, I’d given up looking at all
Because the lot of them weren’t worth the flesh
God poured their sorry souls into.

Then, you came along,
Swept me off my feet with your Leo hurricane-force personality.
Fire sign burning through my resolves and inhibitions
Until there was nothing left
But trembling and desires and hidden fantasies

But I thought I saw something behind that solid wall of sexuality
A dark knight in shining armor
Intelligence in every timbered vibration fo your baritone voice,
Smooth like Barry white,
****, I thought, you are the whole package!
Family man, gentleman, talented artistic man
Man who said women were to be respected
As they were God’s gift.

How many men, afterall, would walk you to the bus,
Stand in front of you
So the sun didn’t glare in your face, facing west.
A glowing halo surrounded your head.
My angel, mon amour
My knight in shining armor.

II. Tarnish

Fast forward to today.
Man up,
Or move on out of my life.
I’ve waited a long time
For someone with manners, grace, respect, and class.
I’m not going to waste my time
Waiting on as ***.
Not that you’ve been one, mon amour,
But I’m starting to see a little tarnish on your shining armor.

I try to be up front,
Give you the 411 on what’s going on
Is it too much to expect no less out of a relationship?
Honesty, communication
Lay everything on the line so no misunderstandings.
Maybe I’m setting myself up,
Blinded by the shine of your armor
And your promises spoken.
Soothed, hypnotized by the timbered vibration of your baritone voice.
Smooth like Barry White.
Okay, one more time, I will trust you.
On your knight’s honor,
My knight in slightly tarnished armor.

III. Tinfoil

I’m looking for a man
With manners, grace, respect, and class
Not someone who’ll ultimately turn out to be an ***,
And you crossed that line.
The shine is gone,
And no amount of silver polish is gonna wipe clean your tarnish.

You see, there are two things I hold sacred in relationships:
Honesty and keeping promises,
Both of which you failed miserably at as a man.
Yeah I set myself up for a fall as well,
Expecting no less than what I put in myself.

But what good is being together
If you’re the only one putting for any effort.
A relationship is supposed to be give and take.
Not giving and giving and giving and giving
And getting nothing in return
But a bad player’s broken promises
And a broken heart.

Gum stuck on the bottom of my shoe
Has more integrity than you do.
You lied to me.
You put things off.
I would’ve had more respect for you
If you gave me straight talk about flings
Or things like “This isn’t working out”
Instead of sweet talk that left a bad aftertaste in my mouth like saccharin.
The only part of you that ever told me the truth
Was more than happy to stand at attention
And speak volumes
Without saying a word.

And speaking of “not speaking,”
You know what really takes the cake?
You didn’t even have the mother-******* *****
To tell me yourself.
I had to find out from someone else.

Some say more shall be revealed.
Boy, were my eyes opened to the fact
That sometimes a knight in shinign armor
Is sometimes just a ****** wrapped in tinfoil.

So, to all those would-be knights in shining armore:
Make sure you have a goodly supply of silver polish on your person
Because this woman is sick and tired
Of all the tarnish she keeps running into.


Fakeness gets real old, real quick.

IV. Press Seven**

Seven is my lucky number.
It helped me to slam the door on your sorry ***
And a chapter in my life I don’t care to re-read.

How dare you
Call up one day out of the blue
And drop a message on my voicemail.
The second I heard “Hi,  it’s (insert name here)”
Seven dumped your *** faster than you dumped mine
Through a third-party representative.

I don’t want to hear any “Hi, How ya doin’s”
I don’t want to hear any reasons
Or excuses
Or glossing-overs of what you did.

I wasn’t kidding when I said
Fakeness gets real old, real quick,
And that goes for ***** like you.
I may be a big woman,
But I’m not the Big Easy.
I’m a woman of respect
And dignity.

So don’t bother e-mailing me.
Don’t bother calling me.
Delete me out of your rolodex
And go trolling down Fourth Street
If you want nothing but ***.

Never did pressing 7 to delete you
Feel so ****** good.
© 8/23/2010
(rev. 5/26/2011, added part 4)
Fox Dec 2013
It amazes me every time
How truthful everyone is
Up to a certain point
It amazes me every time
How one lie
Can tarnish and stain
A million truths
It amazes me every time
How people think that
It's so easy for me to trust again
It amazes me every time
How people just expect
An infinite amount of chances from me
But I lied.
It doesn't even surprise me anymore
That people treat each other like ****. They ask for me to forgive and forget. I forgive every time, but I'll never forget. Because how could you forget how exceedingly ugly the face of humanity really is, when the ugliness multiplies every day right before your eyes. He's sorry he's hurt me, but I'm too numb and used to this pain to care at this point. He's sorry he's left me, but doesn't stop leaving. He tells me I deserve someone like him, honey, no I don't deserve someone like you. I deserve someone who doesn't hurt me to begin with. I know that can't happen, though, no one could possibly love someone and respect them that much. I guess I'll just stick with watching you kiss her and hold her hand and let everyone know that she is yours, when you told me you loved me but no one will ever know that. Not even your mom. Not even your friends. Hell I still don't even know you do. Because people who love each other don't do that. I guess I'll just stick with telling you that I am happy for you. I just wish you could see that even though I'm smiling and pretending not to care, you broke me, in every possible way, and every time I see you I cry. But only for a second, my silly charade falters, but the next second, I'm "myself" again. Because I've had so much practice at acting the happy go lucky fool, sometimes I even convince myself. Until I see you. Until I see her. Her and you together. See you don't even love her, that's what kills me. You went for the trophy to show off instead of the knowledge that someone loves you and would do anything for you. No. I wasn't good enough for you. I'm happy for you though. So happy. I don't feel sad anymore. I just feel numb, empty, alone.. How else are you supposed to feel when all you've ever cared about and stayed alive for is ripped away? You don't even know how much I cry at night because I know I've failed you in some way. I'm not beautiful at all, unlike her. I'm not confident like her. I'm not funny like her. I don't need to constantly talk to you in person, because I loved that special connection I thought we had, where we didn't even need to say anything because we already knew.
Unlike her.
I'm so happy for you though.
So happy.
AmberLynne Dec 2014
Your promises come out
as pre-splintered words,
already having a tarnish.
And yet I am hopeful,
always, that I may be able
to pick them up, rub them
with my shirtsleeve just so,
and see the gleam of a true
promise. But no matter how I try,
how tenderly I handle the pieces
of your intentions, they always
crumble in my fingers,
confetti litter on the floor.
Susan Nov 2016
You who taught me love and kindness and hope
and knitting and optimism and forgiveness and baking.

Yet you were also my first loss.
You taught me grief and how nothing stays the same.
Even a mind can deteriorate so much I wonder it makes me wonder if
you ever were so good.
Maybe I just exaggerate. Because you aren't  here to prove me wrong or disappoint me.
But how could anyone have been so good?

But even if I was looking at you through the rose tinted glasses of youth
I refuse to tarnish my opinion of you
I will keep these glasses forever
I insist.You taught me all this and more.

Because of you I visit grandad more  
to remind me of what
I lost
and a reminder to appreciate what I still have.
That house will always remind me of you
I hope that is ok.
PrttyBrd Oct 2011
Behind those eyes of blue-gray-green
Lies a heart of which is seldom seen
Though hard for some to realize
There's a world of pain behind said eyes
From drama of torn childhood
From doing bad but being good
To grown up tears of discontent
From words once spoken but never meant
And now with empty bottles past
With clarity one hopes will last
Can be seen a glimpse of inner peace
Of eager joy which begs release
Though years of numbness linger still
Denying freedom to laugh at will
A perfectly polished yesteryear
Cradles everything the heart holds dear
The memories of warmth and fun
Tarnish easily out in the sun
When walking backwards leads you blind
One can never leave the past behind
The farther away the better it seems
Even the nightmares look like a dream
Now, when walking heel to toe
Facing the way you want to go
The road's less bumpy for the ride
Obstacles faced with longer strides
The light behind those eyes still burns
As chapters end and pages turn
The book continues day by day
Joy slowly rises come what may
Living is what makes us strong
To do what's right when we've been wronged
And though that pain may never die
There's no place left for it to hide
It's worn dull by loves embrace
Displaced, in time, with joy and grace
And then those eyes of blue-gray-green
Will sparkle new with brighter sheen
For a heart that's swelled to greater size
Will be foretold behind those eyes
copyright©PrttyBrd 21/10/2010
MdAsadullah Dec 2014
These wicked ones,
disguised in color green.
Commit atrocities horrible
, unheard, unseen.
Use symbols of noble cause
to serve their ulterior ends.
Tarnish the image of
religion difficult to mend.
They **** innocent souls
with bombs and guns.
Youths must stay away
from these wicked ones.
We condemn your evil acts
, your number is few.
Islam is religion of peace,
community disowns you.
NuBlaccSoul Jan 2016
Fierce. Frustrated. Fuming. Traitors ringed ‘round the neck.
Fight. Fires. Forcefully. To our hells we are all bound anyway.
Police pulling triggers at raised-hands-people,  in church people, my people.
Mob justice pacts to counterattack the courts’ injustices. Your cat for my dog.  
Politicians always half-hearing, keen to speak, but are never really listening to us.
And with all dark humour and bad jokes considered, nobody is laughing,
Mr Government!

Tarnish the tarmac to break new grounds; now roads appear for the low-lives.
We will ****** our poor bodies for the richer good of our children.
We will penetrate barricades, because we are all the powers- supposedly.
Our spiritual wills will not allow us to cease until we are all free, financially.

Highways to better living was promised, a shelter, a job and food for gaping mouths
Detours of corruption were unnecessarily taken, unaccountability and nepotism.
Potholes that only get filled during election time, the puncture slows all down.
We were almost great. No spare only four. Now these Stop-and-Go's that never go.

The lost lead.
More or less, the masses are manhandled by the most moral-less.
Our vices are violet, days blue.
Our vices are violent, these eyes blue.
The dusk came before dawn.
The sun never shone, for many moons.
You cannot reason with a dictator. We must revolt. Rather cremate than correct.
He's not really dead till you remove his head, and rest it next to his shoulders.

My moral compass misguided, shattered into smithereens.
I lost my head in the hype, at the altar of sacrifice. By any means necessary.

Faceless. Our flaws: No solo is at fault.
She did it.
It wasn’t me.
The devilish deeds were done by him.
Her stone offered the fatal blow.
Fabrics of the minds that were once woven and sown as one,  now tread apart
as threads now seem to leave the womb seams.
The last sound was a screeching scream.
Only sightings of shadows spotted at the scene,  where we were once a society.
A beam of hope with every new sun. Another risen day.
Always gaining ground towards but never reaching the stolen lands of ours.
Shuffling shoe soles, too lazy to walk the feet. The work is a drag, since since.
The only beacon still lit, is the bedside lamp flickering on Mount' Blizzard.
They call it college education, we coined it knowledge for the nation.

~ New-Black-SoUl  #NBS
DMX says in one movie,“Guns don't **** people, people **** people.” The genocide of black people by the white man is carried by the fellow blackman now. Also the idea of mob justice is so destructive in a system as fragile as what we call 'society' and it's laws. LongLiveMyPeople. This is an edited version. This is my view of the new South Afrika  | June 16 1976, honour it; never forget; always remember. Their undying spirits transcend death, and live on in enternity of history.

A state plan for black students to be taught key subjects in Afrikaans began in 1974 and was taking effect in 1976.

The day on which black South African school pupils rose up against "Bantu education" is now celebrated as Youth Day.

1. June 16 was the first day of what came to be called the Soweto uprising. It began there but spread to other townships around the country and continued until year-end in the face of harsh state repression.

2. Bantu education was set up in 1953, five years after the National Party came to power on the apartheid platform. Bantu education was a project of the department of native affairs to cater specifically to black people. Dr Hendrik Verwoerd, then the minister of native affairs and later prime minister, said that the policy would educate black people to know their place in society: “Natives must be taught from an early age that equality with Europeans [whites] is not for them.”

3. According to South African History Online, Bantu education did provide more education for more black people than ever before. But the facilities were meagre and soon overcrowded. “No new high schools were built in Soweto between 1962 and 1971. Students were meant to move to their relevant homeland to attend the newly built schools there.” However, in 1972, the government heeded business calls for a better-trained workforce and built 40 new schools in Soweto. Over the next four years, the numbers of pupils attending high school in Soweto tripled and, in 1976, “257505 pupils enrolled in form one [the former standard six], but there was space for only 38 000”.

4. The education given was very unequal: “The government spent R644 a year on a white child’s education but only R42 on a black child.”

5. A state plan for black pupils to be taught key subjects in Afrikaans began in 1974 and was taking effect in 1976. Pupils and teachers objected to having to learn and teach in “the language of the oppressor”.

6. Pupils at the Orlando West Junior School went on strike in April 1976. An action committee was formed and a mass protest was planned for June 16. The committee became the Soweto Students’ Representative Council and part of the broader Black Consciousness Movement.

7. On June 16 1976, police blocked the movement of 10 000 to 20 000 pupils towards the Orlando Stadium. In a confrontation near Orlando High, 13-year-old Hector Pieterson was killed and, through the photograph by Sam Nzima, became an icon of the uprising.

8. The June 1976 death toll was 176, at least 23 deaths occurred on the first day. Thousands were injured. The police ordered township ­hospitals to report anyone receiving treatment for gunshot wounds, but doctors listed the wounds as abscesses. 

9. Pupils’ placards read: “Down with Afrikaans” and “If we must do Afrikaans, [Prime Minister John] Vorster must do Zulu.”

10. The Soweto protest emboldened students across other schools and universities in South Africa to mobilise against the status quo. It inspired a nationwide uprising against apartheid oppression.

Aluta Continua... FEES MUST FALL! |(c) 2016. Phila Dyasi. All rights reserved. Intellectual property of the author.   Please quote poem with author name, poem title and date published if sharing to external sites without the link or/and if sharing an excerpt of the poem.
Must you be here in such an interesting illusion?
Why must you sit in such... vogue?
Here though, you exist in fashionable cyst.
Bygone futures of blighted sutures
Youngster-stale and eight-hundred pale
Destitute pasts of layer passes present
Horses gather at the gates of heaven
Spitting at me
And in this way, I've given myself nightmarish feelings.
Yellow blocks provides battery-colored translucence a doubt of mortals
Tungsten belated harmony
You are my "Anam Cara".
The eternal friend of my soul.
This we share together
is ancient and is whole.

We have no secrets,
each others light we share.
No time or distance can sever
this bond we have declared.

Our friendship is open.
Our trust is complete.
Our souls radiate together
as we accept one another
with no tarnish of deceit.
Copyright *Neva Flores @2010
Dedicated to Retrit - My Rena - Friend of my soul
Keith Collard Aug 2012
Colonial mansion, in an ocean of grass,
windows aglow as I walk past.
funeral service now used of verandah,
but I hear music, not mournful stanza.
french doors open to a reminisce,
with boyhood heart, of vitreous.

Footfalls on parquet floors,
tux and gown past crown moulded doors.
captured ambiance of a setting sun,
shown from chandeliers highly hung,
day I was born, born the day of prom,
I smiled cordially, and my date fawned.

girls betrothed by corsage on wrist,
rare french curls--a lunar eclipse.
bedraggled boys now dapper and genteel,
vest and bowtie, a knightly feel.
chapperesses smiling at maidenly gait,
happy drowse in  mansion estate.

cufflinks, silk gloves, nail polish of gloss,
beheld tonics and sweets, carefully aloft.
opening cord, an arrow from cupid's bow,
striking coquettes to their tippy toes.
they sprang to dance,I stepped back,
invisible in shadow with tux of black.

shoulders, lake ripples easing to shore,
hips, gentle waves, right before pour.
boys stiff, as if waists beheld sabres,
legs, sweeping brooms of on shore waiters.
"your too handsome to stay here unseen,"
said rivaling chaperess, semblance of queen.

"you should dance ,"said glittered lips of pink,
bent like sparrow wings, during teacup drink.
privy to why in shadow I hid my blush,
her class my crush, that crushed me so much.
she strained me, even the shadows she gave,
black silk, stretching,--convex and concave.

crude metal and wood classroom seat,
clasped her waist of slender physique.
she was guarded by a window in curtain mail,
and tended to by servants of light and gale.
light loved her skin of mediterranean sand,
and wind enraptured with brown strand.

light penetrated strands, blondly hot,
wind would blow, cooling pony tail off.
her shadow curtsied under my desk,
long legs danced in irritableness.
mourning class is abuzz with scent of prom,
flower not frost, rules the school's dawn.

I gave my consent,to an earlier invite,
then on, suitor blinded me with light.
and Great Gatsy, and looming prom night,
subjects of sparrow wings pressed tight.
" show of hands, who do not have a date?"
slender wrist arises, from an arm curvate.

alone, she shown that no one asked her,
this stone of Rome amongst boys of plaster.
hand fell with boy of teachers match,
wind shrouded her,from the window sash
rays gave discomfort,to gaze her way,
but I looked through burning ray--

to see a trace of a tear,in eyes ovate,
a goddess unsought, with sadful face.
I, poor, fatherless, could not possibly go,
to prom, with princess of arched portico?
I could not interweave my hands to dance,
or know, where I could place my glance.

wind blew a scrap from her desk, indiscreet,
it was pierced by light at my feet.
"will" and "with" were dotted with a heart,
"prom" and "me" before most painful part.
my name in her beautfiul free hand,
the colour red, from hearts inkstand.

class bell rings, I travel to mansion dream,
blue grass meet oriel in cul de sac seam.
eyes turn to cotton, in shadow as I ponder,
as pain was forgotten, I came upon her.
invisible hands, lifted my chin to a red shape,
our eyes met, her's smiling, mine agape.

only a glassmaker could imagine my sight,
seeing hot curves form in dance floor light.
only a wax-wing could have rivaled her eyes,
waves gently broke to gown down her thighs.
"will you dance with me,"she softly entreated,
" I don't know how,"a coward repeated.

a princess which tournaments were held,
for which every timber of mansion were felled.
not for Rome, mansion corinthian column,
for her, from quarry prom did befall them.
I could not tarnish this feminine form,
with my lineage in crown she adorned.

I turned from beauty, to dark acres tread,
under willow, I play the last thing she said.
my name, as I shunned from last chance,
back under willow, cane marks my stance.
I have preserved her forever, shying fate,
even if it was with my own heart-break.

I still see her--in the most beautiful prom poses,
still, I see her, as lights flicker out, and a coffin closes.
jellica Jul 2014
I'm in such a vulnerable state,
My mind wanders.
My thoughts are grand, but not for the better.
I can feel my feelings tarnish and fade away like this body of mine had never been a home to any emotions roaming around in this hollow space.
It is as if they were lost but never found…
kha Nov 2018
once I've been told,
'til these roses turn old
and my earrings tarnish their gold
my hands are what you will hold

since then, gazes went fiery
my palms weren't as sweaty
heart beating like crazy
my eyes were never teary

my poems have seen happiness
oh, dear God, I know I've been blessed
playlists were still sad, but less
calmed my waves with your caress

and in every relationship I've had
I've always anticipated for the bad
but you never made me go mad
and luckily, I was never sad

happiness with you in sight
you made me shine so bright
you embodied every winning fight
still smitten, never something so right

my words cherished you deeply
you might looked perfect, seemingly
my thoughts have suffered politely
made me look dumb intimately

have you realized
that I make zero sense?
because all of these
are written in past tense.
unnamed Jun 2019
pastel skin like marble
metamorphic rock
subjected to heat,
hair like amber
no, sun touched gold.
resistant to tarnish
marble and gold
you are refined
LDuler Mar 2013
Why people feel the need or desire to
Listen to the radio
Or surround themselves with machines that whir and beep
Or white noise to fall asleep
Or go to concerts
Is beyond me
I don't understand why
People want noise all the time
They're committing a terrible crime!
They mutilate silence
Tarnish delicate laconism
And mangle quiet
Machines everywhere!
Machines and devices, noise and distraction from the essence of life
Tooting, blaring, screeching, whistling, crashing
Honking, booming cracking, grinding, and trilling!
We happily bask in this cacophony

So much noise that we tend to forget that
How truly precious real silence is-
A gold nugget in a long, tumultuous river.
Yet we don't want any of it, not even a sliver
Silence is that which comes nearest to expressing the ineffable
It's so pure and so true, so delectable
Silence is a true friend who never betrays
Whatever has happened to saying it all with a simple gaze?
Words are by no means proof of wisdom
Silence isn't ignorance or dullness of mind
Silence is refined
Silence is
A pause between birdsongs
The mournful song of lonely hearts
The sigh of a tree
The shift of the clouds
The obscure and perishing rhythm of forgotten thoughts
The throb of the summer sun
The timid streaming of tears down a child's cheek
The fall of a snowflake
The pulse of the veins on a frail white wrist
And a kiss between whispered promises

Babble is empty
And words, like wire
May seem solid
Yet they can be twisted to resemble anything-
Weak promises, false prayers, delusive prophecies
And can easily be broken, if one distorts them enough.

Silence is more eloquent than phrases
It is not nothing
It has a form, dimension, substance
A texture and quality of its own
So many people associate it with mystery, privacy and isolation
When really it reveals it all
Silence can be jealous; rough and small
It can be peaceful; blue and hazy
It can be tumultuous; confused and crazy
Silence can be loving; soft and surrounding
Or it can be spiteful; violent and pounding
Silence can chaste; reserved and shy
Or it can sensual, with a voluptuous sigh
Silence can be puzzled; blurry and nauseous
It can be disgusted; halting and cautious
Silence can be grieving; a falling apart
It can be horribly heavy; the weighing of unspoken secrets on a fragile heart
Silence can be anything
Agitated, insecure, submissive or authoritative
Giddy or gloomy, vicious or respectful
Silence contains it all
Every word, every language,
All the knowledge, all the memories, all the emotions
If you've ever watched a sunrise, or been in love, or spent a night home alone, or sat in grieving silence as someone held your hand
Then you know this

The silly young, the brash and impatient ones, always break the silence
With gossip and music and profanity and small talk
They always giggle, interrupt, argue and squawk
Constant conversations, words, motions, defense, offense, back and forth
Yet those who are comfortable with each other can sit without speaking
Because to love and be quiet is enough
To hold hands and not say a word is enough
Silence is the gift of the world that we've pushed aside
A precious gift wrapped in white that we've rudely denied
Silence is the highest form of thought
And it is by slowly developing this mute contemplation in us that we will,
Step by step,
With reflections, speculations, and musing
Be able to reach what is true about ourselves.
When we are quiet and timid
We sit silently and watch the world around us
We see things, we read things, we hear things that others don't, we keep quiet about them, and we understand.

I don't understand why people fear the hush
Perhaps people are afraid to surrender to the clear ****** of it
Maybe all these fools think that to keep quiet is to erase yourself
Maybe they associate silence with loss of life
Perhaps some of them know that listening to the silence can be painful
That it can reveal the pain of the world
So they cower and shy away from it

Yet look at what I've done
I'm just like the rest of them, aren't I?
I wrote and wrote, yet what do all these words mean?
How pretentious of me to think I could be one to put silence into words
Ode to Silence by Geneviève Pardoe Macchiarella is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
Day of mist: day of tarnish

with hands
unserviceable, I wait
for the milk van

the one-eared cat
laps its gray paw

and the coal fire burns

outside, the little hedge leaves are
become quite yellow
a milk-film blurs
the empty bottles on the windowsill

no glory descends

two water drops poise
on the arched green
stem of my neighbor's rose bush

o bent bow of thorns

the cat unsheathes its claws
the world turns

today I will not
disenchant my twelve black-gowned examiners
or bunch my fist
in the wind's sneer.
Just Me Jul 2017
Normal has no home with me.

Rage is a wonderful mess.

Shake my hand...

Bend around my mind.

Bend all you can.

Sick is what I am.

Contagious is what I'm not, but you will flee all the same.

Satisfaction to my day.

Stay away so I don't have to try to explain.

Stay away...

PTSD, and a sprinkle of Rage...

Bipolar me will tarnish your day.

You will never understand my fears.

You will never understand the me that isn't me...

The desolate creation of Molestation, Physical Abuse, Verbal abuse, and ****!

Paint me Not a Victim for you are mine!

I'm ice cold and brilliant in my revenge.

I am easy on the eyes...

I'm a wonderful disguise!

I'll fight with my word's, even though I can't sleep.

You can be the victim of you!

Karma and God will find you!

But first you will see me.

My other me...

Such things that I think...

What you have done to me is nothing compared to my friend Beelzebub!

My mind's damaged Razor Sharp.

The Blood my mind spills is Beautiful, and warm like Family.

I'm the creature that feeds off the stench of your decomposing corps.

In my mind all that's gory is miraculous art.

You are Glorious in your Death!

And it is ART!

Fantasic ART!

Unique in your final pose...

Unique is your Blood on my paint brush.

Victims, Vast!

My gallery is full.

Such Monster's you all are!

But as I write, and create...

I'm the monster Today.

For Survivor's of hate!

I'll create!

No victims of innocence will bleed today.

It's a new day!

I have spray paint filled with the blood of the ******* who stole comfort from your night.

Cry not tonight!

Your composing the nightmares this night!

Set your hurt free...

Let them Bleed.

It's time for art's & craft's.

Carry them to me!
Just saying what many victim's of ****** abuse won't...
Erenn Sep 2014
She glistens beautifully on the river night
With blurred sparkles yet glinting
She waited so long for her daylight
But He only came when she’s sleeping

He shines brightly with infinite fervor
Giving life to the ones in pain
He knew it’s impossible for them to sustain
To see her once he’d always hoped for

They always knew it was unviable
But their love bestows hope on earth
Their curse afflicted despite their denial
Yet they still believe in their oath

They’re inclined to do their utmost
Knowing everything will eventually be in tarnish
Not remorseful to what they lost
Until they prevail on what they wished

They finally met from time to time
Only to be torn apart again & again
Yet they cherished their eclipse to rhyme
**For the love they always believed in.
I always envy those who are in a long distance relationship  who got married or decided to live together. They didn't give up. It's really heart wrenching to wait at the other end  to wait like a few months to meet or the worst, once a year.
But then when you think about it. If two people are really meant to be together, they will be.
Even if they're like 15000 miles apart, if they're bounded by fate for each other. Nothing will break them.
And this i got inspired  by looking at the eclipse . It was really beautiful:)
(And I reposted this because I feel that it deserves more recognition. So if you guys could repost this it would be awesome. Cause I want to let those who are in LDR to know it's not that bad, you just have to believe. But then again you have to choose too)
Nat Lipstadt Jun 2014
You cannot polish a heart,
there is no tarnish remover for sale

a thought exists,
then always, extant

once a feeling felt,
there is no erasure,
no white out,
just another wear and tear
to thy fabric added

it enters and infects,
no surgery can excise,
chemo and radiation
leave scars
and remainders

certain sadnesses are unreadable,
even if counterbalancing weights worn,
we are the sum
and the summation,
we are the holy ghost
of everything
we have ever known,
even if we did not
father it

a storage facility,
you rent permanently,
for the "stuff"
you don't want
but can't discard,
pay dearly for that inability

the poetry,
an artifice,
a cheaply hired psychologist,
a rented imaginary friend,
from whom there are no secrets kept

I am not delusional
or deluded

there is a new tiredness in me
that I did not ask for
and sorry to have met

now a parcel I must carry
like the delicious awful testing images
of one's own end.

there was a joy here for me once,
a day and way
of atonement in my
writing and reading

and though it is 400am
and here I am
writing again,
I surely expect
the music genie
to play for me
"the thrill is gone"
any second,
for it surely is....

once upon a time,
in that chair,
could easy poem
and easy write
but the thrill is gone,
the love "of it"
upped and disappeared
the weave and the woof
"of it"
not the same

cannot get that tarnish removed,
the commemorative wall plate visible crack'd
though reglued,
the cracks are
mirrored images reminders
of what I feel I have lost,
and what is sadly indeed,
just a commemorative now

full in a heavy way,
self-absorption ended, really,
my paper towel self
a soaked ragged mess,
the more it wipes,
the more it spills...

a fullness that comes
from human hate
a sidebar loud, all overhear,
in the courtroom of
humans racing
"to excel,"
they misunderstand,
as they just finger point
to their own chest blasting,
look I got into harvard,
made a million,
but I am still a major *******
in a grand tradition

this stuff has ashen pilloried me,
everywhere in my
not so red anymore blood

I am not delusional
or deluded,
or even depressed,
just weary,
writing this does, releases nothing,
changes nothing, makes, improves nothing

the stitch in my side still there,
saying poetry, nice but who cares,
what once was fair and comely,
now just ordinary fare, unlovely
a McDonalds of common words

once the poetry of hate is writ,
it cannot be deleted,
a curse upon all
that abused this child so,
your promotional coupons
are discarded
with today's newspapers
and tomorrow and even today!
no one will care
about this or the
mismeasurement markers of no glory
or of hate, or the
pseudo popularity you create
or relish into thinking of yourself,
as valuable

tell me I am wrong,
tell me of New Year's Day
start overs,
will be grateful
for your trying,
your counterbalancing attempts,
if genuine, are
truly glorious

even if the thrill is all gone,
your trying to untarnish me,
well, every little bit helps
at the very least
gets me sets me,
down more evenly,
untilltng the lean of what ails,
ever so less

but the tilt,
the tarnish,
is immeasurable like divinity

here is where,
I leave it and
the fast approaching sabbath,
depending where on  your calendar
it resides,
can be both a weekly ending
and/or a beginning,
but a sabbath rest from the garbage of words,
by humans abused,
un blessings saying I am better than you

so, a place, a time to start,
to polish over just a tad, the stains
of what cannot ever be deleted,
even if it is pseudo-gone from the internet
Your fingerprints are embossed on my heart
Forever to be known to my soul
Your insignia, your mark,  is placed in art
Never to tarnish or grow old

A slightly raised indention of your spirit
Your mark upon my heart
Emblazoned by the hand of love
A masterpiece of art

My heart will always bear your prints
As a reminder of what’s true
The place you’ve left your mark of love
Belongs only to you
Copyright *Neva Flores @2010
"Aug." 10, 1911.

Full moon to-night; and six and twenty years
Since my full moon first broke from angel spheres!
A year of infinite love unwearying ---
No circling seasons, but perennial spring!
A year of triumph trampling through defeat,
The first made holy and the last made sweet
By this same love; a year of wealth and woe,
Joy, poverty, health, sickness --- all one glow
In the pure light that filled our firmament
Of supreme silence and unbarred extent,
Wherein one sacrament was ours, one Lord,
One resurrection, one recurrent chord,
One incarnation, one descending dove,
All these being one, and that one being Love!

You sent your spirit into tunes; my soul
Yearned in a thousand melodies to enscroll
Its happiness: I left no flower unplucked
That might have graced your garland. I induct
Tragedy, comedy, farce, fable, song,
Each longing a little, each a little long,
But each aspiring only to express
Your excellence and my unworthiness ---
Nay! but my worthiness, since I was sense
And spirit too of that same excellence.

So thus we solved the earth's revolving riddle:
I could write verse, and you could play the fiddle,
While, as for love, the sun went through the signs,
And not a star but told him how love twines
A wreath for every decanate, degree,
Minute and second, linked eternally
In chains of flowers that never fading are,
Each one as sempiternal as a star.

Let me go back to your last birthday. Then
I was already your one man of men
Appointed to complete you, and fulfil
From everlasting the eternal will.
We lay within the flood of crimson light
In my own balcony that August night,
And conjuring the aright and the averse
Created yet another universe.

We worked together; dance and rite and spell
Arousing heaven and constraining hell.
We lived together; every hour of rest
Was honied from your tiger-lily breast.
We --- oh what lingering doubt or fear betrayed
My life to fate! --- we parted. Was I afraid?
I was afraid, afraid to live my love,
Afraid you played the serpent, I the dove,
Afraid of what I know not. I am glad
Of all the shame and wretchedness I had,
Since those six weeks have taught me not to doubt you,
And also that I cannot live without you.

Then I came back to you; black treasons rear
Their heads, blind hates, deaf agonies of fear,
Cruelty, cowardice, falsehood, broken pledges,
The temple soiled with senseless sacrileges,
Sickness and poverty, a thousand evils,
Concerted malice of a million devils; ---
You never swerved; your high-pooped galleon
Went marvellously, majestically on
Full-sailed, while every other braver bark
Drove on the rocks, or foundered in the dark.

Then Easter, and the days of all delight!
God's sun lit noontide and his moon midnight,
While above all, true centre of our world,
True source of light, our great love passion-pearled
Gave all its life and splendour to the sea
Above whose tides stood our stability.

Then sudden and fierce, no monitory moan,
Smote the mad mischief of the great cyclone.
How far below us all its fury rolled!
How vainly sulphur tries to tarnish gold!
We lived together: all its malice meant
Nothing but freedom of a continent!

It was the forest and the river that knew
The fact that one and one do not make two.
We worked, we walked, we slept, we were at ease,
We cried, we quarrelled; all the rocks and trees
For twenty miles could tell how lovers played,
And we could count a kiss for every glade.
Worry, starvation, illness and distress?
Each moment was a mine of happiness.

Then we grew tired of being country mice,
Came up to Paris, lived our sacrifice
There, giving holy berries to the moon,
July's thanksgiving for the joys of June.

And you are gone away --- and how shall I
Make August sing the raptures of July?
And you are gone away --- what evil star
Makes you so competent and popular?
How have I raised this harpy-hag of Hell's
Malice --- that you are wanted somewhere else?
I wish you were like me a man forbid,
Banned, outcast, nice society well rid
Of the pair of us --- then who would interfere
With us? --- my darling, you would now be here!

But no! we must fight on, win through, succeed,
Earn the grudged praise that never comes to meed,
Lash dogs to kennel, trample snakes, put bit
In the mule-mouths that have such need of it,
Until the world there's so much to forgive in
Becomes a little possible to live in.

God alone knows if battle or surrender
Be the true courage; either has its splendour.
But since we chose the first, God aid the right,
And **** me if I fail you in the fight!
God join again the ways that lie apart,
And bless the love of loyal heart to heart!
God keep us every hour in every thought,
And bring the vessel of our love to port!

These are my birthday wishes. Dawn's at hand,
And you're an exile in a lonely land.
But what were magic if it could not give
My thought enough vitality to live?
Do not then dream this night has been a loss!
All night I have hung, a god, upon the cross;
All night I have offered incense at the shrine;
All night you have been unutterably mine,
Miner in the memory of the first wild hour
When my rough grasp tore the unwilling flower
From your closed garden, mine in every mood,
In every tense, in every attitude,
In every possibility, still mine
While the sun's pomp and pageant, sign to sign,
Stately proceeded, mine not only so
In the glamour of memory and austral glow
Of ardour, but by image of my brow
Stronger than sense, you are even here and now
Miner, utterly mine, my sister and my wife,
Mother of my children, mistress of my life!

O wild swan winging through the morning mist!
The thousand thousand kisses that we kissed,
The infinite device our love devised
If by some chance its truth might be surprised,
Are these all past? Are these to come? Believe me,
There is no parting; they can never leave me.
I have built you up into my heart and brain
So fast that we can never part again.
Why should I sing you these fantastic psalms
When all the time I have you in my arms?
Why? 'tis the murmur of our love that swells
Earth's dithyrambs and ocean's oracles.

But this is dawn; my soul shall make its nest
Where your sighs swing from rapture into rest
Love's thurible, your tiger-lily breast.
Kenshō Oct 2014
Betwixt twilight and dawn
T'was a terror that spoke,
Ridding me of my blessings
And tore me of my senses.
Curled and coward I shook!
Uttering of Lords,
I cracked my voice,
"Devils Live!
T'is them creeping
Deep in darkness!"

When God's hold their breathe
And the Sun dies for sin!
Breathe you wretched child
And live once again!

But when the word is said
And stands the Priest over the Dead
Remind yourself not that what ever
those men and women died for,
They could have loved it more
were they here instead.

Still they feed on what against you heed;
Dripping, still with thirst.
They will drink you dry
And lick their lips as if you were the first.

To banish them from the night!
Regard my words for their worth.
Remember the chant in the midst of tarnish
And survive my lovely soul child, renew your birth!
In the night....
Akemi Aug 2013
Slough breaker
Breathed deep for twenty years
Below mortal planes
Corporeal fears

A thousand weights
You shook, and cracked the Earth
Knocked clouds off their perch
Rose brooding oath
A triumph

Violent languor
Still and terror
Violet stare

As you slumbered
The atmosphere turned
And poison filled your earth
Till coveted rebirth
The tarnish
Once bitter came to bloom
Broke black dirt, severed truth
From corruption
6:24pm, August 15th 2013

The earth will flourish when mankind has left it.

Inspired by:
“You ought to have seen what I saw on my way
To the village, through Mortenson’s pasture to-day:
Blueberries as big as the end of your thumb,
Real sky-blue, and heavy, and ready to drum
In the cavernous pail of the first one to come!
And all ripe together, not some of them green
And some of them ripe! You ought to have seen!”

“I don’t know what part of the pasture you mean.”

“You know where they cut off the woods—let me see—
It was two years ago—or no!—can it be
No longer than that?—and the following fall
The fire ran and burned it all up but the wall.”

“Why, there hasn’t been time for the bushes to grow.
That’s always the way with the blueberries, though:
There may not have been the ghost of a sign
Of them anywhere under the shade of the pine,
But get the pine out of the way, you may burn
The pasture all over until not a fern
Or grass-blade is left, not to mention a stick,
And presto, they’re up all around you as thick
And hard to explain as a conjuror’s trick.”

“It must be on charcoal they fatten their fruit.
I taste in them sometimes the flavour of soot.
And after all really they’re ebony skinned:
The blue’s but a mist from the breath of the wind,
A tarnish that goes at a touch of the hand,
And less than the tan with which pickers are tanned.”

“Does Mortenson know what he has, do you think?”

“He may and not care and so leave the chewink
To gather them for him—you know what he is.
He won’t make the fact that they’re rightfully his
An excuse for keeping us other folk out.”

“I wonder you didn’t see Loren about.”

“The best of it was that I did. Do you know,
I was just getting through what the field had to show
And over the wall and into the road,
When who should come by, with a democrat-load
Of all the young chattering Lorens alive,
But Loren, the fatherly, out for a drive.”

“He saw you, then? What did he do? Did he frown?”

“He just kept nodding his head up and down.
You know how politely he always goes by.
But he thought a big thought—I could tell by his eye—
Which being expressed, might be this in effect:
‘I have left those there berries, I shrewdly suspect,
To ripen too long. I am greatly to blame.’”

“He’s a thriftier person than some I could name.”

“He seems to be thrifty; and hasn’t he need,
With the mouths of all those young Lorens to feed?
He has brought them all up on wild berries, they say,
Like birds. They store a great many away.
They eat them the year round, and those they don’t eat
They sell in the store and buy shoes for their feet.”

“Who cares what they say? It’s a nice way to live,
Just taking what Nature is willing to give,
Not forcing her hand with harrow and plow.”

“I wish you had seen his perpetual bow—
And the air of the youngsters! Not one of them turned,
And they looked so solemn-absurdly concerned.”

“I wish I knew half what the flock of them know
Of where all the berries and other things grow,
Cranberries in bogs and raspberries on top
Of the boulder-strewn mountain, and when they will crop.
I met them one day and each had a flower
Stuck into his berries as fresh as a shower;
Some strange kind—they told me it hadn’t a name.”

“I’ve told you how once not long after we came,
I almost provoked poor Loren to mirth
By going to him of all people on earth
To ask if he knew any fruit to be had
For the picking. The rascal, he said he’d be glad
To tell if he knew. But the year had been bad.
There had been some berries—but those were all gone.
He didn’t say where they had been. He went on:
‘I’m sure—I’m sure’—as polite as could be.
He spoke to his wife in the door, ‘Let me see,
Mame, we don’t know any good berrying place?’
It was all he could do to keep a straight face.

“If he thinks all the fruit that grows wild is for him,
He’ll find he’s mistaken. See here, for a whim,
We’ll pick in the Mortensons’ pasture this year.
We’ll go in the morning, that is, if it’s clear,
And the sun shines out warm: the vines must be wet.
It’s so long since I picked I almost forget
How we used to pick berries: we took one look round,
Then sank out of sight like trolls underground,
And saw nothing more of each other, or heard,
Unless when you said I was keeping a bird
Away from its nest, and I said it was you.
‘Well, one of us is.’ For complaining it flew
Around and around us. And then for a while
We picked, till I feared you had wandered a mile,
And I thought I had lost you. I lifted a shout
Too loud for the distance you were, it turned out,
For when you made answer, your voice was as low
As talking—you stood up beside me, you know.”

“We sha’n't have the place to ourselves to enjoy—
Not likely, when all the young Lorens deploy.
They’ll be there to-morrow, or even to-night.
They won’t be too friendly—they may be polite—
To people they look on as having no right
To pick where they’re picking. But we won’t complain.
You ought to have seen how it looked in the rain,
The fruit mixed with water in layers of leaves,
Like two kinds of jewels, a vision for thieves.”
Styles May 2014
Wish me luck - like a speech for me to read before I play. I am going to print it out and keep it with me., when I am at the final table, and it's televised, right before I win. The last hand, before I make the call of a lifetime - clock ticking, $35k first place prize money; I am going to take it out, look at it. Then call, Like a Boss. Black tinted classes, headphones looking like speakers, Yankees cap tipped to the side, Charles dickens on my lap. Sipping on some water shipped in from Vergeze. Cool as an icecube, rocking a tight Tee. Blue jeans, tim boots, Blasting ice -Tea; dudes ain't worried about cards, until the check me. I'm nice with calls, I'm like Jordan when he first started wearing the two-three. Sticking my tongue out at dudes that try and bluff me; the lack luster in comparison to me. I'm seeing their tells, like sign language. They try and force my hand, I do maximum carnage. My shine don't tarnish.
rough draft
Connor Oct 2018
Every creature performs extremely
in the Night; careful &
violent (perfect)

Essences - proximal to Mysticism - just beyond the reach of shallow darkness as it fills a room (saving shuteye for one flash of blinding perplexity)

Glimpsed through past anguish! hollowed-out
& vacant Cathedral player pianos jotting annihilation inside the soul - chasing incantations unknown to me until overcome by yawning & heartache // So I wake

I remain, here - recalling those pure and perfect hours.
I am darker, but kinder,
too. I have opened to the oceans, put to rest those purple stems upraised & eager to perpetuate their own naive nature

(toss/turn/undulate spasmodically when confronted by a cause, or blaze ! who is repulsed by any lack of confidence - any lie in heart - any failure in answering those pine & prime riddles which hide beneath damp soil or within traditions that may have always had the answers - of which I still, and likely cannot ever which no one can - such is the point of the thing)

Perhaps the Chapel Perilous and
The Farther are at once the same place. A trial - A Paradise
the rippling light in water balanced by a sea of smoke - the peace of slowly drowning in sacred bodies


Folds, fangs - primordial Velvet
swiftness & delirium - impressions of Saturn tarnish your lips - a desk stutters - a black clock howls - the softness of this state is now stone in somber awareness

...Faraway the Holy Mountain
contemplates alone and conjoined at once - in a terror that is also transfiguring - a terror only possible with great distance and height  - say on an Airplane; taller now than the quivering Mountain - yet sensing its entire weight crack against the sky like music displaces rain and love shudders memory


Night Palace / Mercurial infinite of black-ribbon silk returning, the bindings of a separate cosmology - tethered within our own, a Prima Materia - disheveling the womb of our decadent casket Mother - the clawmarks we left behind us ! an opening to all others - a gate of gates - simultaneity, Ivory / Blood

God's humble gardener
prepares for Empyrean, I will see to my own consecration !

Bring me Spring ! bring me fire ! the lodge
hidden in wood unshaken ! make me myself
as poignantly and sincerely as others can be themselves.

Paused on graceful Magicians passing by, hideaways, climates doused in hungry fog. Collecting mementos, offerings to the realm of chaos - and timid projections dancing beneath the New Moon - An Animistic supper for fresh senses & sweetness, youthful flesh in mist - Earthly appetites so easily satisfied


Awareness of the fire is power !
Stumbling upon Dollhouse Heavens / where
candelabrum multitudes are brightly eclipsed by exits (to another space?)
another state of being, present music is filled in the lobby with fluttering which clears one's head like turning over mirrors

Poetry here is mitigated by tides -

repetitions // one harmony after the next whistling tree to tree //
birds of lulled imagination pacified and meditating cooperatively yet individual // fixedly watching out for tension points, freedom fissures in the clouds // Morning breaks cradles and makes students
of magisterial ladders // appearing....disappearing // opportunities to grasp or release

(pan-flute & drum of wave }}}
textures flattering Fire
Makers - plea with the shining godhead
Morning, who makes right the wrongs of your thoughts,
as nothing can be hidden in the omniscient eye of the Sun
while you wash in hotsprings waiting for adulthood
unhidden, naked, and clean)


While I meditate, it's often
I will sense a stranger's face there with me, without a body -
beside my own. Observing - what?

silence? the easing away of flames? silver
cold fills the room in secrecy again - we are at last
for this moment - equal forms - silky & caught between
a deafening trumpet call -
for those lost wandering Eidolic strands of consciousness - which, at varying speeds and distances - find their way thru the fog
and towards

A Center
Eleanor Rigby Nov 2016
I have dreams that I once was
A free majestic albino peacock,
Jewellery trapped under a rock.
I have dreams that I never was.

I have dreams  that I once was
An old tree covered in snow,
Winds that took an eastern blow.
I have dreams that I never was.

I have dreams that I once was
A poor little drowning fish,
A silver ring left to tarnish.
I have dreams that I never was.

I have dreams that I once was
A lot of things and one thing,
But I never was anything.
I have dreams that I once was.

Canaan Massie Dec 2012
I'm alone in a crowded room.
I hear the faint sound of music.
But I pay no interest.
I have to find something to steal my sobriety.

I see hatred in the eyes of judgement.
And temptation is drunken,
Therefore becoming,
More seductive by the second.

A love rusted over,
And a damsel in distress,
Trying to tarnish the lamp,
But the genie refuses freedom.

And the genie feels no remorse,
For refusing to grant a wish,
From a removed stranger.
Because his refusal is in good faith.
Allison Owens Mar 2010

So hard not to just
leap, To scream, to
Slow, calm down
Obsession overwhelming
And all I do is
Think of thinking of you

Inside my mind, screaming for it
Down on bended knee
Just begging for

Slow, calm down

It’s not love till
You’ve killed my dreams

Till you’ve learned
Not to Breathe

Just breathe,

©2005-2010 Allison Owens
Bobbie McCord Dec 2013
Do you see that oil spill?
that never stops and seems to fill
and tarnish the beautiful calm,
that realm of water...
the spill isn't stopping, no, no, no
How far up will the numbers go?
Nothing seems to help, the fish are slaughtered,
brought to die from human hands and their mistakes,
****** into the aquatic band
that is tainted by that reddish murky goo.
The animals hide with fear,
for they, only they, can softly hear,
the crying songs of the fallen
that tear through the deep blue.
Written for my 8th grade English class -- June 9th, 2010
'Tis time, I think, by Wenlock town
The golden broom should blow;
The hawthorn sprinkled up and down
Should charge the land with snow.

Spring will not wait the loiterer's time
Who keeps so long away;
So others wear the broom and climb
The hedgerows heaped with may.

Oh tarnish late on Wenlock Edge,
Gold that I never see;
Lie long, high snowdrifts in the hedge
That will not shower on me.
John K Trainer Oct 2014
The heart, mired in the thick black sauce
Beats less for love but rapid with deceit
A craggy instrument that lacks the elegance,
Of the newborn

Awakened each day to seek new meat
To ****** upon and ensnare
Her waking and ending thoughts
Seek to tarnish the golden rule

Mrs. Ess, you are a sight to sea, and see, and si
The hair on the hairless, rise to heaven
While those of us in your presence
Seek a shadow to hide and peek not
Mean people.
Kristen Apr 2013
Little unforgivable creature now.
Grime of the Scottsdale mellow.
I never belonged here;
not in this magnificent, foreign place
where they grew;
not in the calm and relaxation
their family, wealth, and happiness offered.
Not me.
Family history: poor and dysfunctional.
Personal background: self-destructive and anxious.
Still I was offered an opportunity
to become someone better,
a step up from the wasteland I knew,
and most importantly,
a new home without memories.
I clung to this safe haven
and hid myself away.
thinking I was clean,
I built walls in my pretty new refuge
to keep the tarnish away.
I wasn't clean then.
I'm not now.
I brought this filth with me,
under my nails and in my clothes,
in my memories and between my toes.
It festered and multiplied,
perfecting this chaos in time.
Now again, I seek escape,
from all these mistakes
that were made along the way,
to any foreign world...
or sanctum without a cage.
I thought I was better than this!
...And yet like a snail,
I have left a trail of slime
all while mistakenly thinking
I was leaving it behind.
i loved you, right

a love unreturned,


but alas, still

stoked by little miners with

hearts of brass their

iron faces grimacing at the task,

little beads of lots of sweat

dripping down their

taut frowns.

so what i meant to say is that

i love you, right,

and it’s a love that still

burns, bright, enough

to bring the boys home but

let’s be honest

it wouldn’t best the sun, but

****, it’s a terrible light,

it throws everything into a soft relief

where pretty, soft voiced sheep say

pretty, soft voiced things like

‘it’s okay to feel this way’

‘i want you to be happy’

‘she sounds amazing’

and other things that normal people

tell me mean that either

i don’t love you

or i’m moving on.

they don’t understand though,

i mean,

i love you, right,

though all that sheep **** makes it

sound as if

i’m waving you off,

smashing the celebratory champagne on your bow,

waving you off into the distance with a lacy hanky,

joyful tears cascading down my powdered cheekbones,

i’m greedy

maybe even,


a disgusting word and

even if i make pacts with myself

to the order of

‘he can do so much better’

‘i am damaged goods’

and other associated half truths

i’d be a liar if i said that

i would kick you out of bed

or even rebuke the slightest of

advances, no i’d take my chances

and i cannot bear it, really

i’d touch you and whatever wholeness

whatever someone else would

parse as clean or pure or holy

wouldn’t disintegrate, no

wouldn’t tarnish, no

would most probably just implode

under the combined pressure

of emotionally-mentally-******-in-the-head-doe

(where the **** do you think the miners got all that coal)

so, yes… wait. no?

i love you, right

but just ignore it

enjoy the lights

please remember them

tell your friends and

cherish them until

they are taken by

death, drink, dementia

but i’m sure your mum,


or television

long ago informed you that

bright lights are detrimental to vision

so think of your future and

forget now

if you’re tempted by how i look at you

remember how

sunburn seems innocuous

until you see your skin

and sunscreen pretty useless

‘til you learn the sun will win

and the best way to avoid

dainty melanoma









and act like you don’t know her.
Father Jul 2018
Um basically that I'm not crazy that she's being rediculous  and selfish and legit tell me I'm right not dismiss it like oh how about we try and work with her even more then what I just sent u and have her make it even more difficult on me u all think it so easy I get off work at 9 no way I could take him to school and my son will want to see his family at my house not just Legoland everyone always thinking of themselves and **** one day I won't be here and then everyone will see how far I was pushed and how hard. I worked and how hard I tried and when that happens itll be too late because I'll be gone u have ur kids u have ur husband Stephen does everyone has someone I legit am all I have so the only kind of love I get to where I feel like I'm needed is my son he's all I have and what keeps me going but Jesus iv been fighting like a maniac for almost 6 years now to keep him in my life and sacrifice my health my happiness my everything just so I can pay child support and try to get him as much as I'm able outa of pure selfishness no one gets it no one trys to get it everyone is focused on everything else to really see what's going on u have no idea how many times I write my good bye letters to everyone but stop when I get to my son because I legit can't and won't and absolutely refuse to leave him alone with that ***** and that selfish family all he has but Jesus dude I'm not super man I get **** from everyone in every direction and constantly get told and made to feel like I'm hated and everything else when I legit do so much for everyone and care so much about everyone and the one thing I have my happiness is my child my son and I never get to even take him for more than a day and I'm dead tired because I work my *** off to distract myself from my ****** existence and misserey I've been thru hell and back my entire life and I'm stronger because of it but no one understands that my laughter my smiles my jokes my comedy is to distract me and everyone else to the reality that I'm on the verge of death the verge of giving up the verge of loosing hope the verge of saying goodbye to the one thing that deserves so much more than I could give my baby boy my hero my heart my soul my everything my pride and joy how happy I was to find out of his creation and ready I was to bring the beautiful blessing to the world into my life how ready I was to be there and watch the miracle of him every step every laugh every tiny amazing miracle of him growing and learning and I've had all the dreams all the hope  to be there and deserved to be there still deserve to be there and missed so much of his life because of a evil hateful selfish heartless demon that manipulated my mind my actions and my heart and took what strength I had and fed on it with pleasure and sick love for destroying my soul I'm living in hell and the demon that is evil has fed clawed and ****** away my will to the point where I'm just a dim light of what I was born to be and have the potential to be the light is almost out and my little savior my baby boy is left with nothing but a shadow a like a belief that his protector didn't care and wasn't there and the demon will feed him nothing but lies and hate and fill him with nothing but hate and  resentment and confusion and anger until his sweet Innocents vanishes and light starts to dim and left to feel all alone this is as deep as it gets do I share this do I send this questions I am left with do I open up and cry for help scream for help problem is I've been screaming for years and I'm trapped so far into the darkness that no one can see or hear the crys the begging and pleading for it to end save me Help me someone but there's no one just me my miracle and the demon trying to devour what's left of my soul and diminish me from existence and tarnish and manifest itself to become the very image of me and my baby boy will look at me as nothing but the very  demon  that left him without a father as the demon feeds him the darkness I left behind the memory of me will be nothing but a random thought that will be covered up by lies and fear and resentment in my child's eyes because the demon is now me in my child's eyes and that's when the demon wins that's when the demon is finally full not after I'm gone but when the last bit of love or light I leave behind is replaced with itself and my baby boy thinks of me as nothing but the very demon that destroyed me then just maybe then the demon will win cause now the demon is my son's mother the only one there and becomes the hero and I become the demon in his eyes I'm lost I'm afraid I'm alone and begging and pleading for it to change to end to stop in the end if hell is for ever and if I'm in hell and it really is for ever then the only thing I'll be wanting or screaming or hoping is for it to end to stop to cease to exist in the end my enemy is not the demon feeding on my soul it's the never ending pain and suffering the forever the continue the hope the urge to keep going in the end my enemy is time and the only way I can stop time is to take my self out of the equation and the light that is left the life the will to live goes out dies disappears and leaves nothing but a void and darkness like it never existed good bye is close and hope is lost my will is gone nothingness is where I'm headed my little miracle is all that keeps the light inside my soul lit the flame is low and I'm affraid that it won't last or make it
Jeremy Bean Oct 2014
I have learned
that unwillingness
to relinquish your past
will only
taint your present
and haunt your future
our fragile human souls
can only carry so much
  some things,
are made for letting go
Shane Jul 2015
So fast we rush into night
And wisdom only gets older
Ones that love you the most
Can give the coldest shoulders
Wore your heart til the rust chipped
So damaged it must get reprimanded
Couldn't stand it
The gravity pulling planets
Galactic destruction
Just a gift from the heavy handed
Enough is enough
The words are venom the sentence tragic
Dissolved into earth
Right next to coffins and broken canvas
A masterpiece
Could have grabbed it but you went for gold
Realized what you could have had as it turned into coal
Fermented undergarments
farmers markets, Targets, turn tarnish!
An angle of self-righteousness moves to left.
a group of cleft palates peel all the way back for the attic
after a thousand years of theft. (Arent you in awe?)
when hairless hands wrap and grab Tef – lon
get on one of the seven horses.
Hercules the matter seems urgent
create morses.
Your Torsos show their bland position
portable valves, three of horse pistons.
so if they want violence, they certainly will achieve.
shout above the crowd and call for former foreigners – roll up sleeves.
in the white and black reality  
we flee once we believe
but perfection is a perspective
the artist is just an elective and a given
we let the world squirm  -
and turn
tighter in silky cob webs
the spider traps and they took laps
‘til the insect bled out
the original name for this was backwards society until i found something that meant more to me. just as an insider sunflower seeds make me **** grain-like sediments and is literally a pain in my *** - but like many of my self destructive tendencies i will not stop abusing them.
Tawana Nov 2018
You should have seen the way she was looking at me she was asking for it with her big smile and the way she flipped her hair, she looked at me and smiled so, obviously, she was asking for it. This is the type of language I have heard from men who have tried to justify their actions.
As though that would change our reactions to how they treat women during interactions.
You know I can’t walk out at night without a chaperone
And when I am at a party I cannot leave my drink alone
I mean my anxiety has become full-blown.
In 2012 1.5 million women in Australia had experienced ****** assault
And with this great number how can you say that it was probably her fault.
You should know that that’s her body not your it’s not for you to look at or to pry
Again, it's hers, not yours so why do I need to clarify?
What kind of messed up world do we live in where a woman speaking her truth has become sin?
She asked for you to stop as you groped her, but you were not listening
The very thought of this in my mind is honestly nothing but sickening.
We sit quietly and watch these men become the leaders of our countries and the judges in our courts. Who because of our ignorance, have still not been caught.
And yet despite the numerous reports, people refuse to connect the dots.
You mean to tell me that these women were asking for it as they lay unconscious as their offender whispered that it would be their little secret.
When will people stop and listen to the cries of these women, they are everywhere and whether you like it or not they do not exist.
They are in the bathrooms of a bar, they are in the same streets we walk every day they are even in the offices we work.
In places which we least expect them to be are where these predators lurk.
Since I was young I always dreamt of what it would be like to be grown
And now in 2018, I realized what it means to be a woman.
It means being safe should be my main concern
It means if a man puts his hands on you he should be pardoned
Because with the way you were dressed clearly, he had no option
And no matter what you say they will only listen to his version
Because your woman and you do not know what you’re talking about not even a fraction.
I have heard the stories of women who gave their confessions, and no one believed them
Because who are they to try and tarnish the names of these men
So, tell me when just when will a woman’s voice will be heard again
But It’s the strength and fortitude of women like Nadia Murad who make me believe
That because of the horrors that have occurred we don’t all have to grieve
There is truly is a chance for us to make some good after all the negative
There is hope for us victim or not we could all write a new narrative
One where a girl wearing a skirt would not be reason enough for her to be hurt
One where a girl can sit at night on public transport with comfort
One where a girl walking home alone would not be a hazard
A world where when it comes to things like these, we have a higher standard
A world where the idea of a man putting his hands on a woman would be absurd.
When people ask us why we fight there are many answers that are in the right.
We fight for the women who lost their lives in the arms of these monsters
We fight for the women who were forced to become young mothers
We fight for the woman who have been silenced and put into corners.
These are the people we fight for whether she’s Muslim, Christian, Sikh or any other religion
Whether she’s Black, White, Mexican or Asian or another ethnicity, we will use our words and story’s as ammunition.
For we know that there is a war to be won
And We will no longer run
So, when we speak of the monsters still standing there will be none,
And for the women who are afraid to speak his name, just know you’re not alone.
sparkjams Oct 2012
'ello little ones with spinning tantrums
join us for roundabout logic with spattering snare drum hits
little is known but all else is shown
greed is implied when famine runs itself dry
feathered hat is also worn quite stylistically

when a painter has it down
when the motions are riveting and somewhat gruesome
the painter laughs heartily with bottom line basics
these basics aren't whatever
they are whenever, correction! excuse me

so don't jump down from your tree yet
so don't tarnish jupiter's rings beforehand
that is saturn in disguise
a method of consumption that is a bit better from time to tick tack

jelly is on my bread tonight
is it off of yours then?
I would count on it if it wasn't my best answer
I would forget without you if I could
but I never do

spinach and sausage mix well
query them further for a hot dog roll with seeds
of the sesame variety
what do you find but bitter taste?
a dessert
inklings of sweetness
and edges of filth
Words, words, words

To numerous

That would stain

Upon a drop

The entire floor

Would tarnish

By some vague disgust

A wilderness of turquoise

Yet live an impulse of

Impatient obligation

To decisive differences

— The End —