"thieve" poems
dahil wara katapusan an duon san mga mata
mabubuhay akong minamatay
san dating kaaway ko sa lawas na ini
sa lawas na ini naghambog an talawon
pinapagubtik an kaaluhan na nagpapamuda
muda na nagpupukaw saakon gurugab-i
kendi na nagpapahibi
mesias na naghahala-hala
magiging madalas an pagsid-ip niya sa bintana
para laen ko makita an liwanag
malaog siya sa kahon ko
laen para magkawat
kundi dagdagan an pagub-at
makasakat an pagbagsak
siya na ako
masurat tula.
~Written by Melton Balicano
(a bikol dialect)
since these eyes have been weighed down on unending
i shall live while being slain by an old foe in this body
this body where the craven had once boasted
surging chagrins that blaspheme
blasphemy that rouses this corpse in the dark
treats that shed tears
a messiah that taunts.
he shall constantly peep through the window
so that I see no light
he will break in my casket
not to thieve
but to burden further
the downfall shall rise
then he becomes me
penning a poem.
~a translation of Balicano's masterpiece
Glenn Sentes
Mar 6, 2013
Mar 6, 2013 at 7:59 PM UTC
This verse soundscape
is labelled dejected and angry.
Procrastinated
pockets
of
hope deferred
make the heart choke
in a vice-like
pressure cooker
tension filled
with
the cardiac solution called
LIFE
Think about it.
Tasting your own medicine
is
such a bitter pill to swallow.
They say
“Be the change that you want to see”
but
NO CHANGE
I see
on paths traveled
now
&
before
me.
Does this mean
the change I want to see
is
‘no change’
– a Spirit
personified
slowly
dying
yet
living
within you and me?
Think about it.
Tired of a dead lifes' heart attack?
then
SEE THROUGH
the change you want
to be.
On your journey
bitter pills do digest.
USING
the
MEMORY
of that
ill
taste
to heal
&
outlive
the sickness
prevalent in this
human
**RACE
?**
Think about it.
WHAT REALLY IS YOUR HURRY?
S L O W D O W N.
Can't you can see ?
GRAVES'
great joy
is
to
blind & thieve
"your grace"
leaving you
with just enough energy
to
kick the bucket,
while robbing you of understanding
that these
sweet words
origin
from
YOU
to
ME
reflecting
what 20-20
would let you
really see...
**You are Kings & Queens**
Think about it.
We are all connected unilaterally.
Put plainly;
we agree to disagree,
in the midst of the fact that
there can be
no lasting freedom
until there is a weathered
wisdom
of
UNITY.
So(w),
If you see her
hold fast,
relinquish not,
D O N 'T L E T GO!
For
that's the point
when we truly become
LOST SOULS.
© Qwey.ku
Aug 4, 2014
Aug 4, 2014 at 10:44 AM UTC
~~~
for Matt
~~~
*"My suspect credibility upon the rockets of birds,
the soft parts of people,
the oceans’ inevitable, cyclical weeping,*
Who has time for poetry has more time than they deserve"
Breaking Spring by Matt Hart
~~~
your words warp me,
the woven texture of your composition,
Matt,
dumbfounding the sweeping, weeping, instant recognition in
the soft parts' of
Nat,
where credibility
long past being suspected,
simply arrested for statutory dark room
torrented questioning
deserve poetry deserve blessing deserve curse
You Jacob, wrestle with this angel witch curveball!
'tis better to give or receive
this poetry admonishment?
for who knows where the time goes,
when the fix is in,
the addiction itch,
commands and commends,
*feed the poetry *****
write or die*
one fix, one poem,
carousel leads to another,
yet,
with only time to live,
pay the bills
for renting the space you Earth occupy,
no time for illegal
compulsive word blending
the interrogator demands
deserve poetry deserve blessing deserve curse?
*who is your supplier?
who is your time stealer?*
by the ocean, weeping,
you plead innocence,
just ill drivel, needy for expulsion,
deserving of repulsion,
swear repeatedly,
never again, imbibe, scribe
*but the ***** coos in my ear,
reaching beneath
the vulnerable soft tissued skin and cells:
write or die
I thieve your time,
'tis nothing you deserve,
I am Poetry,
just your mistress,
better served*
deserve poetry
deserve blessing
deserve curse
~~~
June 25, 2016
written by the ocean, weeping
Jul 3, 2016
Jul 3, 2016 at 1:25 PM UTC
On Turning her up in her Nest with the Plough
Wee, sleekit, cow’rin’, tim’rous beastie,
O what a panic’s in thy breastie!
Thou need na start awa sae hasty,
Wi’ bickering brattle!
I *** be laith to rin an’ chase thee
Wi’ murd’ring pattle!
I’m truly sorry man’s dominion
Has broken nature’s social union,
An’ justifies that ill opinion
Which makes thee startle
At me, thy poor earth-born companion,
An’ fellow-mortal!
I doubt na, whiles, but thou may thieve;
What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!
A daimen-icker in a thrave
‘S a sma’ request:
I’ll get a blessin’ wi’ the lave,
And never miss’t!
Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin!
Its silly wa’s the win’s are strewin’:
And naething, now, to big a new ane,
O’ foggage green!
An’ bleak December’s winds ensuin’
Baith snell an’ keen!
Thou saw the fields laid bare and waste
An’ weary winter comin’ fast,
An’ cozie here, beneath the blast,
Thou thought to dwell,
Till, crash! the cruel coulter past
Out thro’ thy cell.
That wee bit heap o’ leaves an’ stibble
Has cost thee mony a weary nibble!
Now thou’s turned out, for a’ thy trouble,
But house or hald,
To thole the winter’s sleety dribble
An’ cranreuch cauld!
But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane
In proving foresight may be vain:
The best laid schemes o’ mice an’ men
Gang aft a-gley,
An’ lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain,
For promised joy.
Still thou art blest, compared wi’ me!
The present only toucheth thee:
But, oh! I backward cast my e’e
On prospects drear!
An’ forward, tho’ I canna see,
I guess an’ fear!
3.8k
We lie amidst Ripe mountain herbs,
The nightingale has just begun its summer trill,
This hymn for golden vocal cords
Composed no owner of a writing quill
So sweet were melodies produced
That I mistook the front row lady’s cheap perfume
For blossoms, above which haunting hornets mused;
For an aroma of our Shakespeare love in bloom.
The serenading cardboard creatures –
Those thieve their voice from birds with no address.
Meanwhile a glass raised in a playhouse features
But colored water, as red as gipsy’s dress.
When the last spectator goes,
Having not found at least one genuine sun,
As actors, we recede into descending roles;
Electric blood in lamps’ capillaries feels numb.
A lovely ladybug, I doubt, I will ever catch,
A lifelike flower, dipped in a painting fusion:
All this, fine artists tenderly attach
To lifeless decorations, for aid they do us in a willful staged illusion.
Three burnt sienna pearls run down your spine
Yet after a big round of applause
These jewels are no longer signs of the divine,
But witches’ marks or, rather, unalluring flaws.
After the play I went to buy a notebook from my shopping list
To store the overgrowing verses, such as these;
A sheet of paper guarantees
To treat them like extinguishing bees
Cashiers ****** the change into my hand,
You purchased hothouse roses with;
And up those pretty useless beauties stand
In someone’s vase, whose name remains a myth.
They give me back those polished dimes
You traded for a pair of shoes.
I’ve seen you marshal through onstage lifetimes,
Yet to disclose personas’ traces the theater walls refuse.
Your chocolate hair has just fallen from the hairdresser’s hand,–
That’s how I know the summer’s coming to a bitter end.
Apr 6, 2019
Apr 6, 2019 at 7:02 PM UTC
It´s your time and love I want to thieve,
Will you promise not to leave?
Even if it is just brief,
I´ll always be the one to grieve.
Why bother with promises we can´t keep?
Sep 23, 2025
Sep 23, 2025 at 3:36 PM UTC
I took ten random words from a dictionary and used each of them in a line, in the direct order I chose them. All the words acquired, start with a capital letter. I want to hear others attempts! Give it a try, and list your title in the comments! :) Enjoy!
an Agricultural paradise, we control mother nature's life
Overmaster's of her laws, her reigns we hold precise
our Alimentative elixirs? From her womb we choose to thieve
her Hems we tear and take our share
a Ghostly life to lead
her Briny tears an ocean
she's still Endearing and motherly
yet we treat her like a ***** Bathhouse
pure Artificial stupidity
i truly pray for her Ascension from humanity.
Dec 24, 2014
Dec 24, 2014 at 8:27 AM UTC
Poor, hapless souls! at whom we stand aghast,
As at invading armies sweeping by —
As strange to haggard face and desperate cry —
Did we not know the worm must turn at last?
Poor, hungry men, with hungry children cast
Upon the wintry streets to thieve or die —
Suffering your wants and woes so silently -
Patient so long — is all your patience past?
Are there no ears to hear this warning call?
Are there no eyes to see this portent dread?
Must brute force rise and social order fall,
Ere these starved millions can be clothed and fed?
Justice be judge. Let future history say
Which are the greatest criminals to- day.
2.7k
I think of karma of a mental parasite rather than a celestial courthouse. Yea I mean they'll get what's coming to them but this "mental parasite" is so much worse. It's a mental parasite as in the way you've done something you now believe everyone is capable of that. The way a thieve thinks everyone is a thieve. Its something that plagues the mind, makes one weary of others.
(Expand at a later time)
Dec 4, 2013
Dec 4, 2013 at 1:14 AM UTC
This spiteful poem has no title.
That doesn't mean it's not entitled to a title
it just means, it hasn't got one.
It's not in any way vital to title
a poem is it?
Without a title, would a rival thieve
the poem?
Without a title, it means there is no
subject matter. Does that matter?
I guess at a recital a title helps,
it introduces the poem to an audience.
Let's face it, the poem is not going to get
suicidal if I don't give it a title!
It's not going to go all homicidal, suicidal,
or self harm.
Will it sue me for libel?
Am I being frightful?
I think it's delightful that this poem
has no title.
Maybe, what I should have titled this poem, was
"Poet being idle".
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 4:33 PM UTC
I was born in the "island of thieves",
but moved to "the city of dreams".
I started to learn to believe anything could be,
then I grew up and realized that the "island of thieves" is nothing but the ones who couldn't believe, who couldn't achieve.
They were thieves because they stole the dreams of another.
The ones who made it to the top, who never stopped.
They borrowed the hopes to one day not be a thieve, but to be a king.
-D.
Jul 12, 2013
Jul 12, 2013 at 1:28 AM UTC
Wee, sleekit, cow'rin, tim'rous beastie,
O, what a panic's in thy breastie!
Thou need na start awa sae hasty,
Wi' bickering brattle!
I *** be laith to rin an' chase thee,
Wi' murd'ring pattle!
I'm truly sorry man's dominion,
Has broken nature's social union,
An' justifies that ill opinion,
Which makes thee startle
At me, thy poor, earth-born companion,
An' fellow-mortal!
I doubt na, whiles, but thou may thieve;
What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!
A daimen icker in a thrave
'S a sma' request;
I'll get a blessin wi' the lave,
An' never miss't!
Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin!
It's silly wa's the win's are strewin!
An' naething, now, to big a new ane,
O' foggage green!
An' bleak December's winds ensuin,
Baith snell an' keen!
Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste,
An' weary winter comin fast,
An' cozie here, beneath the blast,
Thou thought to dwell -
Till crash! the cruel coulter past
Out thro' thy cell.
That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble,
Has cost thee mony a weary nibble!
Now thou's turn'd out, for a' thy trouble,
But house or hald,
To thole the winter's sleety dribble,
An' cranreuch cauld!
But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane,
In proving foresight may be vain;
The best-laid schemes o' mice an 'men
Gang aft agley,
An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain,
For promis'd joy!
Still thou art blest, compar'd wi' me
The present only toucheth thee:
But, Och! I backward cast my e'e.
On prospects drear!
An' forward, tho' I canna see,
I guess an' fear!
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 12:34 PM UTC
(On her canvas, brushes will cross;
he, the art of loving the loss)
At the break of her ego's regard,
invite insight --in slight, reveal
a glimpse of past, the skin of real:
the scarred survivor turned cautious bard.
Let her wonder, let her ask,
then let her outline your mask.
Let her hands combat the task
of pains that guard passion's cask
as her reach exposes chest,
thieve her strength, become her nest.
Be the moon, she: the sun,
chase the path of day and night,
****** duel outright:
bite her bullets, strip the gun.
And when your cask has been unsealed
feign fear, hesitate --be revealed.
Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 3:38 AM UTC
Fame and fortune
Wall Street in wealthy being the name
Mansions, clothes and vacation hot spots
Living large and remaining at the top
Life was sweet and filled with promise
Stocks were up 100 percent
Financial Advisors keep careful analysis in where investments go
The accountants keep track of the business transactions flow
It’s where all investments went
But continuing living the life seemingly like Heaven sent
But something went terribly wrong
The Rich man’s health made a negative turn
The investments were seeing anymore earn
The Financial advisor began to steal
This thieve was for real
Suddenly stocks stumbled on down
From riches to rags heading for devastation bound
The Rich man was shocked and couldn’t make a sound
All he could was cry
He no longer wanted to continue to try
Efforts no longer existed
The Rich man was down to being a poor man
Trapped in an uncertain caravan
A Rich man being in a poor man’s sleuth
But what was the former Rich man supposed to do?
Keep living but having a purpose and a vision to pursue.
Mar 15, 2016
Mar 15, 2016 at 7:37 PM UTC
Oh see how thick the goldcup flowers
Are lying in field and lane,
With dandelions to tell the hours
That never are told again.
Oh may I squire you round the meads
And pick you posies gay?
--'Twill do no harm to take my arm.
"You may, young man, you may."
Ah, spring was sent for lass and lad,
'Tis now the blood runs gold,
And man and maid had best be glad
Before the world is old.
What flowers to-day may flower to-morrow,
But never as good as new.
--Suppose I wound my arm right round--
"'Tis true, young man, 'tis true."
Some lads there are, 'tis shame to say,
That only court to thieve,
And once they bear the bloom away
'Tis little enough they leave.
Then keep your heart for men like me
And safe from trustless chaps.
My love is true and all for you.
"Perhaps, young man, perhaps."
Oh, look in my eyes then, can you doubt?
--Why, 'tis a mile from town.
How green the grass is all about!
We might as well sit down.
--Ah, life, what it is but a flower?
Why must true lovers sigh?
Be kind, have pity, my own, my pretty,--
"Good-bye, young man, good-bye."
1.9k
Contain the wind and darken the Sun
Dim the stars and let Havoc run.
Let Havoc run the world once glad
And thieve the joy that we once had.
Let Summers scorch the dying soot
And Autumns grow darker than the dirt under foot.
Let Winters cover the dead with fierce cold
And let Spring's regeneration never be told.
Harken pain and mourn the slain.
Let cries fill the skies and drive thee insane.
Never smile lest it be brightly seen
And thou be known as Evil's Unforeseen.
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 1:38 PM UTC
a pretty face and she’s little waisted
a pretty place and a little wasted
tumble and tip into submission
stumble and slip into position
set all sweating systems to go
as emotions among other things grow
I’ll love you like you won’t believe
you’re the merchant and I’m the thieve
I’ve got a trick slid up inside this sleeve
trust me darling, I will not deceive
that’s just the way the story goes
when we remove our whorey clothes
and get right down unto the bone
the nitty gritty, the solid as stone
I want to get down to the heart of you
I want to feel every last part of you
I’ll love you like you won’t believe
you’re the merchant and I’m the thieve
I’ve got a trick slid up inside this sleeve
trust me darling, I will not deceive
I will not deceive, please believe
I will not deceive, you best believe
as long as we can receive and relieve
as long as we interweave every eve
darling I would never, could never leave
I will not deceive, I will not deceive
I’ll love you like you won’t believe
you’re the merchant and I’m the thieve
I’ve got a trick slid up inside this sleeve
trust me darling, I will not deceive
Sep 11, 2010
Sep 11, 2010 at 5:40 PM UTC
Not a word has been spoken since that night.
The night where words ran wild, and no one saw the light.
My heart is breaking from the people who leave.
My heart was stolen by night's terrible thieve.
The secrets and lies that people deny.
The heart and pain that is dying in time.
The blood that is streaking across the skin.
The razor can't stop digging in.
Words of hate leave ink on your bones.
Wanting no more to pick up the stones.
I wait for death to take me home.
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 10:31 AM UTC
There was a Danish girl I knew before
A little girl who was unusual
The last time saw her I in local store
Or maybe I was just delusional
She always carried matches up her sleeve
And liked to set the fire to her stuff
The total strangers called her little thieve
And claimed she was supposed to be in cuff
Somebody said she went away abroad
To meet her mother who was working there
They heard she has been holding lightning rod
And waiting for the storm with humid hair
They said she went mad and burst into flames
She couldn’t handle things and gave it in
She was a fairytale, somebody claims
But fairytales like that just make me grin
Apr 3, 2018
Apr 3, 2018 at 4:12 AM UTC
these are our leaders: ash-born, clay-footed,
emerging in the fudge grays of beyond light,
shadows of the incense plumes
we light in prayer
long washed ashore here from yonder worlds
of darkness and mystery
by a wand wave thieve-made,
exiled our kings to the far realms, alien
then this self-lost band
of otherworldly priests, effeminate
our smiths and weavers, liars
our bards that sung of heroes
and conniving crooks our tradesmen
no we are not to prosper in common
with our kinsmen across the hills
but in the name of God, amen,
say peace to the holy ghosts,
rises deified a language and a nation
so we break the idols of the past
and garland our heroes of reason
clay-footed they come,
and die drowning without an heir
alpha and omega
of our rootless world,
Feb 11, 2017
Feb 11, 2017 at 1:05 PM UTC
we had to **** many animals. my father, every month, cursed a pig its lack of horns and cursed the out-of-town buying of dogs. I took my sister once into the basement. I blindfolded her with a black sock and told her careful there’s a pin in your hand. mother would come from that basement pulling at her shirt and I’d nip it at the neckhole with my teeth and I could feel each nerve around them firing. the whole of our ordeal was indeed terrible but people would talk as if they knew what they’d do or knew what they’d not. talk as if they’d know it if they saw. it come up for awhile and tried to live with us and I can’t say it wasn’t nice having something to put your finger on that wouldn’t thieve your sins. I fed to it lemonheads and it seemed happy but even I admit one can overdo it on the lemonheads. it was father made it go back in the basement because he’d tired of telling people it was his brother and pretty soon his real brother would be coming to visit. was a visit would last the length of his brother’s life but we didn’t know it then. the devil went its own way at some point during my uncle moving in. we were all of us pretty clumsy and it could’ve been the noise we made. I remember being grateful for my uncle’s heart of gold and how he wouldn’t accept our apologies saying it’s just a bunch of stuff I don’t even know I have.
Jul 24, 2012
Jul 24, 2012 at 4:56 PM UTC