"thrillers" poems
Don’t go, hold onto your colour bowl,
never lose your paintbrush,
not even at the twilight.
Someone's smiling on earth.
It can’t hide forever.
Maybe hidden but not far—
could be only behind a lock of hair.
Black is not only black.
Look beyond, it could be all fair.
Gently raised and softly lit
on the moonlight’s field
These forever-calm shady groves,
piled up on the night's pitch-black scene,
are ahead of the curve in silent reading.
Behind these out of the box line-ups
by the middle, the stage composed
for the thrillers that rock and roll
An incense is still burning
the sundown burns down into ashes,
is still breathing, smelling the scent.
Yesterday will revive and comes tomorrow
keep an eye for a moment or two.
Follow the glow, gazing in the night
and slip into the grove
for they are in the know
is a veiled beauty, earth’s silhouette,
drawn down to the moon!
All the starry fireflies on the stardom
love to drop down and join the moths
Around this tucked away silhouette,
charming beauty down the moon.
Only on the earthen ground it grooms!
May 22, 2017
May 22, 2017 at 6:06 PM UTC
Wide open are your arms
the sun is a small paintbrush
every daybreak it draws
exposes you as new as ever!
The surges in the billows
blow out swimming clouds
across the globe.
No they don’t splash out to
the starry thrillers on the sky
they all are a dwarf bunch
draws down to you kind Moon:
Down to earth on the ground
spares the heap for all
for the day for the noon.
Then you are there too
far afar, where is nothing
but you the lotus in bloom
on uncharted water.
Who can describe it better
everyone is lost for words!
Apr 20, 2017
Apr 20, 2017 at 10:11 PM UTC
They came in like a gun blazing
Death and rage in their eyes , gazing
They aimed to **** , **** them all
They don't mind , school or mall
Ending lives, satisfy their deathly hungers
Idolising their holy religious plungers
We name them terrorist , ****** killers
They spill blood just for the thrillers
Success is counted with the lives they ****
Human blood not unlike their own, they spill
Destroying families , the world they stitch
Life is Life and Karma's a *****
Jan 11, 2015
Jan 11, 2015 at 11:35 PM UTC
Walking towards the library
A grandeur box filled with mystery
A mixture of smell of old and new (world)
You can taste the universe at the palm of your hand
I love to be alone in the library
With Pirates and dolphins and in lover’s bliss
I feel the feeling the story gives
(Like) The excitement of horrors, thrillers, and romance gives
This excitement (or feeling) I can’t get anywhere
Only in stacks full of books lined up everywhere
Even when I am not reading anything,
Their company gives me a natural pleasure or high
I can’t describe but imagine
All I know is I am at the company of the Kings
Nov 4, 2012
Nov 4, 2012 at 1:35 AM UTC
the older generation
thinks we're all meth-heads,
ritalin-riddled serial killers,
serious ingesters
of buckets-of-blood thrillers,
they look at me funny
when I sag my pants
look at me funny
when I've got my girl in my arms
and her hands on my zipper
moving slowly
to the biggest dipper, too loud,
they say,
too loud,
too much cursing,
too much blood and gore,
too many games about getting money
and running over grannies to get more;
Ren and Stimpy,
and
Bert and Ernie,
two homos
that need to burn
for their sin,
the world is going
to hell in a handbasket.
Mar 8, 2012
Mar 8, 2012 at 7:40 PM UTC
*throe me
sapiditous
to the heavens
with your
suspense driven
mindfuck
thrillers
blue
bitter-sweet
twists
and
slow teased
bitten
kisses
arcing
me to
stardust*
Nov 16, 2012
Nov 16, 2012 at 4:21 PM UTC
I am not here now.
Not available,
Absent. Not present.
Hijacked,
Held hostage,
Tied up in a tangled web
Of locks and chains.
Trapped,
Houdini like,
In a cage and thrown
Into the turbulent waters
Of my shark infested mind.
****** in by a
Whirlpool of stories,
My thoughts spin
Epic myths,
Fantastical tales,
Dark fantasies and
Cheap thrillers.
Each teasing,
taunting and
goading me
To disconnect,
Shutdown,
To flee from
This moment.
This tender,
Aching moment.
This unashamed longing,
Drenched in the desire
To be penetrated by
Your presence,
To free fall into
The lap of the Beloved.
But you, like me,
Are not here now,
Not available,
Absent. Not present.
May 14, 2018
May 14, 2018 at 3:42 PM UTC
Its annoyance
Anointed
In pessimistic clairvoyance
Its the avoidance
Of the simplistic
And stoical
Components
Its motion
Less
Ness
In oceans
Of lip service
Its ***** potions
For the passionate
Its fake ****
And face lifts
Its abortions
In portions
Of subordinates
As gifts
In gifs
Of gorgeous
Ordinance
Distorted
In tortured
Tapping
Of the dead
Its all the fame
In shoving
The pain
Of loving
In the oven
Of stubborn
Mothers
Blubbering
Under the covers
With other men
Its the omens
Of the oh mans
In roman
Misnomers
Of fortunate
Misfortunes
Torn
From time
Its the mine mine mines
Confined
To their own kind
Pre signed
In old blood
Its consignment killers
Its the drugs
Its timeless thrillers
Its the shrugs
Its the thunder
Plundering
Structures
Rattling out
From under the bed
Its all the thoughts
In our heads
Blaring
The booms
Of the tamed
Its the assumed
The restrained
Its this tomb
Of shame
In doing
The same
Old **** again
And again
Its been
Better
Then again
I grin
When
Cold
Its when i should fold
That i embolden
Its all the No's
Its blankets nose
Its the cut blow
And lack of flow
Its fists and elbows
As opposed
To safety locks
Its ******* flu shots
Its everything
That ****** me off
Its the the stupid robots
And the silly riot cops
Fencing in the famished flocks
Its the *****
And the *****
In plastic boxes
Giving rocks
Off
Without us
Its the gold pots
And stacked stocks
Locked
From us
Its the Rocks
Inside my socks
As they knock
The blocks
Of billy bobs
Bobbling
On the dash
Its the harsh
And its the rash
Its inside the last
Bastion
Of dummassez
passing
Through the
Blast radius.
Alas
Its the mass graves
And the paved pools
Of anyone who knew
Anyone who stood
Its all us fools
As cool kids
Knowing
No show biz
In soul ****
Its in knowing this
And ********
And barking
At the moon
Soon
To swoon
None
I am peaking soon
In looming threat
Of lost concepts
Slipping away
Under the sun
Electing to quit
While im ahead
Way back when
It was fun
Way back when
It mattered
Its a gun
Shooting blather
Blathering
As a bladder
Would
Misanthropic
And misunderstood
A changed topic
Knock on wood
Bye is good
Goodbye
Told you
Its implied
In rite
So
Good
night
Until
next
time
Jan 28, 2013
Jan 28, 2013 at 2:59 AM UTC
Sirens, ballads of anguish are singing, ears are ringing,
Our nightingale is shrieking, and children are clinging.
Our Kalyna is red, but wrapped in blood now, not love,
From the massacres aeroplanes bring from far above.
My uncle, enters the now upside-down house of his,
“Welcome”, with a phoney grin, and wariness he says.
The house holding memories is now clogged rubble,
In the land that shall never greet occupiers or trouble.
His daughter's dreams shattered, for the reverie of filth,
It matters not; the nation of his deserves blood spilth,
We deserve not peace, but the delusions of a hag pass,
May he rest in peace, along with the delusion he has.
My mother may never hear the raindrops fall again;
Missiles seal ears with noise, and the death of men.
The men, women and children, who will lead us all,
Through scorched fields with whispers old and small.
She is a hairdresser, she might braid hair for the fun,
But other mothers, braid the hairs of daughters gone,
They keep them safe under a pillow where they smell,
The warmth of days before the dictator's missiles fell.
Red and black are the only colours they pervaded here,
They wish for our colours to diminish and spring adhere,
But beauty routs the devil of ugliness and his conceit;
Our colours saturate our resistance, painting your defeat.
They shall not sprout in our fields, like poisonous herbs,
They "rescue" us, but the gunshots my brother disturbs,
We did one day exchange our dreams for a pistol facing -
Facing the bear who is destruction, within embracing.
Blood accumulated in heaps on the sleeves of killers,
Like a marvel detested in a chapter of stained thrillers.
But thriller this is not, it is lives of the innocent lost;
He plays chess in reality, after a coin he has tossed.
Mothers, daughters, sons and fathers are everyday slain,
but spring soars today, prevails tomorrow - in Ukraine.
Apr 23, 2022
Apr 23, 2022 at 10:06 AM UTC
When I was younger I wrote of cops and robbers
Killers, chases, drugs and thrillers
One specific story that was my favorite chiller-
Hitting big money houses in a quiet town,
What a young burglar grabbed was something he'd better off not found
A suitcase full of treasures not
What he thought was heavy with cash, commodities
Was weighted with remains of bodies.
Can't risk jail, no, he can't pay his bail
So when the killer came looking
The only thing to do was to cover up his trail.
I never finished the story, writing it was kind of boring.
I was busy drinking and exploring when
One night I met a man, and he was telling me this story
How he was almost caught robbing this old man's home
And of the couple things he gathered, a suitcase was one.
No- it wasn't full of literal bodies
Maybe this time, some actual commodities.
But he sold them soon after, to get money for his drugs and whatever else he revered.
That he introduced to his friends that he turned to cold bodies with his endeavors.
So my story plays out in metaphors and its true that rich old men can be killers too
Like the one in my town with the corpses in the walls
I wondered, if plundered, would the killer turn the burglar into another number
And finish my story for me.
Jan 25, 2016
Jan 25, 2016 at 9:32 PM UTC
I barely sleep
How can I? faces keeps haunting
Whenever I close my eyes, It's like a movie scene
Fairies, ghost, angels and demons
Dramas, thrillers, actions, comedies and fantasies
They're just one blink away
Tell me how to sleep
When a lot of voices enter my head
Some tell me to be good
Some persuade me to do the other way
Even I put my two hands in my ear
Still voices i can hear
Rarely I sleep
Just a nap thanks to those sleeping pills
It helps me show my sleeping skills
But I can't have it daily
I don't want it to be my habbit
Maybe you wonder
Why schizophrenian amnesia not insomia
I don't know the difference of day and night anymore
The scene was so vivid always keeps me awake
Awake that sometimes I don't remember how to sleep
July 3, 2014
Mysterious Aries
Aug 26, 2015
Aug 26, 2015 at 8:10 AM UTC
I take my knowledge from architects, medieval painters and galore.
I walk along the stretch of times, Read the Canterbury Tales from folks of yore.
I've written literature in my own dialect, through the beautiful English language.
I find awe in the act of creation, new etymologies where old writers anguished.
My words: symphonies of the beloved and dead Beethoven; like the arias of Wagner.
I am the high priest, the new catholicicist propogandising as your Cardinal.
I am the spiritual technology, provided to the ailment of what we call society.
I am the new Ghandi, the Dalai Lama deservedly inspiring your piety.
I am the Luciferous angel of life, breathing heaven through the cesspool of Earth.
I am the post-modern Romeo and Juliet, Warhol's 15 minutes of fame and worth.
I am the Alexander Mcqueen, the metaphilosopher of fabric illusions.
I am the lyricist of society, speaking through the castrated eunychs.
I am Stephanie Myer, inspiration of vampiric genius to adolescent impressionables.
I am Jane Austen, author of new age thrillers such as The Secret and Lesbian Misérables
I am the eclipsing of twilight, the post-mortem autopsy of a rotting cadaver.
I am Heath Ledger and Michael Jackson, legends inspiring a race of sleeping pill grabbers.
I am the Blockbuster, the Titanic Avatar, $4.9 Billion to children in poverty.
I am Gangnam Style, 2.5 Billion viewers of the Palestinian Bombings.
I am modern philosophe, the birth giver of Socrates, Plato, Nietzsche, Derrida.
I am Steve Jobs, terrible father, tyrant and billionaire technological reliever.
I am God, the predeccesor and successor of all eternal life.
I am Satan, damnation and strife.
I am Tupac, rapper of gangster warfare. Inspirational to first world degenerates.
I am Oprah, most powerful black woman with white hillbilly aesthetics of Ellen Degeneres.
Thank you, to world's only true Genius.
Hail Kanye West, our one and only revered Yeezus.
May 25, 2016
May 25, 2016 at 4:18 AM UTC
Play off “Where I’m From” written by George Ella Lyon
I am from novels
From thrillers and believers
I am from the roots which keep me grounded
(Deep, Strong
Holding me up right)
I am from the graveyard
A haunting gaze
Whose eyes have seen violence
And tears turned to stone
I am from flashing lights and late nights
From whiskey and cottonmouth
I’m from the runaways
And the poets
From shut up and get out
I’m from please forgive me
With baby, it’ll be okay
And honey he’s better now
I’m from a conventional home
With grilled chicken and extra veggies
From the innocence I have lost
To a monster
The blue eyes I keep shut tight
Under my pillow was a knife
Spilling broken dreams
A sift of faces
To drift beneath my nightmares
I am from these moments—
Snapped before I budded—
Blooming towards the roads ahead
Sep 4, 2013
Sep 4, 2013 at 12:46 AM UTC
from day one people were greedy
evil was needy
all wasn't seeing - being
oneness is leaving now and waking up to the sound from the ground
if love can move mountains
search for the fountain
let yourself allowing to see the truth
everyone's bowing
on their knees praying
work isn't paying
it's not cutting it but it's cutting you
cut it out
let your diagram change to greater
it's the option in this unfunction
when we all sit here frontin'
to the creators
the baby makers
risk takers
may the leaders of blessing have it easy like resting
no testing, let us be de-stressing
talk about the number one killers
talk about the thrillers
the billers
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 3:55 AM UTC
Life is Horror-Comedy
and sometimes Film Noir,
Other genres might be fun,
but it's just not how things are.
Too Unpredictable
for Rom-Coms
But too Mundane for Fantasy
Too much fun for Thrillers and Dramas,
not Badass enough for Action
(but almost enough Shooting Sprees)
Too many Happy Endings
To be a Tragedy
But far from Enough
to be ***********
Life is ***
and Drugs
and Fear
and Love
the Need to Protect
and the Need to Spill Blood
It's Laughter
and Song
and things going Wrong
Hits on your Enemies
Hits from the ****
Hitting on the Opposite ***
Flirting with Danger
Dancing with Death
Life is...
Hatred and Violence
that Long, Awkward Silence
When you work up the Courage
to Deny them Compliance
It is Heaven
and Hell
and Voodoo Love Spells
from the Inception of Cells
to the Old Funeral Bells
There's Madness
and Sadness
and "Thank God! I'm Glad"-ness
Life is Classy
but Savage
Full of Beauty
and Damage.
Life would Honestly
be Worthless without Comedy
We'd never learn
To Rock or Roll
without the Music of the Soul
and though there's too much Torture
in everybody's Story
We must admit
without Horror
Life would be
Pretty
Boring.
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 5:56 PM UTC
i have just had the most wonderful
most thrilling idea
for a new book
a new tale
to resonate across the ages,
a vast rambling epic of a novel
w/a new metaphysics calculated to change
the way we
see
think and
feel
it’s gonna shake up this
crazy little world of ours
(once it’s written)
it’s a Chandleresque echo
of great noir thrillers
w/ just enough Eco
for my intellectual friends
pumped pulp prose
interwoven
interspersed
w/ musings philosophical
about the nature of being
(once it’s written)
i will call it *Black Cats
In Darken’d Rooms*
a reference to a joke i once knew
and w/in my whodunnit frame
my ****** mystery narrative
i shall lead
the exploration
the excavation
of all the big questions still unanswered
in this crazy world
(once it’s written)
it will be a book to change lives
(most importantly, mine)
and lead us
blinking
into a dawn of new Reason
we will enter a new age
a world w/out confusion
blessed by the Truth the book shall hold
(once it’s written)
all the other stories i have started
those tales half-told, those unended dreams,
i will put away
- for now
this is the one story
must be written
must be finished
those old ones just aren’t as important
somehow.
Jun 7, 2011
Jun 7, 2011 at 2:48 AM UTC
Found on Hollywood Boulevard,
these shining stars of the silver screen,
bigger and better than us normal types.
Flint Magnum, Clint Hudson, and
of course we'd be remiss to miss,
the star, Luke "The Gent" Gable.
A modern day Rat Pack were they,
in films, on shows, even on the radio,
they were all over the place, often together.
Flint Magnum was the leading man
of Deadly Picture, the horror classic,
and countless other scream-scenes.
Clint Hudson played the simple man
the every-man in every rom-com
your mind could ever fathom.
But The Gent was the biggest of them,
leading roles in dramas and thrillers,
and comedies, and even chillers.
Oscars and Tony's and even a few Annie's,
won this shining star. Critics adored him,
and the masses wanted to be him.
It can be said with a grain of truth,
that the pack was best when together.
Whenever they met, magic was made.
Their life's epic finally culminated,
in a 4-hour glory, of action and drama,
it won every award, with praise galore.
Fiery Flint and Careful Clint wrote the yarn,
and played their role fitting, while the Gent
directed and led this star-studded affair.
Citizen Kane could hardly compare,
to the grandeur and scope of this tome,
with it, their reputations forever sealed.
Clint, Flint, and the Gent who favored
a fine hat are the finest fellows of our
and maybe any era of film or culture.
Jul 3, 2016
Jul 3, 2016 at 6:54 PM UTC
I have alot of opinions, this particular one I am about to share with you today is a seemingly less popular idea amoung the masses.
Let's take it back to right after the first world war- soldiers coming back from battle were ailed physically, but what drove many of them sadly to the points of insanity and suicide were the things they had witnesses on the battlefield. Scenes of people infected with festering diseases that eventually took their lives, some with arms and legs completely taken off- still walking around in the shock of it all, and most of all- the death, the brains and blood and insides of what used to be living breathing people now splayed out across the landscape or piling up in the trenches. The mere thought of it is absolutely horrific.
Today, we can turn on our various screens and witness the horror in high definition, excruciating detail. Human being desimating human beings. Killing each other for fun, taking another life for fun.
I know I am mostly alone on this, every single man enjoys his brutally violent video games, gore movies and zombie thrillers are the biggest thing right now.
Personally, I feel its disgraceful. A total disrespect for the dead and human dignity. Think of your grandparents, your parents, all of your friends and family. Would you be so excited to see them fall victim in the zombie apocolapse? Already dead, reanimated, rotting corpses of your loved ones attempting to take your life. Would you be so thrilled to have them pinned at gunpoint, because to the shooter- its a game?
This numbed human experience is insane.
I don't believe in it, and I refuse to live by it.
Yes, I have been exposed to blood, guts, gore & war
But I certainly don't absorb it for fun, or as a silly past time.
These are peoples lives.
Feb 8, 2015
Feb 8, 2015 at 11:43 AM UTC
How would you sell a million books,
Here's a verse that's worth a look,
You'd have to have a gimmick,
Something to make readers tick,
Like fantasy and magic,
Or suspense and thrillers,
Or horrors to give us chillers,
You tell me, I'll take a look,
How would you sell a million books?
Dec 23, 2016
Dec 23, 2016 at 10:10 PM UTC
Like smoke through a crowded room,
She seeps between the cracks of life.
Dipping, ducking, dodging them all,
Passing freely to the end of the hall.
Squeezing herself around strangers,
Stroking mammary against others.
Her feet planted in front of the bar,
Hand raised to protest, "she's a star!"
Suddenly she clasps onto the edge,
Gripping with weak force to protest.
"Shots" she calls, never gains a reply,
"Shots over here" not a single sigh.
A quick view of the crowd behind her,
In shock of the horror that surronds.
The hideous approaching themselves,
Must she care little for their health.
The lights flickering to her heart beat,
Like thrillers which build with tempo.
Gasping, what lies created this hole,
Leaving her stripped of all she knows.
The hands swinging by with haste,
She stares out pleading for attention.
Nothing but blank gazes of her body,
Searching for a better man to serve.
Feb 4, 2014
Feb 4, 2014 at 2:43 PM UTC
welcome to hello poetry
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inspiration killers
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welcome to hello poetry
here, you can be duped if you don't pay close attention
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inspiration killers
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welcome to hello poetry
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Aug 21, 2015
Aug 21, 2015 at 7:30 AM UTC
I close my eyes and hope for peace.
Day dreaming of fake angels to save me.
Ready the mind and body for the day,
give into the exhaustion of the soul and stop.
Multitudes of medications to fix the brain
that stays sick no matter the physical exercise.
Prepare the body and mind for the night,
slip into a restless sleep, waking every hour.
Psychological thrillers in my dreams
taking away the peacefulness of sleep.
Wake to alarms screaming through the room
move to coffee and begin again.
Dec 13, 2015
Dec 13, 2015 at 8:05 PM UTC
Lawmen oversee the old day's hanging's,
Exit signs designed only for those who wear worn out tennis shoes,
Conquered,
Overcrowding as if only cattle can fit through!!!!
No salt nor pepper to design creation meals of home,
Fall is near,
Plumbings far to clogged,
Days passeth night,
As night begins to freight!!!
Wolves on the outside trade fur's with ferrel dogs!!!
Clenching of teeth siren off as oven's they bake,
They brew,
Country town folk with rod and ungodly staff they overtaketh and rule!!!!
Crises of all temptation,
Bleeders to readers,
****** deviants get out to put down their own indignations!!!
Desire all thou wilt,
Desiree's,
Empathies,
Chalkers, scoffers , doctors of deaths pill!!!
Read on,
Read on uneducated pillar,
For thy hooks art thy scrolls,
Thy eyeglasses maketh thou gnomes of such readings to bring thou thrillers!!!!!!
Fragrant destiny resistant to all microbial force,
Accusation's humbling,
Sovereignty is a mystery to us mortals!!!!
Dragon's slayed to stature founder's ditches of war dug out of centurion portals,
Wreaking architecture drawn out of mapped whirlpools lies,
Some groweth deathly,
Sweet talkers are refusing to trust their own worried minds!!!!
Black coated tuxedoed hosts delighting their own escapes,
Some window's stay open,
Some stay closed in the fortress,
This inescapable place!!!!!!
Tis,
This human landfill,
Dump,
Waste!!!!
May 25, 2015
May 25, 2015 at 10:06 AM UTC
There is a quilt on the bed in Shea's room,
Pink, red, blue, green, and violet,
Lace and stripes and polka dots,
White pillowcases with crisp corners.
There are books on the shelves, different genres,
Stuffed in sideways and upways and frontways,
old fantasy, thrillers, adventure,
Smudged ink in their yellowed margins.
There are papers on the desk by the wall,
Poems and Post-its and signatures,
Cardstock cut into star-shapes
Journal entries and unfinished sentences.
The closet is empty in Shea's room
Cobwebs and dead ladybugs lie still
A lamp has a cord around its middle
No breeze stirs the air; the curtains are closed.
There should be music in Shea's room.
There are songbooks, yes, but no hum of the heater
No branch scrapes the window outside
When a storm comes, the raindrops fall without rhythm
No longer are things made in Shea's room.
The colors are faded in Shea's room.
They say that there's something in Shea's room
Memories and fragments and pleasant dreams
They say stories came alive and still linger
Seeping through the cracks of the wooden floorboards
Horses graze in green pastures in Shea's room.
But I know what's really in Shea's room.
There's a year's worth of dust coating Shea's room
Not a thing has been touched for months
There's no Shea to be seen in Shea's room
Since she headed for the hills and never came back
There's no life and no soul in Shea's room
Shea's room is an abalone shell
The inner shine scrubbed away by disuse
Only shadows survive in Shea's room.
There is nothing alive in Shea's room.
Just an empty closet
And books
And Post-Its
And ladybugs
And remnants
Jul 13, 2016
Jul 13, 2016 at 6:11 PM UTC
Pitter- Patter-
no more,
just shut up
can't take
nervey nerves
so dumb
no big deal
just feels
out of place
in my face
can't escape
shouldn't
would be a regret
until then
sweats and snips
no relief
not in usual pain killers or thrillers
just thinking far ahead
when everything will be
anxious for another reason.
Aug 20, 2012
Aug 20, 2012 at 9:46 PM UTC