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Stephen E Yocum Aug 2018
A steady cadence  
pulsing in a heart beat
like rhythm, voices
and strummed instruments
all in harmonized concert,
An orchestral multitude,
of frogs and crickets,
never tiring or ceasing,

How many must there be,
to render such a cacophony?
Sustained and loud enough
to keep city folk awake.

Nature's Music of the night,
should you but choose to listen.
How do they do that, all night
with absolutely no intermission?

A crescendo finale triggered
only by the coming dawn's
first light, and the boastful
crowing calls of our cocky
persistent red rooster chicken.

Where these musicians go in
daylight is anybody's guess.
To sleep I suspect, deserved
resting up for yet another
night of endless music.
Another value added feature
of living out in the country. Night
voices lulling me to sleep outside
my open window/screen.
Qweyku Nov 2016
Sometimes the rain falls
as if its penning poetry
to the rhythm of its own music;
a sonic tune of liquid tapestry.

Cleft from a sky immersed
in the scene of a tragedy.
It's tears,
the pitter-patter;
a solemn dance
for all humanity.

An ancient jig this fluid frolic
never tiring of its endless cycle
vesting and revisiting this terra firma
like a lover emasculating the earth
of its desert state,
or adding to its oceans
in a bid to be free.

But you’re here again, I’ve noticed
for even through windows
your music plays a clamorous
and rather brazen beat.

Take my hand, why don’t you?

Come.

Dance with me.



**© Qwey.ku
N Dec 2017
People always say that relationships are hard,
but they are not supposed to feel exhausted.
It shouldn't be so self consuming and agonizing.
You put me through this emotionally draining cycle almost every day.
It goes like this:

you get provoked and infuriated,
I push to defend myself,
you argue then neglect me,
I feel at fault and withdrawal myself,
you manipulate and guilt trip me,
I apologize,
you are apologetic yet unlawfully canny,
I build you back up.

After the cycle,
You are left feeling complete yet
I am left with an ample void.
After the cycle,
your integrity, contentment, and overall mind set,
are surely enhanced and amplified
I am left with an everlasting void
that expands through every small dispute

you guilt trip me after every single fight,
saying you aren't worthy of me,
that you aren't good enough.
I can't let you think that,
so I fix your thoughts.
It's so tiring.

I'm trapped.

I care about you, so how could I leave.
But even if i wanted to, I couldn't
there are barriers.

your friends would hate me,
your sister would dislike me.
your bestfriend yet also my bestfriend, would leave me.

I cant risk these things.

I feel trapped.

But i love you,
so its okay.

right?
Carter Ginter Jan 2014
At this moment i feel the whole world caving around me,
Everything is closing in on my mind,
As i face memories of times passed
That are never to return.
It seemed easy then, but, looking back, we should have stayed those extra minutes,
Not been so quick to get home again.
Because now home is hard to face,
And it gets more tiring every day,
Trying to sit here and pretend that everything is alright,
That it's not a fight with time.
But the only ease is in the past,
Yet in those moments we felt no such thing.
I guess there's no winning anymore;
Time takes us all.
Bryan Lunsford Sep 2018
When my heart breaks I weep as I'll weep for days,
With weeks that'll go by without any sleep I'll stay wide awake,
Where I'll wait here in the same old tiring place,
(With nothing besides this woman on my brain)
And I'll pray the nights away as I hope in our next life I find a way--
To make sure she never again goes astray,
As the blinds are closed, I'll lie here and watch another passing day,
With only the lords that knows--for her, I'll wait my whole life away
Gone Lifting Oct 26
The wine of your lips
Blackness of eyes
Curvature of hips
Within softness of thighs

The warmth of embrace
The breath of your love
Your humor and grace
The touch of your skin
Below or above

Never tiring of you
Never ending of the love
Your due
This was written for my woman who is no more.  I wanted to put down some memories of her.
Honesty the lost art/
  Honesty is rare
it should cost a lot/
  It would be sublime if
We could find it/
  Honestly, honesty is the best policy/
We should treasure the
thought cherished engulfed/
  combined with
Loyalty
  till death do us part/
I yurn
The lies tiring
  like ones sleepy
lay down Suffocating to a corpse/
  Thought is boss
employ by it
  We're all guilty I guess/
Liar liar in court
  A sentient being-ness/
Troth be told
  I can't believe in this/
Question,
  Am I the only one seeing this?/
Or only me blind and ain't            Seeing ****/
  I try and **** it out
its epidemic, Chronic/
The remedy Poetry Hop
   Visual Sonnets/
**** naked in
  My correspondence/
Articulating articles
  Waiting for responses/
Is it a defense mechanism
  Of the conscious/
Honesty? Honestly/
  Seems like everyone's
Not doing it so its gotta BE/
  Non honesty
The ever lasting Prophecy/
  And were full filling it
The good succumbs
  To the villainous/
My willingness/
  To compromise my will
I guess/
  You could interpret as weak/
Most realize
the Inside scoop
  Yet everyone tells lies
non interested in truth/
  Me, a victim and a suspect
An on going cycle yet/
  I ask what's next/
as if I didn't know
   Where the L lies underlying Facts can't grow/
  HonestLy, we all lose an L to Honesty!
Lawren Jun 2013
A calm and cool breeze
Passes through the leaves of the trees,
Persuading the branches to sway,
Like algae in a turbulent sea.
Without a cloud in the pale blue Arizona sky,
The sun radiates down-- hot and glaring.
It reflects off the shiny paint of the cars around me,
Illuminates the brown mountains in the distance.
And magnified through the thick lenses of my glasses,
It blinds my sensitive eyes.
The surrounding sempiternal desert
Is so clear and sharp,
That no one nor nothing can hide
(With the exception of the beings who can blend,
And despite my tiring efforts,
I am not one of them.)
The nearest Creosote bush
Eminates of the smell of water,
As it passes through a hose.
I am instantly transported back home
Where sand is replaced by grass and plants
That require regular watering to survive.
When I close my eyes I can see
The illusion of a waterfall, created by the uncoiling hose
As it ejects tepid water for us to traverse.
But upon unveiling my windows,
I allow the sandy landscape to penetrate into my soul
And I am brought back to the present
Where life subsists, illogically,
Through a dearth of water, and inordinate sun.
Chris Slade Jan 22
Don't be frightened if you hear me at the door...or even if you think you see me at the window. Pretend it's a trick of the light...or another one of those bumps in the night.
The spirit is strong and, I'm finding, quite playful in its first few days, weeks, maybe months... whilst waiting for another 'mission'. You know...finding my feet - or maybe wings?

But I'm not likely to phone. E-mailing was not my thing! And texting? You’re kidding! I was not a big fan!. All that predictive stuff...If you’re too quick it ends up nonsense...all wrong...not for me.
But I will be sending messages through the wind in the trees or maybe the surf on the rocks and sand. Wherever we walked together listen out for me there. I've always felt that I'd be able to do that.
You know...whilst finding my feet - or will it be wings?

And always, from now on...help spiders out with a glass and a card...
take care not to squash their legs. You never know what happens next. And, anyway, another time, but long ahead I hope, it could be you. Although, I always fancied I would come back a human - like this last time round.

Being me was good. And they say, ...you know...out there...
that you go back to a time when you were at your best.
For me that means being younger, fitter - So, a wander on a sun warmed or breezy beach. A Salsa dance, or this Zumba lark...or doing a painting. I liked that...
But definitely...fit...Before IT... You know...I’m looking forward to finding my feet, my wings.

So...you may see me - out in a crowd, or walking along a country lane, incongruously between villages.
I'm already working at appearing for longer and for being more than just a familiar, fleeting, scent or smell. Until I get the calling to make a full life of it again...I'll maybe pop in and out of your life (to let you know I can) ...just in an incidental, experimental kind of way; but then only from time to time.
It's quite tiring...You know...finding your feet...your wings.
I first wrote this after my Dad passed on and there were some experiences that were difficult to explain which gave me comfort to know that he was OK... on the other side. Pathetic? I can understand why people would think that.
PC classic Jan 2017
Of course there are lies you keep telling yourself but how else will you keep
the bones fierce and electric
as sombre reality tries to swallow you whole
the usual dragging of the usual yourself back home
the killing of cockroaches with rolled up old notebooks
the same old bars and aimless conversations
the slow realisation that love or no love are two sides of the same torment.
We go to the lake and listen to the madness of the mosquitoes as they get drunk on human sorrow.
We keep searching for that part of the brain where the right words hang
because after a while it just gets tiring trying to hurt people.
Anger is a faded dice held by a blind man.
Maybe life will always be about thinking twice from now on
locate the words that help you or me or anyone
aim and blast
keep on going even when there is no kindness waiting for you behind closed doors

soldier on
as long as life flows red
Lizzy May 2015
I'm toxic,
And you're too close.
You're closing in,
On a dangerous thing.
Bring a shield,
Or some protective gear,
Because my radiation
Has a radius of countless miles.

You're diving in,
To the deepest parts of me.
And I'm scared you'll leave.
Everyone runs,
When they see that I'm ****** up.
But I'm hoping you'll stay,
If only for just one more day.

You've heard the distant shots
Of war.
But I'm hesitant
To show you my wounds.
The scars I collected,
They're a terrible sight.
But I'm addicted to war,
Like a traumatically stressed warrior.

To be scared,
It keeps me alive.
To fear my own mind.
To worry I might die.
This is how I survive.
What a way to live,
On the edge of falling words.

But I need to feel the burn,
The stinging sensation.
Keeping quiet,
Keeps me busy.
Fire keeps me on my feet.
Running in circles,
The tiring race
Is better than defeat.
Nat Lipstadt Apr 2016
~
words given life's first breath by this comment from
SE Reimer  
"thy tiller has found a storied port"

~~

captain of a city street ferry,
upon the choppy holy waters of
scarlet fevered spotted gum stained
christened concrete streets

daylight guided by the starlight
of quartz sparklers sidewalk embedded,
resurrecting, overwhelming,
the grayness of men's mortared materialism,
these textured bright city lights,
from murk morn steam-pipe risen,
signposts of a city boys life,
navigation tools on his
steerage cruises

'tis only my poor torso
I captain,
my bus driving days retired,
single masted, obedient to the sun's paths plotted
on a personalized AAA TripTik,^
my cargo, my tiring physique,
the refined mettle product of a
sixty five year too short voyage of
deep diving mining defining,
and for surety, water divining

city walking life driving,
debtor-in-possession of a
city infection
of perpetual motion sickness

enabled inability
for standing stilled,
lane weaving,
people receiving and perceiving
as buoyed obstacle objects
to be passed by
in a higher lane
of shaken and stirred
city waterways

muscle's squeak in sonnet speak

Why speed thy errant boots
upon lanes of wandering men,
is there not time enough,
words suffice,
in history's future present
unlived long life,
to recompense
all your recorded stanzas,
mariner's tales and wrote recitations of seafaring voices?

sea nat run.
sea nat go.

dodging tween his fellow citified citizens
and the puzzled and puzzling drowning tourists,
sea nat write his unsecreted visions,
sailing from street to shining street poetry

this glorious grime,
this delicious dirt,
stuff of my blood,
genes of my children's children inheritance,
of thee I sing,
in thee I revel,
of thee I am composed

when my decomposing time scheduled arrival
lately comes on time,
bury me in its cemetery of memories,
within the soft earth of a watery grave
that the jackhammers drill bit paddles can uncover,
in rough canvas toss my worn smooth
failed frame overboard,
so I may become but one more
fable
in your fabulous liquefying
cement oceans

~~~

3:53 am
5/18/16
nyc

^
http://pearlsoftravelwisdom.boardingarea.com/2014/01/remember-triptix/
with apologies to all the great poets from  I liberally borrowed
patty m Aug 2015
Emitting deep sighs old things fall apart

around me.

The roof leaks

leaving in pin ****** of light,

reminding me of the overgrowth

encroaching.  

Rickety table

slanting against the weight of my books

even the lamp seems to dim

against tired eyes.

.  

Love can be tiring,

a mountain of work;  

pleasing everyone usually means

you've given in

or had to bite the bullet.

Perhaps one day I'll be relegated to a museum,

titled the mindset of a previous generation.

I remember seeing the Neanderthals and shaking my head.

Is that how they'll see ME?

Words, how they stir me

a lost art,

buckling the flooring

only to be sanded away along with my emotions..  

Years of complacency

have softened my resolve,

now as I condense my belongings to fit inside

a shared house

I see photos of people no one after me will know or love

and my tiny self posing dynamically, hands on hip

the future sparkling in my eyes

before life smacked me down.

Now heavy rains seep into the living room

leaving me perched on circumstances

with an urgency stirring within,

the need to write.
nadine Dec 2017
in the middle of the vast calm sea someone threw a bottle with people locked in there instead of a letter. the sea was in chaos after the bottle came. but crashing waves wavered no bottle, storms broke no tiny vessel. rather than calling it tough, the bottle fought because it was scared. no more.
escape. don't we all just want to escape from the bottle-
the suffocating bottle where you meet various people with different personalities, we never realize but we sometimes try to please.
win. don't we all just want to win the battle - the tiring battle between what kind of person you really are
a beautiful rose with thorns
from what kind of person you try to be
the circular puzzle piece for a rectangle-shaped puzzle quiz.
don't we all just wanna ruin our bottle and be who we are -stunning, unique, mysterious or what your personality is in the calm sea where you can be free
break free
this has been
nadine x
Julia Oct 2018
forever is a long time












to wait
for someone
and he waited








for me
for 9 years
until
9 tears
spilled
  d
      o
  w
      n
   his face
   a trace
   of              
         d       n       e
   a                           s
s                                 s

o       l       t       f
n       i       h      r
         n      a      o
t        e      t       m
h       s              
e               r       h
                 a       i
                 n       s


E      E
Y      S
    t
    o
    h
     i
     s
t          s
   o   e

nobody knows
how far this goes
how      o                     n
        o        o           o         g
     l                   o                  she strolls
without (whoa)s

each pebble places puzzles
pedaling peddlers play in puddles

triplet
        o
      twin
        e            tu
   ­     r              mb
        s            le

rumble mumble bumble
                        


                       GO AWAY
                             stay okay

my tires are all tiring
my spark plug is misfiring
my wires need rewiring
my modem is requiring
the answers i’m inquiring
why are we all conspiring
an interweb inspiring
an instant gram empire ring













my Angel waits on HI
                                   BI
If I replaced all the time I spent on social media with hello poetry engagement, I would probably be a lot happier.
as tiring as this day was,
it got better when you asked me how it was
Umi Jun 2018
The sun was shining,
Pitch black, sending out rays of misery in a blinded realm of self hatred, casting a shadow even darker to trail a clear record.
A sun of darkness, made out of despair, casts it's light before the zenith, a day like any other, tiring, exhausting and frustrating.
The phantoms of the past linger around the streets, seemingly not noticing anything, the lack of light nor the constant agony this brings,
Perhaps it was just my sight, which tricked me into seeing everything as it was and thus the others hadn't noticed but a single, little thing.
I hide my truth behind a curtain of both a smile and a fake cheerful mood, put up with the last strengh my worn out fighting spirit has.
Once upon a love, the mornign glow used to be more than a sunrise,
It's brilliance unmatched, almost roaring as it illuminated the atmosphere while we were watching this scene unfold with awe!
This is how it should be, nothing more.
But when I knew the meaning of love you were already gone,
Dragged away by the chains of fate lead by time and left me as the sun was about to set and never truly come back as usual, darling.
You were my light.

~ Umi
Naveen Tiwari Dec 2018
A girl loved a boy
But it was tiring.
He was there sometimes
But then he went hiding.


His mood was like weather
She never knew what to expect.
He was so complicted
She did not know how to connect.


Once she felt he was one step closer
But then She found herself two steps away.
Whatever she went forward with,
She always returned with dismay.


Seeing him happy with other girls,
Made her envy and dim.
She cursed god,
For why she was not the one for him.


He is like a puzzle,
She is dying to solve.
And she wouldn't stop
Even if it requires her to evolve.


He's a prince
But she's not a princess.
Time is very less,
And she's an equal mess.
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