"ungiving" poems
The beast loving the beast he didnt have
sympathy for beauty and the way that beauty should be treated.
Beauty she didnt have the hard core nature of
reality that means the way a beast should be. Beauty and her Beast
The tender love and affection that beauty needed.
Was often ignore rejected and neglected.
from the beast.
The same way, that beauty wasnt able to
saddle the hard core meaness
and the rocky foundation.
That the beast was used to. To accept him being what he is.
Unloving uncaring ungiving.
because he is better known as this beast.
Beauty and her Beast.
Beauty would often be torn ravished and taken for granted.
While the beast would often feast on the tender meat.
Of Beauty! Ravishing and seeking, beastly taking.
Barely ever having anything descent to be giving.
No kindness no loving ways, no maturity.
Because the beast didnt even love himself.
This beast he be!
Sometimes as beauty would be recovering
she'd reach for him in his rocky
hard core places and it would leave her torn.
In tragedy torn ripped places because Beauty.
Needs peace beauty needs sweet relief.
That couldnt be provided.
By a ravishing Beast.
Beasty and her beast.
The way he seeks,, the way he treats the way he harms.
The way he rings alarms.
Beauty would sigh love me! The Beast would say Hate me.
Hate me I am Beast!
My Features are beast My ways are Beast.
My Heart is beasty. For I remember am Beast.
Beauty would cry Love me, desire me, want me,
Cherish Me, feed me nourish me.
comfort me, cradle me.
For I am beauty and I seek love and maturity.
I am Beauty. Do Not Devour me.
But nourish me and treat me kindly
And Know that I am beauty.
I seek sweet sleep sweet deliverance
For I am Beautiful I need not a Beast!
Don't be beasty let me transform you into my Prince charming
my romantic knight and shinning armor.
can I kiss the beast and he turn into my romantic beast.
By SelinaSharday.. All Rights reseved S.A.M 2018
Apr 5, 2018
Apr 5, 2018 at 11:13 AM UTC
Heart tormented throughout the age
Seeing nothing but destruction
Cruelty the best of the worst
Scarred for life
By a mother's emotional abuse
Never feeling comfortable around men
Afraid of anything more indepth than ***
Finding a nonjudgemental man
Thinking to repairing the past
Unknowingly mimics the mother
Finally swept away off the feet
Married, optimistic of the future
A child born early
New mother now turns the page
Happy as can be
Hormones a woman's curse
Cause heartache and despair
Mixed with the abuse of the past
Trying to over come
Badly, wanting to be good
Years pass by like rain
Flooding the family as it grows
No desire felt, yet in love for sure
Lost, scared
Self preservation reigns high
Sins of the mother passed down
Sharp tongue, quick wit
Cutting deeply through the love
Wants despartely to want, need
Tries to hang on to give not take
Illness prevails
Striking down
Hormones and desire all put aside
Attempts to reach out
Just cannot
You stop trying and give up
It gets worse
Make it stop mommy
Don't leave Daddy
Tear paint the canvas
Have I been so cruel
Ungiving and cold
Cirumstances piling up
Body becoming older
Beggs and pleads to try to fix
Isn't just a cold hearted woman
A beautiful soul inside
Just needs nourishment
Don't turn away
Don't toss tthis lifeaway
Not into the trash
Try harder
Meet a quarter of the way
Whatever you decide
Please Don't turn away
Nov 13, 2010
Nov 13, 2010 at 1:36 AM UTC
filled with shades of yesterday
the river road's thick air labors
in my chest
as the intangable wall of
blind rage
strikes again and again in thoughts
too powerful for wishfull thinking to deny
fists clenched slamming down
on the ungiving pavement gives only
voice to the uselessness of this rage
it has neither reason or goal
it simplly bleeds thru awake mind
it simply breeds like a disease
an infection of the moral soul
with shades of rationalizations
they printed a book
and built a church to their
god of lies
and the misguided truths others hold as
a path of reason
*scape goat to their inadequacy
lambs to the slaughter the fresh recruits
stare in wide eyed wonder at the drawn blades
dont it look like nirvana when what your leaving behind
didnt wear such a sweet smile
some things will never change
they learned that in the great war
they learned that in the feilds of cambodia
the monsters feed and their
lips red with blood
...smile...
death is never frightened
its allways has a smile*
the river road far behind
but its taint lingers
as all evil men will
long after their due date
rotting in plain sight
but nobody can afford to strike the tent
and bury the corpse
after all he was a celebrated smile
he was a devil to dish the news
and loved to lend a helping hand
but only if that hand held a blade
*if i had only closed my eyes
if i had only turned my back
i would not be here today
wither that be a good thing or nay
waits in the wings*
get me out of here
May 2, 2013
May 2, 2013 at 3:58 PM UTC
One moment she feels fine,
The next moment she is lost,
Life promises her happiness,
But at hidden costs.
She's been angry for so long,
That she feels tired and weak,
Her mental strength is crumbling,
As her eyes begin to leak.
She has no explanation,
So to you she gives the blame,
Yet you are only a part,
Of what makes her insane.
One second she is sure of herself,
Only to turn around and face doubt,
Her emotions are swelling inside,
Uncontrollably letting themselves out.
You were able to call her depression,
Despite her ungiving poker face,
She tried to hide the feeling,
That she does not belong in this place.
You suffer the repercussions,
Of her unfulfilled dreams,
She feels regret for not knowing,
Why that always seems.
She tries to achieve better,
But it is mostly all hope,
She is unsure of how,
She will manage to cope.
Aug 16, 2013
Aug 16, 2013 at 11:09 PM UTC
are you at all surprised that i am in love
with your beautiful blue eyes?
it is no surprise that i want to keep them
in my pocket, for just me to share...
make my friends wish that they had a pair
of pretty blue eyes that could make your
heart melt and lapse into spells of infinite
rust, of ungiving trust. o
if i had them back, no sadness would i lack.
Mar 28, 2011
Mar 28, 2011 at 6:51 PM UTC
i have this reoccurring dream, it's me,
standing unearthly in the front of the altar, did god bring me to his home or is this just what they call church?
lonesome, that helter-skelter tenebrous loneliness, estrangement all around
pews blessed with the strange vacancy i relate with the open ended depth of my heart, as if people were supposed
to be there, as if people were
supposed to believe
i'm spitting up blood now, this isn't how to mend and no; who are we kidding, this is exactly how we knew it all would end
veiled with
necklaces, wrapping songs of Hail Mary around my throat,
the layered thought that god could look down in any given second
and strangle me with his own prayer,
you see i'm shouting at the ceiling but
tears only result in bent puddles on the floor
faith only results in a plethora of bibles, and the ashes of their contents.
slitting my wrists with every unanswered scream, every unlearned rosary
he's laughing at me, he's laughing at me, this ungiving god, furnishing a strange pigment to the room, staining a strange potency
transmitting this repulsive image- this memory, of this entity, of this effigy- we're all on hands and knees. withering, it's relentless,
tampering with the various degrees of energy and just what am i here for,
maybe that question is it, maybe
it's me,
maybe it's the way i was made and maybe it's the way i never called you back and
maybe it's that the day i was created was the day god cracked and
it's rumored my nostalgia-grade voice grips the air the way his hands hugged nails
i'm sifting through the times when these mumbling statues shattered, every rejected cross was found dropped,
the day i was created god became bilious and vomited for the next 16 years,
maybe it's today that he'll stop
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 12:14 AM UTC
A green, ungiving pond
In an exhausted park
Held with an iron bond
His stagnant equilibrium.
©LazharBouazzi, 30 March, 2018
Apr 30, 2018
Apr 30, 2018 at 9:12 AM UTC
she confounds me with sweet raisins and nuts, accolades oh so
high the caloric content....
***”Yours [poetry], is subtle,
that seek to grasp, hide and peek,
strong/weak/out-front/meek.
It charms like a snake a wake of ideas,
with innuendo, yet it's sublime,
a bell that chimes, a walk in hell,
a credo a charm, two-arms to keep one warm”***
~
**** your praise, cursed encouragement,
leave me well enough to my audience of
the occasional stumbled on, the accidental tourists,
the who few nick my cheek when they randomly seek
a few minutes aside, an at-last-last-chance peek,
giving us both, the reader and criminal, pause,
the pause of
‘who wrote this?’
and it’s innate counter-mate of wonder,
when to my attention brought,
‘did I write this?’
**** praise, poisonous snakes only need apply,
the wake of my ship so quickly dissipates
upon the unmapped, unending Sea of New Poets,
where the 99% just drown the first time round,
and the remaining survivors glory in fame so fleeting,
‘twere not for the unburied of the internet, their zombies
would too be shipwrecked, ungiving, undead...
a credo? not I.
a credo requires preaching, acolytes according a poet succored reams
of accusative praise, all such leads to ******* up to the egoland
where failures reside alone gleeful pride, and goes to die on bouquets
faded from by over caressing their petals, to floor dropped, in silent admiration, the imagined bells of hell ringing only in the ears
of the delusional deluded
my maturity existential, let it be forgotten, troubling no one,
a new audience of one, owning tickets of broken mirrored pieces,
my layers peeled back, this imagery unrecognized, not I, not I,
for fainted be, the poison of pride denied, for my writings writ
by an accursed one, long since buried in the faint ashes of
lost glorious forgotteness
~
but humbled nonetheless and it is the finale,
“two arms to keep one warm,”
with an elixir of words ear whispered,
**** you know my weakness, and now
my bravado erased by your single touch prophesied
Dec 1, 2019
Dec 1, 2019 at 12:07 PM UTC
Recover from your wounds
And get clothed before they hear us
No, this isn't fair this isn't human
Please, please spare me
I promise
keep the open faces, like spaces into a divine end
a million assassins and ambassadors of your life
and when the stars are zeroes of polynomials, I dread
a smile at the end when it dies, my love all mine
(The setting was dark, for there were streetlights at a distance. Till then it was all dark. He was eager to make the jump but feared his body, or worse his soul would give up then and there. As shadow passed his sight he gathered his disarray and the ungiving to his fever. He began to mumble,
"Stand tall, for there is a reward
The empty sky looked up and saw a flaw"
He began to pull himself towards the lights away from misery. His walk had a limb and was as if he had walked a thousand miles in a thousand different places a thousand times all at once.
"The empty sky asked Mother Nature, a strange request
A roof must be put above, at her behest
The mother looked confused and asked her child the purpose
The sky replied I have nothing to take nor trust"
Elliott was nearing this run in quite a splendid fashion and his mechanisms were working unorthodoxly. He was blinded by reflections from the mirrors at the side of cars passing through him. the light came from a distance not that far from him. he couldn't describe the cars. he didn't need to in his mind. he was far from observing the world as the world was changing.
He continued
"Mother questioned what her child meant, asked calmly
the sky said that when all are asleep in this crude world, they flee
to the land of dreams, but I, mother am but a piece
Please give me something to dream up to when my troubles flee")
Jun 1, 2023
Jun 1, 2023 at 3:15 AM UTC
* She has tender dirt upon her fortitude,*
* I wonder if she's forgiven herself yet...*
Push your grief, shopping-cart lady
carry your health in head-lights
island of hide and highways,
I loud-speak in a single look
you're someone's mother, sister, child
a sorrow-go-round ride
in blankets that have not seen
Gain or Tide
push your millions
pop cans, wine bottles,
tin / glass monies
carry that dynamic dust
each piece a street
each spot someone's ungiving grunt
each step in a nowhere hunt...
* She has museums in her silence *
* I wonder if her love has hues of contradictions...*
Push on, you ribald mule!
carry on in your refugee stink,
sandpaper sandals and scarlet scars
scabs that slow speak
each winter and Valentine,
to think you're someone's mother, sister, child
sorrow-goes-round
village-wild
your stubborn pride far from mild
Float on, shopping-cart lady
stay in each hair-pin hour
in this bankrupt ballet
is this a way to live...?
Your hunched shadow
has no voice, no answers to give...
She has blossoms and duty in her hands,
I wonder if fate partners her dance...
pushing that cart, this life by chance
* she's someone's
mother, sister, child
a woman who's homeless
no choice for the wild. *
Jan 27, 2016
Jan 27, 2016 at 2:26 AM UTC
More or less another beginning
No further forward than before
Side stepping into another dimension
Soon standing at a different door
Unaware of what awaits
But knowing what is left behind
hollow and ungiving
no longer worthy of the time
Before the petals start to wither
And the wine begins to waste
Take a leap out of the window
Remembering to
Always roll with grace
Jan 20, 2016
Jan 20, 2016 at 4:11 PM UTC
Glancing at an open entrance, there’s was a
second chance at a captivating magic of you.
Hypnotized, Fascinated, Mesmerized and transfixed of a grip..
The grip of your energy of intensity, and heartfelt with fiery, that wild’s me with passion of excitement.
Startle by your daze,
pondering, your impression of your divine tenderness affection.
Weakling of your soft but roaring laughter.
Setting aside the essence instincts of your humming tune of delicate communications.
Daydreaming of this remedy.
So tranquilize over my subdues.
Given an utmost twofold of adhesion connection,
within a distance from your easily broken smirk.
Despair of forcibly but yet so inseparably into shattered pieces.
Humbling over mumbling over of an insincere anguish of helpless ungiving devotedness.
For a split second of emeralds of unexplained chances.
Reminiscing the unfenced of enchanting entryway
of how the encountering the beauty of you.
Jul 2, 2018
Jul 2, 2018 at 1:22 PM UTC
I had stolen them myself,
Cloth of soothing tightness,
Wrapping it around damning proof,
Praying it to close around her pain,
To keep her from remembering.
Clueless and possessed by forbidden sufferings,
Janet grabbed a tuft of my hair and held it sobbing,
Pulling at the root.
Enduring my appropriate punishment,
She cried,
Through ungiving eyes nothing soaked her dignity,
Concealment continued though,
To herself she admitted,
What had happened.
Mar 22, 2014
Mar 22, 2014 at 6:41 PM UTC
You never forget
the fat preemie.
A perfect revenge of the curse―
at ungiving.
Streaking in
snow, when it
was frighteningly dark.
The moon-bathed
body of the thumb king
running without feet.
How would you―
climb, the black hills
of desire in tragic land
of skulls?
The living god was to
become a marbled statue.
Jan 24, 2017
Jan 24, 2017 at 11:40 PM UTC
A simple text would be nice
That’s all I ask
In your eyes that’s too much
But you can ask for the world
And I will give it to you
Right then and there
Then you will look at me
And ask more
Jul 2, 2018
Jul 2, 2018 at 11:35 PM UTC