"veers" poems
With white frost gone
And all green dreams not worth much,
After a lean day's work
Time comes round for that foul ****
Mere bruit of her takes our street
Until every man,
Red, pale or dark,
Veers to her slouch.
Mark, I cry, that mouth
Made to do violence on,
That seamed face
Askew with blotch, dint, scar
Struck by each dour year.
Walks there not some such one man
As can spare breath
To patch with brand of love this rank grimace
Which out from black tarn, ditch and cup
Into my most chaste own eyes
Looks up.
8.2k
Deplorable: that's her election
as it veers in a ****** direction.
Though some mention Lewinsky,
it's really Alinsky
revealed as her true predilection.
Oct 13, 2016
Oct 13, 2016 at 3:41 PM UTC
The vane on Hughley steeple
Veers bright, a far-known sign,
And there lie Hughley people,
And there lie friends of mine.
Tall in their midst the tower
Divides the shade and sun,
And the clock strikes the hour
And tells the time to none.
To south the headstones cluster,
The sunny mounds lie thick;
The dead are more in muster
At Hughley than the quick.
North, for a soon-told number,
Chill graves the sexton delves,
And steeple-shadowed slumber
The slayers of themselves.
To north, to south, lie parted,
With Hughley tower above,
The kind, the single-hearted,
The lads I used to love.
And, south or north, 'tis only
A choice of friends one knows,
And I shall ne'er be lonely
Asleep with these or those.
2.7k
This lilting night
in a world still trembling,
streets sag with silence,
the hush tastes of smoke.
A crow cuts low,
black wing against orange,
leans into the wind,
folds, veers.
Above the trees,
the sky wears a copper bruise,
clouds thick as wool,
the light already retreating.
Air carries the edge of change-
sharp as bitten tin,
wet as stone on the tongue.
All sound brittle:
screen door whining,
tires on gravel,
a match struck to nothing.
your page turning,
the small sigh after,
your breath, mine,
keeping time with the dark.
Sep 23, 2025
Sep 23, 2025 at 11:22 AM UTC
There is no closure.
Death joins and veers life's flow
We continue
stumbling, sliding, climbing
each stage as best we can.
I cannot know depth or breadth
of your grieving path
Shamed I believed I could
Nor can I know my own
until it rises
flooding body and mind
pummeling down
I cannot map its course
only know there is no closure.
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 5:20 PM UTC
English language remained father's maid servant
Who played with her beauty for thirty five years
He passed it on to us to take , to the bear brunt
We loved to be on the line to embrace the veers
We have a claim of native with spark of language
To cross the barriers it has provided us the bridge
We salute to our father who has given us courage
And helped us to portray and celebrate his image
Let be specific and clear in the standardized stance
Let us not give to any Tom,Dick and Harry a chance
Let us with the help of a powerful and strong glance'
Celebrate the prime occasion with intoxicated dance
Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow
Sep 21, 2016
Sep 21, 2016 at 6:39 AM UTC
He veers to the left when he walks
in and out of lives
up and down city streets.
His gait clumsy
and haphazard
bumping passersby
and knocking glasses off tables.
Slack jawed stares and
excited whispers;
unphased
unwavering
steady in his unsteadiness.
He meanders down alleyways;
breaking hearts
and preconceived notions about
what a vagabond should
or shouldn’t be.
May 26, 2013
May 26, 2013 at 1:55 PM UTC
An effusive elaborate scheme the colors advance to bright spellbinding allure then they achieve
Depth of quality by cutting back to softer hues and then the natural dark green is the bold
Touch that succeeds with total symmetry showcased in a view perfected by glass the prism
Most fitting not only to see but to be captivated by perfected expression it is a metaphor for life
The master designer chooses his subjects well one infuses another then by degree others
Foreshadow and glorify it blends tangible and intangible into intelligent coherent order tasteful
And sublime the hint and the elusive wonder all is needed is the wind to bow and ****** it into
A profusion a veritable concert that stirs with appeal life is in motion the players advance and
Retreat each speaking lines unique to themselves what sensations speak tendrils on a garden
Trellis held and fixed a gesture that plays and portrays intricate details the mystery that plays so
Well the stealing of morning frost then the blaze and then restful dying rays that spell comfort
The field rolls and contorts this brandishes excitement exuberance veers and plunders life
Become exploration trails hidden thickets hide and hold expression that is pent up ready to
Explode what vesture we wear it grips our friend’s astonishment is read on their faces but it is
Like a house of many mirrors because their lives are having the same effect on you some days
Are uneventful others are storm tossed with grandness the riches of an all contained realm
Spasms convulse like waves of the sea we stand forth to puzzle and dream what does it all
Mean the sanctity reveals plumes that are invisible that are far reaching and they have given us
This course of endurance that belies longing we grow soft and an inner glowing surpasses the
Stringent the misfit that moans against conforming we are treasure that exceeds all expectation
Life is rich we are its brightest colors and light night is for brooding the day is for shinning and
Divulging the secrets found in the brooding time we accost others we signify to them not only
Our own worth but there’s also fetching is the spray that magnifies the sky we are the bursting
We are the aliveness that is found each day in our lives that is the dooryard of discovery
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Feb 1, 2013
Feb 1, 2013 at 1:28 AM UTC
A babbling brook of blood
Veers violently and viciously.
Slipping silently through sunsets,
The trials and tears of the terrified
Add adversity to the adamant tide.
Hunters hound the hunted,
Sacrificing several subtle souls,
And manically murdering men.
Forever on the freshet flows,
With darkened death as deluge.
Feb 4, 2013
Feb 4, 2013 at 11:30 AM UTC
Our relationship was like the part in a movie when two people run towards each other and the main character looks so unbelievably happy and they close their eyes and just as they are about to embrace the other veers right and jumps into the arms of another.
Jul 14, 2017
Jul 14, 2017 at 10:10 PM UTC
We all have goals,
We all strive to obtain them
We try our best to stick to the path,
And avoid obstacles at all costs.
But we realize that life isn't always a straight line.
Sometimes it hands us a curveball,
And our direction veers off course.
Once again, we're back at where we started.
And that's okay.
It may not be what we wanted,
And it may not be what we asked for
But we make the best of what we've got.
And try, try again
In these uncertain times,
Self-reflection isn't unheard of;
It's almost like a great pause.
With the world around us slowing to a crawl,
The stress and anxiety are getting to us all.
We find that brief moment of clarity,
A revelation that, maybe, we're not lost after all.
Jun 28, 2020
Jun 28, 2020 at 3:36 AM UTC
Love is like,
A man born without arms,
He lives his life accepting his disability,
But Constantly jealous of those with arms.
he sees people with arms of every variety; skinny, tattooed, bruised or muscled, and even some like him.
Everyday he watches people use and missuse their arms,
Yet Barely appreciating the mere existence of their own arms.
One day, he hears about a new procedure that could give him fully functioning prosthetic arms.
He is hesitant about the cost and risk,
but decides he must try.
A week later after a successful surgery,
The bandages finally fly free, and so do his arms.
He flexes and bends them every way possible,
testing the boundaries of what feels like a new world to him.
There is an endless beauty in their function.
He feels a joyous wonder,
to experience the touch and precision
of his sweetly sensitive fingertips caressing the surface of anything in their reach.
For the first time, he finally knows what true freedom feels like.
Months pass as he becomes familiar with a new world under his fingertips.
But as time goes on he begins to notice occasional malfunctions in his daily tasks.
He thinks hes losing touch with the connections used to communicate with the main circuits,
But doesn't think it could get worse.
As Weeks pass more connections falter between him and his once perfect partner.
The day starts like any other winter morning,
an icy cold, cloudy drizzle.
He's driving the windy back roads to work,
rounding a sharp bend in the road, when he suddenly feels a spasm ripple through his arms
ripping his hand from the wheel and all control.
His car veers off the roadside cliff
leaving gravity to doom him to an icy river below.
The car careens through the droplets of rain in the air.
His world slows down as the car begins to plummet downward,
only seconds before impact.
The freezing icy rain and air rip
through the broken windshield,
but nothing feels colder than the betrayal of the arms he once held so dear.
And in that moment,
he wishes that he'd never had arms at all.
Jun 16, 2014
Jun 16, 2014 at 4:17 AM UTC
luminous and trembling, he
walks like the soles of his feet are made of moonlight, he
***** you like he's trying to tell you something, he
shakes and shudders like he sees something you don't, he
is everything all at once, fragile and overwhelming, a dive without air, he
wraps you up and doesn't let go until he burns alive, he
dissolves in your veins like surgical thread, he
**** he
god, he
could build on this for hours and still be ready to swallow you down, he
cant ******* breathe without touching you, he
lets the sun bruise his back a thousand different shades of pink and still comes back for more, he
calls you when his voice is crackling with exhaustion and sticky with hunger, he
lets you sleep inside his ribcage because that's how he keeps you warm, he
shivers in the dark and wont let you take care of him, he
tells you you're some precious pretty thing as he veers into a ditch, he
needs seventeen stitches and a transplant with a name you can't remember, he
always shatters on impact
Dec 27, 2015
Dec 27, 2015 at 11:46 PM UTC
Tapping the vein
at the section of upper and lower arm
striking the needle deep,
jagged and rough,
upon notice that Second
isn't a one-way street anymore.
Must have changed while I was gone.
My Malibu,
swerving viciously to avoid the old Grand-Am
finds its way into the right lane
the only lane
fitting like a glove on the wrong hand.
Ahead, 475 dictates my exit.
A detour, the sign says,
with little ostentation,
even more accuracy.
The highway vomits me away,
chewed and confused,
an exit before my usual.
Though the path ahead
veers straight as a needle,
it's two miles downwind.
Two miles behind.
Great symbolism,
I tell myself,
pressing hard on the accelerator.
Jul 8, 2010
Jul 8, 2010 at 11:12 AM UTC
Eye sore at Cisco
the weight of the World veers unwaveringly.
Careless whispers prevaricate,
what was strong
now senses its own weightlessness,
floating on, circles loosen,
traces of people deep in our recesses
slip through the minds flotsam.
Feb 9, 2013
Feb 9, 2013 at 2:57 PM UTC
Where along did the line become dotted?
When did the line become crossable through gaps?
Steady white line, double parallel yellows
Following this lined street till I find the end,
Till I get to the bottom,
Till this drawn line stays constant and cannot be crossed.
Who was the first to cross this line that is so drawn on my soul?
That so moves me to boil with red convection and spill
Drips down my pan side face. Third degree flame ignited pain
In every line of bone and vain in my body.
Walking by playground filled with shouts and laughs,
Stomping little feet, hands of monkeys.
Nothing but joy and impressions, pressed into the skin.
Children are so easily impressed.
The blacktop filled with lines is the child’s whole world
Of lines to frolic at four-square or hop-scotch to the jungle bars.
On the way to the cafeteria to lunch with pink and blue tennis shoes
And lunch boxes of Snow White and Buzz Lightyear
Listen when told to stay in line.
Listen to:
Lines of scratched skin. Lines crossed.
Lines of makeup drips. Lines crossed always remembered.
Lines of people trying to forget
Being line crossed by one who found a gap.
In the middle of that same bad dream
I always try to wake you up before it happens.
To you who veers the line, you who crossed
You who stings, you who injures:
When and where I meet you,
I will show you these lines.
I will teach you.
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 11:36 PM UTC
holdover from the air cools bitter awash of dark and a turning horizon without centre. where i entered an empty frame across distance and skin like smoke. ive been having nightmares of cosmic terror a sublime loss of control like paper tearing in the chaotic drifts of broken eddies and other everyday things an inward open mirror a sunlit line wavering to heat disintegration dispersal erosion and death. ive been reading uncanny fluctuations in the sign of things in a power too great and sparse to comprehend overwhelmed by haunting finitude as time veers into collision and the fleeting panic of yesterdays blood. i find myself shaking at the thought of contact the electromagnetic law of repulsion built into the fabric of my flesh eyes turned away like a promise all language from dead stars. dragged along these orbits my skin trembles and i am hateful. faces blur in passageways half-lit rooms smudge across the surface of my memory until i see nothing but the colour of what was tightening the cords of my ribs stumbling inflexion. in the precession of traffic light blurs through my sleeve and i realise i was invisible all along and that i did this to myself and that nobody can help me and that i did this to myself and that i will retreat further and further and further because if it hurts to be abandoned it hurts more to be approached and misunderstood. the masks the words the acts the plays and beneath it all fear cruel mounting hopeless wretched fear eyes turning fingers running over and over until they break the lines of my face a ******* i turn the clocks upside down. i take the batteries out of all my electronic devices. i break the locks on my door. only then does morning come.
Feb 7, 2018
Feb 7, 2018 at 10:51 AM UTC
When I deleted myself off the face of the earth
And it still spun
And you were still there
But I was gone
How could you, how could…they
Keep on
I always expected one after the other you would all come crashing after me
Like children playing follow the leader off a cliff
Or the carts of a train jumping one after the other in rhythmic timing when the engineer, asleep at the
wheel, veers off tracks and goes over the edge of the mountain
Yet here I am
Lone at the pit of the valley
Staring up, not at the heavens as I hoped,
But up at you, and your life
Going onward
How can you mourn me
Say you ever loved me
If you can go on with out me
Here I am, in all your triumphant glowing glory I couldn’t even go on with you
You said I was everything to you
I picked up so tenderly each thought
Sentence
Syllable
Sound
You laid on me
I was so eagerly in love with you
And now my heart is breaking
And my tears melt my body into the hauntingly dark soil
Where other wayward people must also lie
My breath, now, has long expired
And you are not coming
So as time passes
And you grow older
And meet other women,
and shake hands
Shake hips
Write your stories
Stagnantly, I remain
My decomposing, hallow body
Dissolves into the earth
The wind quivering, and wailing above me
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 9:20 PM UTC
patience and desire
eyes on the prize
even though it seemed lost
true gold lies deep in the glow of those hazel eyes
a tale that threatened with tears
and the dread of heartfelt slips
veers towards the tessellation of your body
head-to-toe with my lips
overwhelmed by fears of turbo-charged love
and at which stops this train may be calling
yet trepidation is drowned by exhilaration
as this new adventure is dawning
hips on hips and longful gazes
hearts singing unheard notes
your hand in mine, side by side
we sail forth on our choice of cupid's boats
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 4:51 AM UTC
In the darkness he felt threatened
the tables turn as he veers away,
ages usher had nothing on time -
just the haunted side of jade,
the fossils turn of anger
a packed mass of double take
impenetrability stakes the hills.
Sep 3, 2013
Sep 3, 2013 at 4:25 PM UTC
The Cri de Coeur
screeches urgent emotion
but their Exclamations
are unpicked , back to determination
Did the Revellers needlessly pay for this their Summer ?
But for Capricious truths
they now run fickle and jarred
naked is the heart of the matter,
a hastened path runs counterintuitive
as empty silences often veers
ungrounded.
Oct 25, 2012
Oct 25, 2012 at 3:44 PM UTC
How deep does the dread go?
As deep as the fear goes
How far does the fear go?
Much deeper than the shadow
With a pick and torch light
Find the gem that will shine bright
May be day in this sun blight
In the dread it is midnight
Keep the flames burning ember
For the chill of December
For the hope to remember
For the dread to dismember
Only light burns the dread fear
Only light makes the path clear
When the light sparks the dread jeers
When the gem gleams the dread veers
Who knows where the gem grows?
In the hollow of the shadows
In the dark where the dread goes
In a place only hope knows
Jul 27, 2013
Jul 27, 2013 at 3:49 PM UTC
Clacks the train on pre-made track
Taps she on and on all day
Wheel on rail, turns wheel on rail
Never wavering from laid out trail.
Clacks the train on pre-made track
Oft taking souls both to and fro
Alas unseen goes the weary rail
As metal cuts through the nestled nail.
Clacks the train on pre-made track
The unjoining joint harked too late
Souls on board feel blinding pain
As loco veers off its destined lane.
Clacks she no more on pre-made track
Unhinged, undone, has no path, no role
Bent beyond all blacksmith skill
Now left soulless, without way or will.
Jan 23, 2017
Jan 23, 2017 at 7:26 AM UTC
my timid tournefortia,
whose peripatetic scent matadors
the mad men.
whose laughter veers away the impossible,
of whose flame will gander
like flotsam in a sea of aloneness,
you are a danseuse in the
misty moonlight.
perpetual in the night illume,
perched in the deepness of
sad walls calling out the
azure. my little tournefortia,
it was such joy to have lived
when you have blossomed.
--- as all flowers go, you too, have gone - flagrant grows regard, like a prancing flame
of blue my eyes are frantic and
anew --- i seek new flowers.
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 12:48 AM UTC