"vehement" poems
Fires ablaze within my eyes,
A smile concealing all my lies,
Screaming, begging, calling out,
A final, frantic, desperate, shout.
Scarlet tears drip from each vein,
A vehement covet to end this pain,
This silver blade, stays by my side,
Because all hope inside has died.
As each day ends, and darkness draws,
The devil toys, with all my flaws,
I'm helpless, alone, a worthless mess,
A broken child, he must address.
I'm tempted when he calls my name,
A way out, an escape, an end to shame,
To make it feel a lot less real,
A deal with the Devil, in blood must I seal.
They'll say I died of suicide,
But no one knows how much they've lied,
It wasn't a rope, a blade, or pills,
That broke my soul, and gave me chills.
I died inside so long before,
To live each day, an endless chore,
Pills could not **** what was already dead,
A twisted soul of an empty head.
I beckon the devil, with the key of self-harm,
And I open the door for him, with the blood of my arm.
Mar 12, 2012
Mar 12, 2012 at 9:31 PM UTC
People keep asking me how I’m doing.
If I’m getting better or if I’ve taken the time to process what’s happened.
If I’ve sought professional help for the metal percussions induced by my career-ending injury.
In all honesty though, professional help is futile. It can’t save me now.
I’m walking through hell and sitting in a ring of fire discussing the temperature of the searing flames would be idiotic.
Why would I allow the flames to dance along my already seared skin longer than necessary?
I know they’re hot.
I know I’m in hell.
I know the pain I feel every day is real and crippling.
Talking about this pain wouldn’t end it. It wouldn’t diminish the heat. It wouldn’t help.
I need to keep walking.
I just need to keep walking.
My crippled body can’t run anymore, but I’ve got to keep walking.
Others continue to rush by. Frantic because they’ve never felt the flames.
They aren’t familiar with the burn. The idea of being in hell is novel.
They are novices.
But life hasn’t been kind to me.
These flames are familiar with every curve of my body and they dance around with trained feet.
I’ve been in hell for years.
People continue suggesting I find the light at the end of the tunnel, but that’s near impossible here.
I’m too blinded by the brightness of a vehement flame.
Sizzling with an angry vigor for the lack of gratitude I bestowed on my past life.
It mocks the speed at which I used to be able to run. It laps sardonically at the feet that used to run cheer-inducing speeds without thanks from their owner.
But crowds don’t cheer my name anymore.
I now stand on the sidelines and watch my team play.
I burn alive for the game I used to breath and as I watch each and every game, the deep breaths of oxygen only continue alighting the fire.
There’s no way out it seems, but I will try to keep walking.
Because talking is futile.
Note:
Spinal diseases are crippling mentally and physically. Watching the body you've sculpted for years turn to mush because you can't workout is dilapidating .
The despair and helplessness are unfamiliar feelings, feelings that can't be overcome. Disease is disease and sometimes it can't be stopped. Sometimes, it just becomes a burden to bear.
And sometimes people aren't strong enough.
It's different when careers end after four years of college. An expected end, an anticipated end. But when things you love are taken from you abruptly, before your finished. The pain is exponentially worse.
Exponentially. Worse.
Mar 28, 2015
Mar 28, 2015 at 1:41 PM UTC
Darling, I'm a thunderstorm
and my rain pelts down harsher than the
words you spit
in vehement violence
Darling, I'm a thunderstorm
and my lightening strikes brighter than the
empty promises you made
(brighter, but just as fleeting)
Darling, I'm a thunderstorm
and my rage is vast, immeasurable
filling oceans with its ferocity
Darling, I'm a thunderstorm
and this too will pass, leaving
chaos in its wake.
Oct 10, 2019
Oct 10, 2019 at 6:50 PM UTC
O might those sighs and tears return again
Into my breast and eyes, which I have spent,
That I might in this holy discontent
Mourn with some fruit, as I have mourned in vain;
In mine Idolatry what showers of rain
Mine eyes did waste! what griefs my heart did rent!
That sufferance was my sin; now I repent;
‘Cause I did suffer I must suffer pain.
Th’ hydropic drunkard, and night-scouting thief,
The itchy lecher, and self-tickling proud
Have the remembrance of past joys for relief
Of comming ills. To (poor) me is allowed
No ease; for long, yet vehement grief hath been
Th’ effect and cause, the punishment and sin.
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With vehement force,
The white, weighty water,
Races between my thighs,
Grazing my fingertips,
Crashing into the wasted bank,
And splintered stone,
Scattered about the course,
Surging towards the fringe,
Of the river road,
My toes curl,
Latched to the rock-ridden surface,
Fighting the undertow,
As the water plunges,
Down the waterfall
Nov 1, 2011
Nov 1, 2011 at 5:00 AM UTC
superimposition of celestial ampersand:
a continuity of all things
stars hanging loose in the pupil
of this deadbeat word.
typhoons in a swirl of tempestuous ballet,
dogs shivering in the blue cold,
biting their canine integument the way
scarabs would, sinking in a temporal flotsam-way within tectonic display
of text
hectares of blank stares bringing
to life lysergic field of black birds.
and then some
equal number of evocativeness:
continuing on into the ground
are the bones warm in their compost.
the sudden fragrance of rat ****
appeals to the masses.
too much laughter in flooded thoroughfares pockmarked by
the vehement jam of staccato jackhammer.
choking us is today's headline
in supreme obbligato - its stench
reeks of libidinal perfume etched
in the flesh of the rigmarole.
one filthy day in Manila.
Oct 2, 2015
Oct 2, 2015 at 12:53 AM UTC
The eerie warmth that comes with the calm before.
The unnerving shade of black that only clouds can claim.
The heat that rises from tarmac on empty, open roads.
The scent of petrichor from the passing of earlier rain.
The first rumble starts somewhere unknown and distant.
The suggestion, an omen, of the beginning of an end.
The first drop of rainfall from another night of storms.
The thunder waking creatures from their beds.
The sounds increase slowly as time crawls and passes.
The night is young and roars keep rolling in.
The dark, as such, so early in the evening.
The set of warm goosebumps rising over skin.
The colour of the sunset behind their eyelids.
The blood of Gods is soaking up their breaths.
The momentary post apocalyptic sense of living.
The moody skies catalyse thoughts of untimely deaths.
The passing of the clouds seems dangerously fast.
The growls now thick and boisterous, vehement and clear .
The dust that whips past legs and arms and faces.
The shelter is no barrier for the splitting of an ear.
The tranquillity of standing up in air now still.
The peace of opportunity to look over horizons.
The aftermath of rain and wind and thunder.
The silence of one mind becoming enlightened.
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 11:10 AM UTC
Draped in boundless pride
she strolled along the streets,
the town's flamboyant prima ballerina.
Still little did the debaucher know her.
Defenceless she laid
as he spanked and clouted her,
Her vehement howling and wailing couldn't stop
the yanking of clothes.
Motionless, emotionless she laid
while he plundered and mutilated her body.
Vandalised by an uninvited visitor,
Incapable of moving her body
the ravishing ballerina reclined.
The scars he made was not on her body but deep in her soul.
That gloomy night whistled away
for the sun to flare its first ray.
'18 year old violently molested and deceased'.
Hence the prima ballerina became a mere newspaper headline.
Jan 8, 2019
Jan 8, 2019 at 12:50 AM UTC
Ageing so beautifully.
Classically as diamonds do, never ageing gracefully
Her eyes fire her up, fire you up too,
This Goddess,brings forth the huntress, out on the **** for a thrill.
Never cheap.
This individual will never ever weep.
Just a kindly miss, not lonely,
So don't take the Michael.
Nourishment needed.
Overtly she's principled.
Quintessential English,
Rapturous as summer days and Sundays.
This trusting Utopian dreamer.
Vehement pen.
Wicked humour full of woman.
X rated at times,youthful and zany.
(C)Livvi
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 3:21 PM UTC
its a vehement compassion,
the kind where you miss it,
you crave it,
you want it,
you need it.
a fire that awakens a fervid beast inside of you,
that weakens at the sight of you bare.
your hands holding mine,
caressing,
lingering.
your lips against mine,
tender,
and fore bearing.
but your heart is elsewhere,
your mind is elsewhere.
your heart is stirring my insides,
touching me,
loving me,
devouring me.
your mind is thinking about where you want me,
where you need me,
where all of me is open to you.
to take.
and we are bound,
though not bound by love,
that same night;
you broke me.
Jun 23, 2018
Jun 23, 2018 at 8:54 AM UTC
Soothing, sensational,
elegant as the harp,
Semblance, integument,
covering of the tarp,
Ebullient, vivacious,
precision of the mind,
Vehement, appetent,
keen & one of a kind,
Perfervid, chocolate katydid,
desirable & luscious taste,
Delectable, ambrosial,
palatable & consumed with haste,
Sybaritic, voluptuous,
enticing to the senses,
Libidinous, hedonic,
enriched untightened hinges,
Efficacious, puissant,
robust delight to the eye,
Potent, consequential,
immeasurable symbol of the sky,
Pulchritudinous, gorgeous,
magnificent as the autumn sun,
Resplendent, vivid, lustrous
as a diamond-lithographed gun,
Sympathetic, affectionate,
condoling soul of a angel,
Altruistic, benignant,
warmhearted with no mangle,
Serenity, tranquility,
composure of divine peace,
Harmonious, amicable,
placid as the slow moving creek...
Jul 6, 2012
Jul 6, 2012 at 6:46 PM UTC
A vehement deity,
father of a carpenter,
and proprietor of creationism,
looked down upon his work,
both literally and figuratively.
When an ecosystem falls to the
egocentricity of man, a vessel
will be sought, and contained is
the righteousness of a mortal.
Serenity became inclination, and
with loss of the feminine beauty
came regret. For sin masqueraded
as black clouds, and whether
change occurs, torrential rain begets
growth in an environment. Wash over
the sins of the ****** what is current
can only be exposed as a fallacy when
revelation is prevalent,
and save for the innocent:
innocuous.
Even in Hell a cyprus tree would be
surrounded by wildflowers.
Noah knew not of damnation, and
with calloused hands raised to the sky,
a hammer came crashing down.
Not unlike stone tablets
etched with command,
the world lay on granite,
with a universal epitaph.
For Noah to ignore his destiny
would be blasphemous.
Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 8:20 PM UTC
*i saw you
i saw your fiery eyes
it was like looking into a cup
unstoppably filling up to its brim
yours, abundantly filled with vehement grim
so uneasy it was conjecturing your mind
gave me a reason to unwind for a little while
tell my why
all the pretends and quiet sighs, enshrouding whats from behind
what it is there inside
why do you need to hide
thy precious heart with no choice
but to turn itself into an agitated smoldered iron
strengthened heart, furnished like art
you are a burning metal amenably hammered by many foes
far more drowned with the empty souls
where are you, where is the real you
how did your soul turn so blue
let me condole
drilling poles amidst the cold
rendering you a hand and something to hold
I will find yours
along with all the lost
long hoarfrost
waiting to be accost
along with the alley of souls
growling down the holes
in line, next to mine
unleash a shine, your spirit so divine
let your caliginosity be replaced
all be thy grace shall be embraced
this time, fearlessly
without minds controlling slavery
cutting the negativity and
ignoring life's declivity
see yourself walking through the flame
no more lames
without the shame and doubt getting burnt
stepping on with something learnt
now you are changed, well-transformed,
someone born to aspire, died meant to inspire,
honey you are retrofire, firing in the night sky
but not as heaping as an empty pyre
but as fierce as an enraging forest fire*
Jan 28, 2017
Jan 28, 2017 at 9:39 AM UTC
***
I see thine image through my tears to-night,
And yet to-day I saw thee smiling. How
Refer the cause?—Beloved, is it thou
Or I, who makes me sad? The acolyte
Amid the chanted joy and thankful rite
May so fall flat, with pale insensate brow,
On the altar-stair. I hear thy voice and vow,
Perplexed, uncertain, since thou art out of sight,
As he, in his swooning ears, the choir’s Amen.
Beloved, dost thou love? or did I see all
The glory as I dreamed, and fainted when
Too vehement light dilated my ideal,
For my soul’s eyes? Will that light come again,
As now these tears come—falling hot and real?
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I dream in synesthesia…
Every synapse a new white breath of creation,
A universe spinning free from entropy’s oblivion
I dream in synesthesia…
And see a warming freedom that no body can measure,
A movement of thought erupting from nothing
I dream in synesthesia…
And taste life obliterating reality’s edge,
As it bursts into the expanse of forever
A beginning no body can destroy…
I dream in synesthesia…
And feel the grace of infinity giving way to split atoms
As femtoseconds expand to light years speckled with dust and gravity
I dream in synesthesia…
The sweet smell of passion pouring forth
Riding vehement pulses of fiery red light
I dream in synesthesia…
And hear the heartbeat on my skin,
As creation goes forth and breaths white once again…
I dream in synesthesia…
Mar 1, 2017
Mar 1, 2017 at 1:14 PM UTC
Later,
there are tears,
a sorrow slender
as a bellflower at first,
and opening its slow & delicate way
to grief, fluent as the soul
falling toward you, wet
and gasping, an agony of willows,
late in August & hemlock,
tear strung, haunted,
in the deep blue scythe of hours
you carve out of our secret,
a totem fossil of wild horses,
abandoned & impaled upon a carousel,
that bear a garland of snapdragons
for reign and bridle,
as they open their tiny pink throats to the night,
the calyx trill of tree frogs,
with their penchant for silk
& pink ribbons, pigtails
& sequin dreams,
I am desolate now,
my body a bramble
tangled in its curfew of snow,
upon the window pane,
the incessant thump, thump
of these **** ivory moths,
on each wing, a word I speak in dream,
returns to me, cleft
of blue light, scissor in darkness,
fierce to extinguish the stars
with their vehement lash of wing
to glass, to glass,
your pain is my familiar,
my envy,
my assurance,
and I am calmed
solely with the lace of spanned hands
at the throats small and fluttered vessel,
come, to besiege
the innocence of Summers stray tears....
Jan 8, 2013
Jan 8, 2013 at 3:13 PM UTC
And he saw it now and then
the lamp lit row of houses that
stretched beyond the eye
houses where men who dug black
slept and drank when they could
ageless cobbles pried on
men who fought in the street
over want, women and work
while little men sons played
foolish games of childhood
daughter women with prams
mothered their plastic dolls
and the wives gossiped about
young Sally who had a belly
by John Stout the butcher boy
the reverend Ellis knew
all the stories and chapters
of life in this coal dust street
he birthed them baptised them
married and buried them
and the street was quiet
no vehement voices tonight
as the deed of death
slipped over the cobbles
and gripped a sleeping soul.
Aug 28, 2014
Aug 28, 2014 at 5:15 PM UTC
It's a vehement compassion,
The kind where you miss it,
You crave it.
You want it.
You need it,
A fire that awakens a fervid beast inside of you,
That weakens at the sight of you bare.
Your hands holding mine,
Caressing,
Lingering.
Your lips against mine,
Tender,
And fore bearing.
But your heart is elsewhere,
Your mind is elsewhere.
Your heart is stirring my insides,
Touching me,
Loving me,
Devouring me.
Your mind is thinking about where you want me,
Where you need me,
Where all of me is open to you.
To take.
And we are bound,
Though not bound by love,
That same night;
You broke me.
Jun 11, 2018
Jun 11, 2018 at 10:07 AM UTC
**With tears in my eyes,
I will smile,**
With the shadows perished by,
I will be the daylight,
With those envisaged grievances,
I will emanate fluorescence,
**With sadness deep inside,
I will rejoice,**
With the appalling bruises on my skin,
I will still be intact,
**With shattered hope,
I will remain steadfast,**
With fulminations raining aside,
I will stay afloat,
With vehement reminiscences passed,
I will protect and cherish,
With love gone awry,
I will gather the traces.
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 4:11 AM UTC
I will be like a tree to you
neath whose shade you lie
as the days pull you down
and my branches long for
the pull of your weight-
the only kind I will allow
to pull me down.
Painless is the way
I shed my leaves for you,
die a slow death
all for your love for a golden autumn,
and again I come back to life for you,
because winter is a lonely business.
Your faith in my hold
is strengthened over these glad years,
unbreakable perhaps,
like how my roots are interwoven
into your ribs.
My poetry is eternal for you,
growing each day
and when you cut me open,
the rings will tell you of the years
I bled for you.
I will be a tree to you,
your very own Eden,
and the day I die,
I hope my roots reach out to you
when the time comes for you to
marry into the earth.
Only a vehement storm
can put me down.
Mar 15, 2014
Mar 15, 2014 at 11:36 PM UTC
All my life
I was allowed to appreciate the world around me
But lacked the means to express how
I could speak of the fluttering of a starling’s wings
Lifting into the majesty of the sky
By stirring the air
But you would not understand
The loneliness they stir in me
I could describe the stature of the far-off mountain
The snow-ridden summit stark white
Vehement in its unyielding presence
But you would not see
The spark of vehemence I feel in its wake
I could illustrate the way the sun sinks behind the hills
Staining the clouds orange and pink
Causing a blanket of soft light to awaken the earth
But you would not recognize
The nostalgia it awakens in my tired soul
I could narrate your mannerisms with clarity
The gentle smiles and nervous fidgeting
Shyly nodding in mild acquiescence
But you would not notice
The utter joy that holds me under its sway
As you lull my heart with your words
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 4:47 PM UTC
Breath in with me, s l o w l y
The richness from the air
This damp stillness I've kept
This alabaster jar
Rank with the whisky-smell of rambling words
Or the leather aroma of
The most tactful stimulation
Let's not rob this moment with words
Your blue, wide eyes tell me enough
And your lavender (I'll imagine) scent
Cues to me your appreciation
That breaks the ruckus with stunning silence
And air full to excess with
Spice of vehement delight
Oct 27, 2012
Oct 27, 2012 at 4:05 PM UTC
The lovely, amorous cherry blossom trees,
Decked well in shades of pink and white,
With clouds of boughs and blossoms rich,
Clasped, rubbed, caressed and hugged
And kissed on and on in warm embrace;
And their bosoms heaved and breathed O2.
Lovers came under the cherry blossom trees
With hearts filled well with thoughts of love,
In the shades of the boughs of pink blossoms,
They kissed and blushed with words fervent,
Danced in joy round the blossomed trees,
And gasped in passion, and heaved out CO2.
The gorgeous, loving trees stayed there long
In vehement love, veneration and adoration,
With the alluring charm of the passing blooms
Painting again and again the fleeting lives.
But choppers with axes sharpened were on
To hack their pink xylems and phloems.
Dec 23, 2013
Dec 23, 2013 at 8:49 AM UTC
having beguiled my Scorpio
the full moons know
what moistens the body
elicits stark truth of feeling
in vehement velocity
racing ahead of thought
and the two argue
not every word is lovely
nor should be spoken
reactions are often
vicious junk yard dogs
protecting piles of *******
only valuable to hoarders
Sep 22, 2013
Sep 22, 2013 at 5:41 PM UTC
When the horns wear thin
And the noise, like a garment outworn,
Falls from the night,
The tattered and shivering night,
That thinks she is gay;
When the patient silence comes back,
And retires,
And returns,
Rebuffed by a ribald song,
Wounded by vehement cries,
Fleeing again to the stars—
Ashamed of her sister the night;
Oh, then they steal home,
The blinded, the pitiful ones
With their gew-gaws still in their hands,
Reeling with odorous breath
And thick, coarse words on their tongues.
They get them to bed, somehow,
And sleep the forgiving,
Comes thru the scattering tumult
And closes their eyes.
The stars sink down ashamed
And the dawn awakes,
Like a youth who steals from a brothel,
Dizzy and sick.
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