"vented" poems
On the white screen dance the stringed dots
Mind spilled codes of hieroglyphic thoughts
Slowly they emerge handholding lines
Not always yielding intended designs.
Something was brewing inside the head
Coaxing to weave and take it ahead
The drunken horses so wildly gallop
There is no leash to make them stop.
Nerves are taut and they won't relax
Till all is vented they reach the ******
It was thus fated the moment it was sown
What's to be grown could never be known.
As the fever wanes arrives the new child
It may be adored or it may be defiled
The canvas is washed clean as in the rain
Something is brewing to be vented again.
Jun 7, 2013
Jun 7, 2013 at 2:19 AM UTC
only the moon knew her darkest secrets, the depth of her thought was the deepest, up all night, its something she does frequent, she's an angel from heaven, that fell for a demon, a beautiful image, turned into a broken spirit, constant arguments and disagreements,
her smile held pain, but she stuck to concealment, because her friends and the world were incoherent, I got to see her smile one day, ever since then, nothing has been the same,
she no longer puts that same smile on her face, she once felt grace, but it turned to disgrace, the beauty she holds is inexplainable, the purity in her soul is gold, yet unattainable, because she no longer holds trust,
what she thought was love, turned into lust,,an addicting drug, that having is a must, the magical feeling, turned into dust, she misses the memories, kisses, and hugs, now she confides in her own sorrow, asking god for a better tomorrow, he gives her a light to follow, but her own pride is hard to swallow, A beautiful intelligent female, who felt love through the most intimate detail,
at school she was the most diligent female, filled in amazing aspects, and assets, but she continues to feel the absence, and still doesnt comprehend the circumstances,
for his actions, of dissatisfaction,
still to this day hasnt changed her reaction, the biggest heart break shes ever dealt with, it was minor to him, but her heart really felt it, like a beautiful ice sculpture, she melted,
and there I was the person to who she vented, staring deep into her dark brown eyes, i saw what nobody else saw, deep deep inside, she was wise at mind, i searched more within, as the sun rised, a beautiful lonely girl, that told me under the stars and moonlight,
"hold me close and never let go."
i was there to carefully listen,
she opened up like a book.
after she looked up to me and said i was different, that i just might be what her heart was missin,
her eyes and smile once again glistened, i told her,
"look at the stars, look how they shine for you, until the stars in the sky shine no more, i'll always be there, until the end of time for you."
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 2:25 PM UTC
The old lady planted roses near the corner by the driveway
She never planted roses by the door
I remember once she told me, "Bees come out to get the nectar"
And a bee sting can be deadly or quite sore
Instead, she planted herbs along the walkway to her cottage
You'd pass by, the scent was rather nice
Rubbing rosemary and lemon grass and sage against your trousers
Sometimes you would even walk by twice
She had hollyhocks and primrose, a classic English garden
Lots of fragrant trees and bushes there as well
There were cedars by the windows and hyacinth close by
If she even had a lawn, you couldn't tell
There were irises and tulips, daffodils and more
And great bushes of white lavender abound
Not only was the lawn gone, with the bushes and the trees
I bet from inside you'd nary hear a sound
Around the back the same thing, exactly as the front
Herbs and plant life, and I'd say maybe more
Than all the plants in Englands Kew Gardens have to see
And more lilacs by the walkway by the door
The vents from down the basement blew through cedars and the lilacs
Sending warming scents around the clustered yard
There were windows to the basement, blocked by flowers and the trees
And to see in was really rather hard
The one day I remember when I came out to the house
Is one I know I'll not forget
For walking down the pathway with a policeman on each side
Was the old lady with a look of deep regret
It seems the scented flowers and the bushes and the trees
Provided scents to hide the smells from deep inside
The air was vented out directly through the flowers
The house was just a grow op in disguise
Mar 27, 2013
Mar 27, 2013 at 11:58 AM UTC
Silver screen athletes
quitting soccer teams
to join homophobic friends
(redneck quasi outdoors-men)
who just want to **** animals
angst must be vented
lest it boil inside
and form a much darker concoction.
I beat the horse
'till I couldn't get it wrong
even then
the faceless desks of power
endorse eugenics,
pharmaceuticals,
and high profile lawyers
sentencing me to a life's term
teaching Sophocles
to an uninterested fifteen year old
too busy stroking a Ritalin limp ****
to star censored ladies on Vegas stripper cards.
And he said "Watch your language"
when I said "What the ****
Jan 13, 2011
Jan 13, 2011 at 3:10 PM UTC
Above the forest of the parakeets,
A parakeet of parakeets prevails,
A pip of life amid a mort of tails.
(The rudiments of tropics are around,
Aloe of ivory, pear of rusty rind.)
His lids are white because his eyes are blind.
He is not paradise of parakeets,
Of his gold ether, golden alguazil,
Except because he broods there and is still.
Panache upon panache, his tails deploy
Upward and outward, in green-vented forms,
His tip a drop of water full of storms.
But though the turbulent tinges undulate
As his pure intellect applies its laws,
He moves not on his coppery, keen claws.
He munches a dry shell while he exerts
His will, yet never ceases, perfect ****
To flare, in the sun-pallor of his rock.
3.1k
King Minos,
Spited by the God of Oceans,
Hesitated but a while
Before poor Pasiphae's bull-headed son
Was penned inside the labyrinth,
And then, as if to throw away the key,
Inventor Daedalus and his dear son
Were for their work a prison tower fee'd.
But they grew wings, for as we know,
An inventor's work is never done...
If only Icarus had listened
And kept a proper place below the sun,
Breugel's painting would have lost
Its distant splashy focal point;
The plowman and the shepherd would
Have stood alone above a perfect sea.
Old Minos never had a chance,
And though the cunning Hunter,
(He, who found the man who
Made a string crawl curving
Through a shell behind an ant),
Had won... decided to disrobe
And take a dip...a foolish act
To choose when Daedalus
Would serve a hot revenge.
Daedalus, who knew the score,
Burned wood to make the water soar;
In vengeance vented spiteful wrath,
And cooked old Minos in his bath.
Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 10:07 PM UTC
lovers forgo their faces
defacing in the act
mammering their information to unreadable smudges
they slur in kinetic fluctuation
experimenting material forms fray
each the others face is vented away
betray being human
no separated being
and then...
to return in the tender moments following
a bumbling landfall
then they are athletes
enamoured and praising of the other
flushed and radiating
having rushed the life from their breath
they heave in its return
Later in a **** trip down to the night kitchen
they forgo they faces in a foxes forage
hers ; over-lit by the fridge light
face thrown into a mask by extreme shaddows
his ; beyond this light in the dark
they are bodies
sneak children
the raider and the lookout
after many years make the familiar relation
her face disappears into a hand mirror
and his is pulled out
into a middle distance beyond the dresser
durred in thought and waiting for 'go'
to the restaurant tonite
or that career social that neither wishes to attend
- fell shy of Eden
Sep 11, 2022
Sep 11, 2022 at 8:48 PM UTC
In Lisbon, we blended
ended the day with spectacular culinary
Shopped and hopped side to side
In Dublin, we vented
as the whisky and Guinness was **** good
Shipped the hire car to Galway
In Italy, we invented
dropped coins in fountains of love we already held
From Florence, to Milan, to Rome, to Bologna
In Paris, I rented
alone in protests and hippies at Place De La Republique
Dreamt of you as they skated
In Romania, I persisted
up on the icy Tranfagarasan highway traps
I saw a bear and it had your eyes
In Stockholm, we insisted
As the Vasa sunk on tables of *****
Pecked on the trains and shied away.
In London, we protested
It was an ordinary day and the flowers didn't bloom
The Thames was gloomy and stale
In Oslo, we transmitted
The reindeer meal and cranberry was a disaster
The gloom followed us to southern skies
In Copenhagen, you were sorted
Smiled and amused by the Tivoli gardens
The night became day and the wind withered
In Amsterdam, we did what we did
Stored the memories on the reclaimed lands
Free-spirited in love and in eternity
May 19, 2016
May 19, 2016 at 6:05 PM UTC
Nancy loved Bobby,
And Bobby loved Stacie,
And Stacie was confused since she loved both simultaneously.
What a strange shape we’ve built.
The angles weren’t adding up,
Bobby’s was way too much,
Since he loved Stacie more than she loved Nancy.
How pitifully confusing.
Lines drawn with guilt.
What is one man to do?
Trapped between two girls,
One who’s confused.
These feelings, so deceiving,
It seems like everyone’s destined to lose.
This obtuse love triangle,
Only spells doom.
Nancy found Bobby making out with Stacie,
And ran off crying in a hurry.
Stacie felt guilty, but Bobby was just too lovely.
The hypotenuse forgot the rules.
Nancy and Stacie both vented their heavy hearts.
They destroyed their friendship, and the words left nasty scars.
All the while, Bobby was standing not too far away.
He found Stacie crying because Nancy had called her a heinous name.
But what’s a girl to do,
When she’s emotionally confused?
On the one hand, she has a guy who’s cute,
On the other, a woman who could heal all her wounds.
These feelings, so fleeting,
It seems like everyone’s destined to lose…
Oh, this obtuse love triangle,
Only spells doom.
In the end, none of them remained friends,
They made a pact to never speak to each other again.
They figured it would be the best thing to do.
Bobby, Nancy, and Stacie,
Feeling so blue and so lonely.
I guess they’re lucky,
That there’s always more fish in the sea.
No use to spend all their love,
On someone who didn’t know what they wanted.
But what were they to do?
In the game of love, they were new.
They thought they knew,
Who their heart belonged to.
Fate demanded to be paid his dues,
It seemed they were destined to lose…
Oh, this obtuse love triangle,
Only spells doom…
Sep 20, 2025
Sep 20, 2025 at 11:17 PM UTC
tonight i
lost it a little
and it's not even night
it's morning
just to be clear
start over...
this MORNING
i
lost it a little
and i don't know
how to be better
i talked at a white shining light
on my computer
i vented
at a webcam
for thirty minutes
and i looked myself in the face
and tried to tell me it'd be alright
but the words choked me
and i couldn't
get them out
and im not trying to be an overdramatic
*******
a whiner
or a ****** kid
i just have abandonment issues
and cutting
and wantingtodietoomuch
issues
and i feel like everyone is biding their time
waiting
to leave me
and i feel like
i can't sew up the child-sized holes
in my dad's heart
and it's ******* father's day
and i can't even do that
i can't ******* replace
the nine other kids
that should be here
i can't make up for that
i am just
one person
one daughter
and i cannot make my daddy
better
and i
hate
it
happy
*******
father's day
Jun 16, 2013
Jun 16, 2013 at 4:43 AM UTC
Alone in a blank meadow
even that night hadn't grown any shadow
Certainly I had seen
the mystic moonlight was falling on the purples of the valleys, dancing with the sweet summer breeze
Certainly I had seen,
Her smile on the dark side of the moon,
how did she unclosed herself in an unclogged sky!
how did her glimmer attract the arbitary!
did you see her streaming beauty anytime?
I am not a poet at all,
So I could not write an ode about her beauty,
Yeah, finally dreams were coming slowly from the wide open sky_
Slowly and Slowly,
I was mingling with her shimmering
even I could not bear her long
wild and mad looks,
such a heavy unfolded glee,
Oh! very smashing shines spreading beyond the valley,
That only be vented by the poetess Shelley....
@Musfiq us shaleheen*
Sep 10, 2014
Sep 10, 2014 at 3:59 PM UTC
vented clouds
form a mackerel skin sky
implanted chill
fills out
from a marrow ache
to the human exterior
i walk under the sky
porous to it all
connected by the cold
Nov 30, 2021
Nov 30, 2021 at 11:51 AM UTC
Cash, card and mobile, please.
Had his hood on and made a tough
Face of some sorts as he flashed
What looked like a blade, only
Smaller. *Sorry, mate. My phone
Is in my hotel room, my money is
All somewhere between my kidneys
And liver, but I have these two
Fists, and I'm losing my girlfriend as
We speak, so PLEASE come closer
With that pathetic excuse for a knife,
So I can use it to pick what's left of
Your heart from my teeth after
My anger is vented.
I don't care if it's Islington;
Did you hear about the Viking at
Stamford Bridge? I'm back.* Don't
Ever mug a Norwegian.
Don't ever try to mug a Norwegian.
Don't ever try to mug a Norwegian
Poet. I still have £200 in
My pocket. And a tongue as sharp
As anything I've ever been
Threatened with. Boy.
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 10:09 PM UTC
Sitting in her chair
Wanting out of there,
The Notorious Natalie
Plotted quite frantically.
Mind absorbed in many plots,
Its a wonder she didn't develop brain clots.
Hearing her quarry coming down the hall,
She wheeled herself closer to the wall.
She spoke so low with all due sobriety,
"Here goes the plan in all its entirety."
Giving a wink, tossing a mickey,
Choosing her time, being quite picky.
Catching sight of that sanctimonious nurse,
She vented her rage, let out a curse.
Flew through the air, and let out a yell.
Poor old Nurse Agnes sure did quell.
Natalie's plan, to take the nurse down,
Ended badly with her on the ground.
The belts snapped her back and she hit the floor.
The ice pick she had flew into the door.
And even now that she's forgetful
Natalie's heart is still regretful.
Avoiding plots of ice picks and death,
Focusing mainly on keeping her breath.
Jan 30, 2011
Jan 30, 2011 at 8:51 AM UTC
The day a lightning struck my home in September 2010
I read in it signs of bad time grave misfortune’s ill omen
Early morn it fell the night though didn’t hint of a bad weather
Jolting us further a bereaved family my father had died that year.
Spitting fire it chipped a chunk of attic struck dead an arecanut tree
Blew the TV dead lights and fans fled it vented such awesome energy
What had we done to deserve such a deal why befell us the curse
Redoing the roof replacing dead wares it was taxing on our purse.
They say it’s too bad when god goes as mad as to strike your home with lightning
You must have sinned to incur his wrath more misfortune it probably would bring
So we brought a priest for peace and worship we had to appease the deity
In our quest to strike a deal with god’s will was forgotten the arecanut tree.
The house was mended things returned to shape we brokered a peace with god
It all looked fine the mishap forgotten no calamity struck our abode
As a relic of that time stands the arecanut tree without a leaf on its head
Mutely it bears the brunt of god’s fury so is the way it is made.
One autumn morn there was a tapping sound on that tree’s hollowed dead bark
As I peeped through the window I saw a woodpecker its beak was busy at work
So many times I had thought to cut off the tree for it could never grow its root
The bird has got a nest for little ones’ rest god’s will has borne a sweet fruit.
Oct 8, 2013
Oct 8, 2013 at 6:38 AM UTC
Standing beneath black skies' hush,
cold rains' fall a stimulating touch
bringing rise to forbearance
forcing stormcells to pressured positions
above our expanse.
These words escape to nothing.
Thick air mixed in
with each vowel of smoke,
straining to glimpse beyond
those choked fragments.
I caught your shadow
skirting the edge of visions
and slipping past my bounds.
You were cloaked in millennia,
time soaked from downpours
seemingly lost of origins,
be they long past
or still forecast,
you were,
falling drops rolling
from silken hair
still bruised in memory,
forgoing present presentation
to reacquaint opportunity
with overlooked encounters.
Soaked to soul,
the ripples spread quick
stepping to the plane of...
...wait,
where are you...
when are we...
...will you be?..
...or have we been
lost in relativity
and escaping in
each word I breathe.
Comprehension critical,
compassionate clouds constantly
reminding of drowning you out,
professing this changing view
in hallowed hurricane whispers.
An angel you became,
living upon these grounds
your plague, living on,
earthly existence anathema,
each second foreword
another progression of
decreeing beating heart
a final concerto, Ava Maria
your soliloquy, serenading
dreams in a missing tongue,
with dying tone
and a pulse set out for loan.
Loneliness my investment,
appreciating until the light was blinding,
pain breaking anthems,
scaling back to feed off
what was left.
I missed our true nature until it was reflex,
illumination only brief glimpses of a passed future,
grief developing to timelines sutures,
bleeding blending was
and has,
with will be still the memory
I'm forced to foresee.
Broken in neutrality,
droplets still caressing the shadow
skirting the corner of my eye.
Your life was short,
I let us die far too young.
Consider it your sacrifice,
the reason for the crying clouds
whose pain soothes these brainstorms
vented through cigarette breaks
wasted pouring words
to howling winds.
Aug 29, 2012
Aug 29, 2012 at 6:06 PM UTC
Am I feeling better now?
Estranged and Deranged, not a single person sitting there to call my name
Am I feeling better now?
Alone in my chest, in my home, in my art, I express from the bottom of my heart, there's a draught letting in the emotional winds
Feeling any better now?
Not much else left to say as I spill it all out with the pen on the page, chronically feeling on the edge, if this is a window I've jumped off the ledge.
Feel much better now, now it's all vented out, all I've ranted about, no time for self-doubt. I've got a life to live and too much to give to give out, on a single whim.
I guess that's the thing, behind the façade, I'm still him, still that guy, still the one, still the same, still the same... As the guy I was when we first dated, when we first kissed, hoping that we'll come back from this.
Guess I still have to grow up..
Jan 11, 2011
Jan 11, 2011 at 5:44 PM UTC
This morning, I stepped on a landmine.
I tried using a twig to clean each line,
I spent a while, a very very long time,
Using a twig to depoop the very bottom
Of my shoe, & my dog thought, (Got'em.)
So as he's laughing at my bad situation
I used my noggin and vented frustration.
Found his brush & he stopped rollin'
As I scraped away what was holdin'
Fast to my left shoe. The moment; golden.
Feb 28, 2017
Feb 28, 2017 at 10:37 AM UTC
When we left, the anger was courageous
Tears shrugged off their ducts and ran a river
And so....it was an adopted day. Lopsided
Out of kilter, hard boiled, the reflux swallowed
Spite spat out its tabloid journal and spanked me
A chancer on a long haul flight of emotion. A broken limb
A ball of 'Nastiness' bit into my flesh. Stamping dishonesty
A clear winter blue sky......guarding its frosty secret
The guns shot their bullets, cracking the air between us
Hitting the eye of the bull. The red rag waved at a tangent
Calling in all favours. Bystanders gorged. Rubber necked
As your heart parted company with your soul and bounced
When you undid the latch, the safety catch broke and hit the floor
Purged. Vented. Filling the air with blemishes. The stars fell
Short of their place in the universe; befriended and hung out
With blackened bark as debris hit. Now minus will only equal minus
.......equal minus
Mar 7, 2013
Mar 7, 2013 at 4:36 PM UTC
Vi ses igen
du rækker din hånd gennem drømmenes masker
Vi ses igen
du står i en rude på tiende sal
Vi ses igen
passerer hinanden på hældende trapper
Vi ses igen
sover tilfældigt i det samme tog
Jeg ser dig igen på den mørke plads
månen hælder sølv i dit hår
Du ser mig vente for grønt
som om jeg vented på nogen
Ses igen blikkene standser i mængden
Ses igen i en tilsneet have
Ses igen i en opbrudt gade
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 6:41 PM UTC
Long car trips
Crowded with junk
And cramping legs
Flashing light streaming through the window
Into the muggy car air,
A trapped fly banging on the glass,
Low rumbling like gravel thunder
And bursts of shaking
Rattling teeth and seatbelts
When you roll over stones
Wisps of vented air
Curling around your naked toes,
And sweaty, rumpled clothes.
Skin sticking to fake leather seats
The slight sifting sick in your belly
Sitting fat like a toad,
And hoping the stuff in the back
Isn't shaking or breaking apart
From the crunching washboard gravel,
And drowsy eyes, tired from endless trees
Slowly drift until you arrive in the dark
Jul 11, 2015
Jul 11, 2015 at 1:34 PM UTC
my questioning,
directed at myself
and the answer simp,
not necessarily simpatico,
cause the answer is either
today, or never,
could be
both or n-either
yeah,
of that age,
when I awake
first two words are
******* again?
and
if I hurry,
one piecework,
one mo’ poem,
hurried,
may yet be
vented,
scurried,
aired out
or for
quick disposal
sad dispatch
one mo’
disgorged poem
within and withouted,
either side
of midnight
been gorging
on letters ever since
They fed me
sugared letters
& lemons
for breakfast
and the last twenty
sending them you
in a disembodied
softly softly
voice
no matter how
far your imaginary
ears are from me
Sunday AM 9:52 2/19/25
🥲
Jan 19, 2025
Jan 19, 2025 at 9:51 AM UTC
A cake of nurture and dreams
Made with the love of a maternal hand
Held to its core by an annointed candle
One of many belaying darkness
Until the wish emerges from your dream
A pouted blow, subtle to caress the wish
If the blowing soul has not the conviction
A full blooded blow will transpire
The smoke enthused wish rises
carrying with grace to ones deity on high
The rayless candle lifted inspires a cakely breath
A magnetic capacious attraction to all
Benediction now stored within its sweetly core
A knifely treaty made with sacrificial cake
Good, vented to the riven soul
A bonding gift, a cakely slice
for each companion
Consumed with temporal appetite
Binding memory to this day
Heralding ones peace with this earthly year
Jan 6, 2023
Jan 6, 2023 at 9:43 AM UTC
You wanna talk balance, huh?
You got a lecture to give,
and I’m not allowed to pour a drink
to get me through? Well ****
if this ain’t ridiculous,
but I’ll listen. Nothing else to do
up here in the snow and the solitude and the shining.
You say things started alright,
and I nod, sip something unreal,
and say *yes, my dear,
yes, perhaps I broke his arm
but I’ve vented the pressure
out of the boiler now.*
And ain’t it a **** shame
that I don’t talk to Al any more?
‘Cept to sneer about the history
of a place that’s too far away to push
him back to drink.
So sure, tell me I’m unravelling,
and I’ll call you a *****
and you’ll lock yourself up in the room.
Give him the key, I’ll show him
that the **** in 217 is far worse
than a broken arm and a ruined career,
because this will take me away.
Who’s the other one inside me,
worming into a space
that I thought was mine?
Two in one body, a ****** perfect
discount deal on everything
that can destroy a family;
check one, a son with a broken
arm and a fractured mind,
check two, a ***** for a wife,
and check three, me
the head of it all,
proclamation, divination, damnation
of the foundation of this stutter
looking over, overlooking,
a broken record skipping to the part
where I **** the pressure,
**** the boiler.
I’ll see you in the next one.
Fin.
.
Apr 15, 2021
Apr 15, 2021 at 7:26 PM UTC
i just miss the way we used to speak,
sitting on your fire escape,
we vented our little hearts away,
figuring out a way out of the destruction we faced.
the hardships we endured weren’t just,
we were too young to experience those things.
so they’d tell us, but hey, remember when i used to sleepover your place?
despite needing space, you used to tell me anyway that I was your safe place.
it was as if we represented our own homes,
not reflecting it, just avoiding the conflict,
all we knew at the time was feeling like we belonged.
all along, i wanted someone to lean on when the obstacles grew too difficult to face.
when i found you,
i learned just how that felt.
now, we’re growing old,
connection is wearing thin,
but i’m still thinking of you to maintain faith.
you help me through things i can’t make out,
and for that, i’m forever grateful to have you,
to have had that one special connection.
days are passing by,
time is ticking, and it feels longer without you here with me.
you moved away four years ago,
but it feels like i lost track of where that person I’ve known my whole life went.
distance could be the reason for our connection not being the same,
but, the harder i try to remember the reason why,
the more pain it brings.
these tears I cry out are temporary calls for help through times I need you here with me to stay.
hopefully one day, our days will come back to us as they should,
we will reunite and rekindle our once special connection,
making each other feel like nothing has changed.
in the mean time, i can replay the memories we’ve made,
with you by my side reminds me of the feeling of getting through anything.
because you were my safe place, the one I depended on when people pushed me away when I had nowhere else to go.
when i cry at night,
the thought of you next to me bring the tears I cry to water for the trees, and those cries turn to sounds of peace,
you are my safe place.
May 22, 2019
May 22, 2019 at 9:41 PM UTC