"voided" poems
Softly seductive, some solvent serenity
Under unbelievable umbrella unlimited
Basking baked, both bonafide believers
Making music more meaningful, memory's made
Intellectual, introspective, incalculably impervious
So **** said sits salted, suspecting supplantation
Soon silly slips said summarize serendipitous
Indefinitely inplosive, internalized into intangible inflagrante
Viciousness voided, vague variables vital
Eroticism enduring, end erit empathy
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 9:46 AM UTC
i like angry poetry
the kind that churns
in your gut,
with razors for teeth
and gums bleeding.
i like the violent sound
of verbs clashing
on a decaying page,
like the shot of a gun
on a quiet day.
i like the poetry that stays,
that lies in waiting
like a dog in a cage,
words that creep like
voided birds into the
wired tress of my brain,
that pay their rent
like drunken travelers
and trash the place.
i like angry poetry
the kind that sears it's
screams to my lips,
which spirit echoes and
moans for eager,
****** eyes.
words that hit like *****
giving their reader
a killer hangover.
i like angry poetry,
the kind that leave you
with a smoky exit.
Apr 8, 2016
Apr 8, 2016 at 9:13 AM UTC
You cant tell that behind my red lipstick
And matching clothes I wear a secret
I live out of a bag, but not out of regrets
My life is a story that no one had the time to read yet
Its deep, long but filled to the brim in secrets
Someone sees me and wouldn’t believe me
When I say
I am
homeless
Life happens and that’s okay
I took a chance and it didn't go my way
And I walk through a autumn day and see homeless people
Just
Like
me
I walk through the wit past the deer head painting on the bridge
A homeless man who always sits says
Good morning
I give him a grin and I can tell it made his day
Some kinda sad bearing down, as it begins to rain
I remember when I was moving out into the world
Boxes packed,rain fell in sheets
I gave out boxes of coats, and hope for warm feet
And someone said it was nice of me
Something
died
in me
Would you not do the same for me?
What happened to humanity?
I wonder what would happen
if my friends were different
if a couch wasn't an option
I'll move on then
I see myself in an old mans crazed eyes
As he sits at the bus station voided and deprived
And something inside of me dies a little
When everyone sees
With cast away eyes
Difference in a little
lipstick
Age
Time
A little more life
That didn’t go right
Without this break I wouldn’t have got
The full time job
My way back on top
And they key to his heart
Is as simple as socks
You should look away
Feel some kind of shame
You can at least say good morning
Remember his name
or at least see him as human
I wonder what would happen
If I didn’t have red lipstick
Life had chewed me up a little longer
Would you walk past me
In your Cold steel armor?
homeless
or hopeless
you pick the title
Oct 21, 2013
Oct 21, 2013 at 1:14 AM UTC
can anyone tell me
why East and West are fighting?
in an indisputably Round world
going West far enough
will put you in the East
and vice versa
in a round view of things
people of the east
need the same things
as people of the west
and what about the middle people?
what do they need?
roundly the same I'd say
so roundly I also say
otherness is to be avoided
otherness to be voided
replaced by roundness
roundness is to be embraced
all around the world
so I'll start
and put my arms around you
like a circle around the sun
for I am
as round as you
Aug 17, 2014
Aug 17, 2014 at 5:20 PM UTC
The light in her mind was a flicker
And slowly rage consumed her
Hope was doomed and heart was voided
Time ran out and breath avoided
Space was pierced and life was death
But then she took her very last breath
Only blood seeped from the broken mind
Until she had one last thing to find
There was a rose lovely and divine
She said one thing,“It will be mine”
May 28, 2015
May 28, 2015 at 2:40 PM UTC
She bleeds ‘all tragic steam work blasted mists
‘All hobbled clamped free fall for ‘all seasonal depression slump
She’s ‘all death knell cramp urgency and held back suffering kneeling
on kitchen floors ‘all like boarding school broomsticks lessons
with ‘all that theoretical **** the ***** save the man type
schlock shock rhetoric shtick
so ‘all I’ll be is her savage heretic wagon burner page-turner
on the hot coal back burner ‘all boarded up sealed shut in the walls
until she calls
Expecting me to be 'all combat ready
‘all back with a vengeance
while her thrift store hazard suit groups and droops
‘all over my haphazard dream sliced hang nailed hangover hands
hiding ‘all derelict style while between the sheets confessional
gets voided by social media air raid sirens
bringing me ‘all too close to rocks and crystals
and who ‘all needs another pathetic apathetic
junk punk when
‘all and ‘all
I'd rather die for you
because
I just can't live with myself
Jan 17, 2014
Jan 17, 2014 at 3:08 PM UTC
There comes a time in everyone's life where they have to ask themselves is it worth it. I mean I have the American dream right? I think they're all lies told to make you think you have to reach for something or life is meaningless and wasted. All these empty goals reached don't make me happy. The process is still voided and leads to a dark hole. At 20 my life was never the same and I don't know whether that's good or bad. Just memories to me currently. I can swim a little, but the waves still still get me ashore. Trying so hard some would say I lost my black card. Some would say my sanity is at risk for extinction. Then I ask myself did it ever exist. Both my sanity and this dream I call mine. Land mines in a field if you ask me. Rat traps to keep you trapped in thinking smaller than you are. Delusion of grandeur leaving me thinking I'm greater than I really am. Balance is the key that kept my door locked all my life. They don't tell you about balance. They tell you failure is avoidable and leads to pits. But really you have to fail to succeed and too much success will ruin you. Oxymorons that's tell you that it's okay to be fine with not being where you want to be.
Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 2:57 PM UTC
Eat.
Study.
Pray.
Top.
Everything else is rendered nullified and voided.
Jul 1, 2014
Jul 1, 2014 at 12:14 PM UTC
a toast to the gods of self preservation
twenty one with plenty coming
allowing to pound sounds within
the crown aroused voided a founders of it’s bruises
spells hold the fold, I’m coasting with the best
resting in the east so I sleep with blinds low
the comfort zone is far from solitude
my molecules have aptitude to channel Jupiter
seatbelts are useless wastes of matter, excuse me
just a minute so you can miss me with that individuality
your calloused grip on reality impairs the singularity
old school, gold noose, silver lined diamonds
Jesus pieces reaped the seeds that teach your blind lids
came back with scabbed knuckled and heart scars
hustled the portal of pretension ever so ethereally
inner synthesis purged the day the plague hit
on the courts or the graves, you name the slaves
the game slayed the day the chains changed hands
Nov 8, 2013
Nov 8, 2013 at 2:20 PM UTC
cyclic lingering
disconnected rambling
the same words rearanged
breathes shortening
impotent bargaining
the same pattern misbehaves
Ive always walked this way
hormonal litter cursed by anatomy
hyesteria
weepy futility
uncharacteristic of one so bold
the words of tongues
drag mud through wounds
a voided heart : not so
deep breaths
stand strong in misery
mindfulness, like a drug
disconnect and call it religion
pacing pacing pacing
thoughts;
I bleed for the words of others
For both praise and scheming lies
I wish to leave this haunted soul
but I
But I
but I ...what?
need to run?
to hide?
to hold my ground?
we'll see as it comes
a controlling women's worst nightmare
Oct 17, 2012
Oct 17, 2012 at 4:51 PM UTC
All oceans would this navigator discover
seven seas in seven years did he roam
whist sparkling stars in the heavens tried so hard
yet this broken navigator could not get back home
So he bites on solar winds and sails
to a place of many days of doldrums
this place so stagnant and most morose
he had to his sins, has to wait with his kin within
His crew are that hard of salty seafaring kind
with maps written on their faces cracked by sun and salt
they his, had only ****** smells and shells
call them hero's as seven seas they did horridly sea's fought
This was his last voided slipstream event
these mariners by the cut of their gibe
prayed to an Egyptian Hero some call Alligator
for he is the first and last of Navigator
So whist this captain of mapped minds falls
his company will care for his last orders
for they have witnessed in ancient tears
and the breaking of the navigator
Oh fly the flag and be proud
live poetry with passion long and loud
let your heart embrace this creature proud
whist you watch the breaking of the Navigator
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
By NeonSolaris
© 2013 NeonSolaris (All rights reserved)
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 7:14 AM UTC
At night, against the pulsing embryonic black which could
Squeeze any number of untold horrors from it’s voided heft,
There sits a door; bright searchlights unmoving, having forever
Ago found and revealed the menacing target of their feverish hunt.
The lights, beacons of vision and revelation stay still,
Afraid to ever lift their gaze from the door.
The door; a crimson sentinel of conformity’s’ demands. A gate
To a finite space of infinite secluded terrors. It’s mocking facade,
Not the true foundation of the haunting visage, but it’s chosen
Illumination against the choking nothingness around it.
There is nothing else but it, and if the lights lose
Their oppressive gleaming, there will be nothing.
Would it not be better for the deep to win the ever waging war
Against our struggles to find hints of sight and recognition?
If the door were to vanish from the othering out there,
then it would be impossible to not turn inward. A forced reflection,
a mirror that’s presence is known, existence felt, but is unseen,
only available when the absence is absolute.
Nonplussed, the bastion remains, a gravity well pulsing
In and out the night, as if the darkness centered around
Maintaining the illusion of safety from knowing ourselves.
Do not be afraid, you will not be forsaken or alone with anything
Other than the beating of your quickened pulse, the edges
Of your vision shrinking until all that you are
Is mirrored in that crimson sentinel.
Apr 7, 2021
Apr 7, 2021 at 9:28 PM UTC
Penny vase made from
the brown voided canyon rusting.
Friends that were made of waste,
they said time was simply turning,
the boat spoke back and said the depth of ones nature
could walk on water
But a deep voice
Was all that sprayed in pungent
aerosol and
displeasure.
Do we need to be on the same boat?
To drift into the beguiling surf?
Altogether
Better if we were dispersed
Dropped by the caving soft curve
Sliding through the unseen wash, watching your muddy glare.
Track the force in
blueberry motion
pulling and pushing us,
a sollen hand
and flying sleeve
The touch of flaunting fingertips and strings,
The fluttering wick
Swing and swished.
The chest of wonders beaming
Transmitting
a map
and lines like hay and wires
They were all exposed in the lines of her eyes
Maps
You frightened me that sleepy day
The dusted arsenal stick
Casted me on a rod made of hibiscus dew and syrup
A venomous hook that entangled my earrings
The push and her wave of desire,
Maps
To her treasure,
Reeled it now all over her wet webbed feet.
Caged,
Maps
and pressure
of the rocks falling against the time ticking
Hours away from the swaying shore.
Oct 18, 2018
Oct 18, 2018 at 8:56 AM UTC
What do you do
when you realize
you're the aftermath
of someone's abuse?
It was written in the subtleties,
not the clear skin on your face.
You find it etched inside
of a voided smile.
The byproduct
of back handed remarks.
You stayed home
convinced yourself
you weren't really lonely.
But when you went out
you were made to feel the same.
Second guessing became
second nature.
Proving yourself worthy
became a personality trait.
It's not always clenched fist
or hit and run
It's a quick wit
and a razor tongue too.
The kind of love
that makes you
question the lengths
you've walked in life.
Makes you think
the only way is stay put
or go backwards.
The green eyed monster
turned you pale again
and you don't see
yourself in the mirror anymore.
Only someone who paints
her face with a smile
and tells everyone she's okay.
But the aftermath
is still just as deadly.
and your eyes feel sore
from trying to see
the good in things.
It's not always black eye
and a pain in your head.
If the flags read red-
then run.
No matter how far
you have made it.
Jan 7, 2017
Jan 7, 2017 at 2:20 PM UTC
Cataclysm is thy scorn.
Voided hearth.
Among the mourned.
Beginning to End.
Sands of Time commence.
Scorned Catalyst,
Voided among the bends.
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 9:54 AM UTC
eight years on,
she, airplane borne,
takeoff - a minute from,
texts a parting thot
"love you madly"
you can't recall ever
that prescient précis designation
on any earlier editions
of your other old lovers resumes
this tidbit of reckless abandon
moves fury fast,
direct to the top of the list
madly, manly madness,
when you man,
allow the crossover to occur,
when boundaries twixt honesty and
sensibility
are declared
voided laws
when the white cloth napkin of careful sanity knocked, swept to the floor
maddening love rawest realized
conceded
in madness, completion is indivisible,
indivisible, completion is madness
manly madness
May 25, 2016
May 25, 2016 at 4:17 PM UTC
Our hands rise
and the street leaps.
Our eyes lower,
the heavens collapse.
From our unspoken pain,
a tulip tree grows
mysteriously behind us.
From our cherished wishes,
a star rises
just beyond our reach.
Do you hear the bullets
whizzing around our heads
guarding our kisses?
The sweetness
of your glance
never ends.
No birds fly south
from your eyes;
no avalanches slide
from your *******
In the paradise
of your sight
the sun never sets.
These are your lips
I return to your neck.
Your blood
burns in my heart.
Everything remains.
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 7:28 AM UTC
TW: eating disorder
I am walking underwater.
The food I will not let myself eat
falls into the garbage disposal with the thud of voided misuse
a rising steam of self-hatred
as my mouth hangs open
hungry,
waiting for endorphins that never come
and self-denial still does not
meet my confessional act of contrite penance
it still feels like a sin
to eat
or not to eat
and there is no pleasure in gluttony
or in fast.
Mar 7, 2021
Mar 7, 2021 at 8:37 PM UTC
I am a Woman:
My skin melted in moonlight into grim of the darkness of night,
My hair sewed a meadow’s wildflowers,
That's how a woman created in me'
with blood divine,
I am a woman' strong and at the same time soft,
I am more like a pure wine of heaven,
Through dew, the spark of life arrowed in,
Giving birth to the wildwood adored skin,
Delphinium vivid petals of spring late,
With flagrant red roses; coloring my lips,
My eyes carry the dreams of poetry,
hopes of songs,
and music of joy,
An existence where I would live with pure me,
Where I would dance with my **** truths,
Play the drama of mystery,
And audience and stage all are for me,
Gathered to listen to me,
To see me play all drama and dance in between of drama,
I wrought the hair of my drenched in the psalm,
Enchanting with dark godly melodies of mine,
Braiding light with sorrows that, there, were.
The breeze from the voided air,
To embroider something, while reciting a prayer,
And dizzily, I fabricated a soul for the mud,
I inhaled, in awe and feel the life,
I am the words in a poem, ready to rhyme,
Yes, I am a woman,
Enough to feel the entire universe within the word of Woman,
My light reflected on my broken pieces,
The rays shaped a tree of wicked caprices,
Where my fantasies grow,
However, I am my own little beautiful creation,
And this reality is my hunger’s innovation.
The reality we all share,
Yet what deep is, makes my reality whole.
Mar 18, 2022
Mar 18, 2022 at 3:33 PM UTC
Here I am
In the midst of all chaos and confusion
The brisk wind chills me to the bone
Hoping this is all just an illusion.
I only trusted the person you showed me
And kept me in the darkened room
Always depressed......
And unworthy....
You slither around like the serpent you are and im filled with dread and doom.
Keeping me hidden away from myself, so not even i know the real me
Running from the ones who love me and care for me
Into the arms of an abyss full of tradgedies
Who can survive in a world full of voided space without love?
As i lay my head down, in a final breath,,,,
It is finally silent.
I know who i was, but its too late.
Mar 8, 2015
Mar 8, 2015 at 4:05 AM UTC
As we start this solemn slalom towards a day that ends engorged,
with stomachs bloated whilst we gloated and toasted a perfect day,
let us remember that December has more days than the 25th.
Mass consumerism has voided homemade, love made gifts.
Orange? In a stocking? That is shocking,
the kid asked for an X-box bundle.
Now, I'm not from the distant past, just the 1970's/80's
Where Christmas carols played alongside a Wham's 'last Christmas'
as we ate our immense repast and pulled a sad ******* or two.
Now, gifts are tiny (but show immense expense)
Most perplexing is this new time of year that Kris Kringle
Would undoubtedly mingle slamming a tequila or two!
Now, kitted out in new underwear
(Ironically cherubic rhymes with *****
it's time to offer salutations to the incoming year
with no backward glance or hindrance
We say "Happy New Year"
Dec 19, 2014
Dec 19, 2014 at 6:02 AM UTC
Results of blind love some may speak
Scales falling from the lovers tired eyes
To behold the glaring reality before them
An equally imperfect person which they wed
Let us not deny our humanness to the other
Faults bind two humans in oneness of mind
From each weakness one finds a new strength
To move forward as one body not two ashamed
Ay many things you are not my dearest one
And many more virtuous things you are
Do not call me a liar and mock my adoration
This heart is set in the warmth of your chest
These glowing eyes are set on your worth
Honestly aware of your mundane faults
Ask you not to be perfect in person alone
Only to be perfectly imperfect together
Feb 15, 2011
Feb 15, 2011 at 1:52 PM UTC
You have your demagogic president-elect,
Dreaming in shades of Mussolini
And will sit in his downtown skyscraper and laugh that all the populists
Were not in on the joke,
And thus could not be in on the punchline.
The progressives hotboxed the shower the night we handed the country to Trump.
Pennsylvania, the center of the cataclysm.
The vortex has opened and engulfed all the steel,
All of the illegal immigrants have been scooped up and swallowed,
Reproductive rights will be voided in a stacked Supreme Court validating the opinions of white male legislators.
Tensions twisting to contort and ignore the onset realization
That all progress is halted to return the country to the era of segregation,
Deportation Gestapo formed with the lone intent to displace the children of those who dared to dream of a brighter life.
America, look what you've done and face yourself with your objections.
Look dead in your eyes and see all the minorities, tears in the diaries of closeted teenagers,
And the judicial dread of the gentleman who only wants to live comfortably with his husband.
You've made stepping stones of the counterculture, all crying in dorm rooms or next to their gardens,
All together in sorrow.
Underground America has been sold out,
We're a social experiment for what can happen when sulfuric acid is poured upon the voiceless.
The silent majority has shut us up.
We've been yelling to change history and now are tracking back.
Bigotry is back in style and I'm terrified.
Nov 9, 2016
Nov 9, 2016 at 12:22 PM UTC
the city's moon
fixated in its peoples tics and behaviour
crass and mentally fractured
traction acts
the loony satellite makes sway for rude construction
padding our ego psychology
nothing simple allowed
we are all a manic reference of each other
the city weather is steered
by currents of gossip
withhold your info
culture clutches
misguiding alliances
treasure your details
it is your only insurance
this city
it's a view to thrill
but it odors me til ill
****** privacy and get undressed
too much time here harbouring thirst
quibbling hurt feelings
signals ; Life Emitting Distress
so
lock up the night city stars
mar-glaring bulbs of pity-me
staring about for vagrancy
i flip up my hood
lucent pandery eyes span the communal routes
search us out merchandise and mood
i turn down an alleyway
and am confronted
a vain and voyeuristic fan tail
varieties cocktail of sales and entertainment
ad lights send out sonar 'pings'
wing-ed ; fencing judgement
i wear pricy contacts to veil my retinas
and my hood is lined with aluminium
i cough and concentrate on breath
commemorate each step undertaken
weaponize my walk
eyes low
my being is voided into guise
heading further from the city centre
i can straighten from my defensive pose
in amongst the dwellings
the urban effect dwindles
kindled instead by the dosey soup wash of streetlights
delights; the holy crop of them
webbing outward retching past our boundaries
shored back upon natures breath
(so i imagine)
Nov 8, 2022
Nov 8, 2022 at 9:03 PM UTC
There was sweetness far too savage
In the sweat of your embrace
A window reflection all too simplified
For the flesh we bite just to taste
There was piquancy in saccharin tea
Spiked within promises we chase
A line confined within passion’s poison
Cursively articulated in voided space
There was a wholesome serenity in anticipation
Diluted with the sins that desires trace
A confessional ridden with dishonesty and hellfire
Fueled with the shadows in the sunlight’s wake
Passion will be as
Passion does
We will **** each other
Like the other does
And all will be
What never was
Jan 28, 2013
Jan 28, 2013 at 10:27 PM UTC