"waitting" poems
Es kadaake wali..thand me chai ki tarah bankar aajao na tum.
.
Sukhha sa pada hai mere dil ka registan ek baarish bankar aajao na tum
.
Nhi raha jaata es andhere wali Zindagi me,
Ek roshni ki kiran leke aajaao na tum.
.
Sab jaante nhi hai mere dil ki raani **
Ek baar aake bta jaao na tum
.
Dukh bad gye hai intzar me tumhaare.
Ek khushi banke dil me sama jaaao na tum.
.
Plzz plzZ plzZ
Meri lyf main aajao na tum.
.
.
.
#SmArTy...
Jan 9, 2018
Jan 9, 2018 at 10:25 PM UTC
From this barstool i have sat waitting for some moment
of inspiration to come to me.
But the only thing that that comes to me is
a bartender with another drink.
And in empty reflection lost in a jukebox's song
played by a lonley heart shooting pool.
I cant recall where the spark went.
maybe it fell to floor like the ash from a cigarette.
the page waits at home like a wife waitting in worry as her husban is off doing God knows what.
So worried only wishing he'd return.
And when he does the fear fades and the anger kicks in.
The bottle doesnt hold a key but it does know me well.
I kiss it's fiery lips and cant resist it's charm.
so I sit with it passing hours in a dance that will end in
nothing but another wasted night and a bitter morning taken
out apon my mind.
In a swirl of hungover thoughts id leave half written pages.
To soon find themselves collecting with my ever growing arsenal of
drunken rants.
All ending bitter and cold.
But when the whiskey hits I'll make such great plans
that will never be.
I'll write that epic that will keep in the minds
other writers.
And in the warm arms of women who wanna love a
trainwreck just to say they've known what it's like.
Whiskey wishes are like sparks from a much larger fire.
the sparks fly off into the midnight sky.
only to fade befor are very eye.
Dec 3, 2009
Dec 3, 2009 at 6:01 AM UTC
It was at the crack of the afternoon always when like some old circus bear i staggred to life.
Coffee surged through my veins with a touch of turkey to embrace the day to day troubles
with a sense of reason in the insanity.
The whispers were heavy like gunshot's that filled a early morning duck hunt.
Where half drunk men shared bottles and stories of conquest's some false others just straight ********
He's losing it ya know?
They had read my scrbblings and saw the flaws yet dared never to speak the words to
the devil in the flesh.
But much like a villan or a dam good ****** with a std i was just waitting to
run yet again.
The Gonzo of old died hard and a writer of insanity
seldom was at a loss for words or far from a intersection of trouble.
The road called.
And I her slave seldom ignored her for any woman worth her salt
was a cruel ***** at heart and thats what made them so dam aluering.
I was the president of debauchrey the chairman of the boy's club
a locker room jester who seldom showed his flaws.
But time scars us all and I was no diffrent.
I had slowed yet went past that edge like a child who tears into a gift seldom
looking at the paper let alone who its from.
Still that gleam in the eye did exist and the danger was all but to real.
I was ready to claim it back although none could take it from me.
The bike was older yet still had a howl like a devils hound on a sunsets promise.
the drugs the ***** the women all where but part of the drive and freedom
of a perk.
Much like the whiskey that burns in my veins id never
water down my word's
Cold wether was pointing me south the Key's were calling
in a tragic Hemmingway sense the old man's sea was but a bitter pill
and a islands stream of erased thought.
On a road that never grew old as I.
Soon i was off.
And God only knows what would lead to this tour of destruction.
But all i can say is gentlemen start your engines.
For the chaos has just begun.
Welcome To The Boy's Club
Part One
Oct 20, 2011
Oct 20, 2011 at 2:15 PM UTC
Shade Pines Mental Vacillty.
The room was packed the press ravenous waitting for the return of the madman of the place in which we cannot speak of.
How could it be were the rumour's true shock treatments torture had Gonzo finally sliped over the deep end?
The press was dead silent as he was walked into the room
but the man in front of them looked nothing like the man they once knew no wild turkey in front of him no sunglasses even worse no bloodshot eye's
The person that we cannot speak of spoke in the high almost like a cross between Brittney spears and Borat accent.
To which the press all laughed yet the person that we could not speak of did not get the joke as usal.
Cause he was a word we cannot say.
I pressent to you my friends the new and improved Gonzo.
Now I shall let the man himself speak.
The man who resembled gonzo drooled slightly leaned into the mic
Hello im Gonzo.
And after a bit of a awkward pause like when a alter boy cuts a **** they realized that was pretty much it for his deep speech.
The press astounded finally came to life like a seventy year old man who found a secret stash of ******
Gonzo is this a joke ? Gonzo wanna drink hey what about a ***** joke?
Im fine thank you im so happy to be here and be in your company
And I no longer drink well just water that is.
And may I say im so happy to be a changed man no bad jokes from me.
Nope just good wholesome fun no ***** words well I gotta go to my bible study folks it sure was nice to talk to you all.
The press werent buying it the one female repoter stood befor the shell
of a man and must have had a fashion mishap cause some buttons were missing from her top.
Um you sure you wanna leave?
Well miss im really sorry but I gotta be there on time there having cookies today.
And we gotta go over plans for the bakesale and you really need to fix your top miss cause your gonna catch a cold.
The woman stunned felt as if she had spoken to a alien just what had they done to the man once known as Gonzo.
And had they really lost the madman to this bizzar strange human who now did reside in his body.
Was it the end of ********** and wild turkey?
Would Sanity set in and leave things as fun a watching paint dry?
Would ***** jokes and madness be lost forever.
Tune in next week kids to read the next spine tingling chapter
in this drawn out weirdness known as the new Gonzo.
Nov 6, 2010
Nov 6, 2010 at 11:48 AM UTC
After stage exist do i leave a true self behind?
As the act has taken hold of my existance I view only one out.
With the dust.
Will hidden message be reveled my madness never was there a more true
poisen to pen than vice thats nothing more than the man.
Cheap motel's road trips have taken there toll as ive taken more from thoose with which ive shared a
sin laced night.
Im fine I swear.
And even togather I assure you im alone.
Start out slow just to burn out fast.
Empty the glass washed down pills and forgotten conversations
the jokes a cruel subject may I be your life's teacher?
Emptyness Inc. hollow my hall's least it's better than some
self righteous fool who has been left to preach.
A cheap **** and a firm shake.
You cant run with wolves and stay the lamb.
Uppers to wake ***** to slow and coke to understand its somehow it's gotta end.
Im sorry next time i'll call only to show the sadist within.
Pray they cant view the sweats man he truely lives his act or is his addictions living as what
he once knew to be him?
Moments I breath only to sink underneath waters drowned are my demons
care to hear there thoughts clear?
A angry voice lives behind vice can i calm this storm how can I grant safe passage?
When I cant even stand in the slightest wind?
Another night and still they ignore it because they hate to comfront for fear they'd taste the razor of tongue and face vice's all there own.
Art in any form should never be safe.
Hello she answers waitting for the line within mind
she know's will probaly sooner than later be read.
I cant say something I can never feel.
Remorse is great for hero's.
Im happy to be your villan.
Another town it's always a old scene.
Were the ****** up circus come to fuel a always burning ego driven fire.
A hot night a devil's pornagraphic scene.
What the dust leaves no true care of a honest ******* I fear none but myself.
May 28, 2012
May 28, 2012 at 1:25 PM UTC
Nights move like a forgotten ghost unwanted by all.
A vision unseen to all but one.
Down damp streets he haunts the same path every night just befor the dawn.
The empty hearts gather to drown togther in the sea.
Togther feeling so very alone.
Can we cast shadows in the darkness project happiness in such gloom to return the same old haunts again and again.
A wheel rolling without question.
On into the emptyness of my night.
Waitting for a return that never will be.
Cursing the problem never understanding it was her and me.
As the dream turn to the drunk.
The painter paints no longer sunsets but
Nights and his thoughts of blue to gray.
Warmth in the darker corners gives a view to
the young and the still hopefull.
Tiping my half empty glass I wish them to never know pain.
Finding a home with other empty hearts caught.
In ***** sheets im haunted by the ghost of my
former self.
A puddle stepped in cast waves of reflected neon light.
As we play a roll unknown to all
At typewritter I sit.
Listening to To the bar and bottles clatter men and women's
laughter and soon forgotten fight.
Yerning to be free so is the emptyness of my night.
Dec 17, 2009
Dec 17, 2009 at 10:07 PM UTC
Beneath the earth in tomb I lay trapped in night.
I hear the voices speaking yet cannot reply.
They mourn my death yet no not my living hell.
As I struggle to scream no words can I release.
I hear the words dust to dust yet I am alive.
I here the coffin begin its final journey into
its bed of earth.
And as I am erased from memory I am
slowley buired alive.
No one to hear. Unable to move I am but trapped within a shell
and burried within this cacoon of sering heat.
The air growing thin every breath burns my lungs.
Why can I not speak why must I suffer?
I strain but no words do escape my throat.
In darkness I lay waitting wishing to slip into a final
rest to escape my burning torment.
Strangled slowley in the devils arms.
Death a promise yet a far off nightmare
from this hell in which I exist.
Blind in life and bound in death.
A tear escapes my eye leaving a trail down my cheek.
The last water i shall know of heat and salt.
My last vision of darkness and the emptyness
from which there is no escape.
I pray to at last embrace the words.
And understand the true meaning of.
Goodbye!
Feb 5, 2011
Feb 5, 2011 at 12:41 AM UTC
The page laughing at me the canvas cold and blank.
Winter filled room in the middle of june.
Why had my heart run a ground on such jagged shores.
Now I scavage for remains of my soul.
ragged I wonder would anyone remember me apon my return.
Would she stand smile apon face and regret in heart.
The page stayed empty for a reason.
They were all gone the great titles along with there writers.
Me the fool brave or foolish enough to attempt the
impossible with little to show for it.
A broken relationship and some bad tattoos in
some weird places.
To be stuck down in a hollow .
Is fine with suplies low and the truth a sober mind brings
time was ticking the false deadline was apon me.
And like a kid trying to cram in every answer on a school test.
I was stuggling waitting for the teacher to say times up.
Hands shaking from the need throat dry and a headache
that would last for a week.
Why had it always come to this isolation.
Maybe it was the roads way of calling me back.
Like a lover calling me back to bed.
To entangle untill the mornings light.
Yet just like a passionet affair the struggle for the title
kept me trapped to this place for nights on end.
You cant grasp what is never yours its
like trying to see that sweet southern breeze.
Everytime you find one with which your heart agree's
You find the titles taken.
life and love will always bring you to your knees.
This is taken from what will be my first book
once through many long gin soaked nights is finally at it's final stages
and thank God cause it's been hell.
as of now the title will be The Road Begins ?
Hell my friends if you can think of a better title to describe my writting feel free to let me know Always your slightly crazy friend John Patrick Robbins
Jan 28, 2010
Jan 28, 2010 at 4:31 AM UTC
The cards have been played jokers once wild were part of a strangers fate.
The sudden ends promise seemed a fitting end to a sad play.
As in love were pawns to a changing emotion as restless as
the wind that blows off the sea.
Monster's my dear exist even within me.
Addiction has taken passion I can no longer love as in the page.
Suicide take's the person as in thoughts i'll blur the image.
I'll write the end only to erase my past.
Will they understand?
My solution was a bitter end and a finale and retreat.
Anger doesnt understand the endless rage.
Empty thoughts from the shallow page.
Ive seen it clear apon a night cast with my demons fog.
The edge is past reallity will splatter me in a lifeless pile.
Madness greet's the creative mind.
As sanity clings like a mother to
her son waitting for the war.
Ive long over stayed my welcome now I embrace
the finale chapter.
The candle's flame was ment only to consume.
The moths will second to it's nature.
A burst of flame then a slow fade into the ash apon the floor.
Empty eyes of a child hearts never stay broken.
We understood the play as traggic befor the closing act.
laughter my card a gift ive left in your heart.
Erased from sight I question the desire.
The edge wasnt there untill it was past.
Seems some were never ment to last.
Nov 4, 2010
Nov 4, 2010 at 10:50 PM UTC
No longer at desk the typewriter has been given
it's final rest.
As he cant recall the day or year.
The once strong mind is closed the body
but a museum or tribute to what once was.
he his home but locked within himself.
Vist's from thoose who once knew the man
are like people viewing a body at a wake.
he calls from within the shell for for release.
Yet his lips will not move his voice never sounds.
Inside he burns for the chance to run as the river
chases the sea.
To be the man they never knew and the one he
could admire and both despise.
The page sits in typewriter like a willing
eager lover in bed.
Waitting in stockings that cling to delicate thigh.
the tears escapes it's minds prison.
He thirsts for it like a drunk for that morning drink
of whiskey waitting hands held togather trying
to keep from shaking.
He sits as a painter without hand.
watching the most beautiful sunset fade without
a chance of ever capturing this moment.
The ink is drying he feels it everyday.
Soon he hopes like the dust that does gather
he will be swept away.
Nov 23, 2009
Nov 23, 2009 at 3:55 AM UTC
Maybe it was the city's lights that took your
eyes from mine and lead you astray.
memories made in rythm with the citys traffic.
empty barooms waitting to create tales of another day.
Hands held tightly still can slip from anyones grasp.
Hearts filled with passion change without notice.
Old locket loves are bound by rusted clasp.
A walk to togather is so much better than one alone.
Attached by more than words.
Dim lit streets and a sometimes working pay phone.
City your cruel and unforgiving to all.
Cold as a park bench for a bed.
Tugs haunt the water over the sea's wall.
Cheap wine fire from the barrel.
The city reflects a vision of wicked carol.
So does the sun bid farewell to the day.
As the poets take to pen.
I reflect apon the citys lights that lead
your eyes astray
Jan 19, 2010
Jan 19, 2010 at 4:58 AM UTC
I think at early age i saw the truth and its harsh light.
The dreamer was a sweet idea the reallity a cold *******
The poets to weak often found comfort in there vices.
The washed up often found a finale page in there brains being splattred across the room.
And the wise often found themselves wanting foolish
things.
Love it was a word often used and seldom felt.
It was that fix down Church street it was a score for a moment a regret at best.
Love i hate it's existance it was the mirage that I saw in a cool nights fog
It called me once and killed me slowley one bad choice at a time.
Im not saying the young couple in passion is a time bomb waitting to
turn into a disaster at any second.
Im just saying it wouldnt catch me in it's aftermath.
The washed up thought it made them immortal.
The dreamers thought of it as air.
And the wise were to busy avoiding it at all cost's.
But the broken saw it as paper sailboat caught in a storms drain.
I remeber her well.
Nov 20, 2010
Nov 20, 2010 at 11:30 PM UTC
Controlled with words,
Leashed to some stranger.
Third wheels so expendable,
Away from it all in the back.
Staring into the streetlights,
The thoughts run past the open trunk.
Who knows what you did to me,
To make me lose all hope.
Yes it's a sad ******* poem,
No it doesn't rhyme.
I'm listening to mellow music,
In the back,
Of my car.
Waitting to leave this parking lot.
Just leave my life and stay away,
Can't play this confusing game.
I've got everything to lose,
And only one thing to gain,
I know I will misplace it,
**** all this pain.
I pretray a man of excellence,
But I just am I boy waitting in the rain.
I should be done.
Nov 5, 2012
Nov 5, 2012 at 4:37 PM UTC
He felt so small and insignificant.
He had hardly any wight and he was quite small.
Something was changing.
He opened his eyes and saw the light.
People around him where whispering.
They were waitting for his next movement.
Suddenly someone hit him.
He felt like crying and tears started rolling.
He was just born.
Mar 24, 2013
Mar 24, 2013 at 6:27 PM UTC
Your safe and warm
got a brake from the storm
and visiting time seams like the past
and you just reched the part
where your losing spirit leave you heart fast
and this giant of darkness surrounds you
it a long way to dawn
and your shivering to hide
so you wait for the sun
just to known a new day is began
but today you feel of glass
sitting on a shelf that you know will fall down
waitting to drop.
Jun 11, 2015
Jun 11, 2015 at 12:28 PM UTC
When I met you
you where all I had
I told myself
Thak you Lord
but inspit of of my self
I fell in love with you
just outside there waitting
just out the circle
it was hard to say
witch way were you looking
was it me
you did feel
hold your breath
then fall
Just outside waitting
I don't know who
Lick the inside of my leg.
Apr 20, 2015
Apr 20, 2015 at 1:23 PM UTC