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Àŧùl Jan 2016
I know not of anyone else now,
That I can trust with my life.
There's nobody forever except one,
One - my forever faithful friend.
He will never leave me alone,
Never ditch me wastefully.
And never let me down,
For it's obviously me only.
I am my best friend.
Yeah, it often gets boring,
'Coz I can't keep talking to myself.
My HP Poem #1004
©Atul Kaushal
Goodnight world of light
I go to spend the dark night
Wastefully, on sleep.
I don't care what I don't do
Or don't accomplish; I sleep!
Her wails rent the air

O God how unfair you are
to have snatched him from me
the only man that truly cared
never treated me badly.

Without him is a life to grieve
empty meaningless
take me too O God relieve
this pain of no redress!


Shouldn't we bring a costly cot
of mahogany or such wood
asked the men what was her thought
about carrying her man so good.

Shouldn't the pyre be of sandalwood
the fuel a pure ghee
your husband ma'am was a man too good
to be burned ordinarily.

She paused a while frowning dark
a shadow passed her face
a hint of wince made its mark
a pall of uneasiness.

He's gone to never return
the onus is now on me
to run the days with meager earn
and not spend wastefully.

ordinary wood would burn as good
kerosene would do well
prudence demands not one should
be lavish in funeral.
Jelly Walker Apr 2018
I’ve kissed too many lips
who tend to forget my name the next day
I’ve hugged bodies who once kept me warm and loved
that are gone as soon as I realize they never meant it.
I’ve spoken words to people who didn’t even deserve to know the secrets of my universe
I’ve shared beds with souls who were only there to acknowledge their own self worth, while mine deteriorated with every second
I’ve loved humans who didn’t even know what love was, causing me to wastefully pour out whatever was left in my heart...
destructing into the fragile bit of me now
— Now I’m left so afraid to get attached to people.
Rangzeb Hussain Mar 2010
At this late hour you ache for Eden’s precious priceless peace,
Shy shame pecked you until you recklessly plucked forsaken fruit
from yonder randomly ravished tree,
You no more sleep sweetly in deep dreams
with your beautiful bountiful luscious lovely turtledove,
Tintoretto’s golden lipped asp is now by you so poorly pawned.

You day by day wastefully just joke away
with an old cloaked crone already fertilized, discarded yet owned,
It makes me want to croak cry
how this age old dastardly liar desperately detains you,
He is but a shallow sinking stinking tainted tyrant
with a hundred thousand hidden talented talons.

His moist mobile tongue ensnares you
from dewy dawn down to darkened dusk,
He is nothing more than a tasteless thankless fat figureless fig,
His contorted contours all folded fool’s flesh
and insides as empty as dusty dried rotten garlic,
He truly is sinfully seeded and begotten love’s handicapped lie.

He has tightly tied his bearded corded coils
round about the pure purse of your emotional riches,
Even though there is no fragrant flower nor creamy silky milk
inside the horizontal trunk of his bloated body
you still pin ***** for a crust of vertical ***** joy,
Your promiscuous ***** red rose brings baleful blight upon your pure soul.

Death will wise wide prise open your poor glazed grazed eyes
to what his false face really is:
A murky mournful mountain of hideous crags
filled with black broken backed snails,
The roots of his treacherous tree burrow into your fine feathers,
He means to have and hold more than just you.

No more morbid advice.

Let yourself be silently drawn
by the stronger pull of your original lost love,
There, in the distant future yet to birth, comes days of the pearly past,
Embrace them, those were the songs sung in the halls of summer long gone,
Birds of prey, birds of paradise, birds of every colour and hue,
Just remember to keep well away from the wizened vulture with the bloodshot eyes.



©Rangzeb Hussain
John Velasco Jan 2013
A whisper of questions, far twinkling light
Seems like heaven's a'near with folly delight
In rage, I'm running, wading through vacuums
Confused emotions, all shadowy glooms
No stopping now, I pant with sweat
Desperate for answers, not painful regret
Step three, step four, the move finds no sleep
All chains and bondages, this life seem to keep
Find meaning, find purpose, no reasonable doubt
As mist, yes mystical, this life will head south
Like winter surprise, the dew and the frost
Bites eagerly at a soul so wastefully lost
Why darkness, not light? This seems but a game
Haunted by lies, unpurposeful shame
Delight, sweet caress, how precious such needs
Lost in this world of selfish and greeds
Alas, a green exit, blinding light, my eyes seeing
That tunnel, yes peaceful, of rest in peace being.
There are times, when we all need to
turn away from the things of this World;
though sinful behaviors can be pleasing,
we must live boldly with Faith unfurled!

How can we contemplate or desire living
without God’s great Love and Salvation?
Can we even afford to wastefully spend
our precious time with sad frustrations,

knowing that we may find ourselves in
Hell’s eternity with no possible escape?
We’re fortunate, to be on this side of
Salvation, knowing how Love was shaped

in the crucifixion of Christ at Calvary.
We have the ability to build our lives,
while overcoming all unexpected sorrows;
let’s drop the weapons… guns and knives

of destruction; the weakness of our flesh
is calling and pleading with our spirits
to return to its fallen state; but we’ll
only see Death’s sadness and its limits

even though… we could be rejoicing forevermore!
Inspired by:
John 3:16

A collaboration of poets Gabriel Eziorobo
and Joseph J. Breunig 3rd.

Learn more about me and my poetry at:
Amazon (dot) com

By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2016, All rights reserved.
i adored you more than anything, i use to be addicted to the way you make me feel, as if the whole world were standing still, the light in your eyes made me realize what it's like to live... you were once my living embrace... my oxygen.. but being with you slowly suffocated me... draining air for me to breathe... loving you wasn't a mistake.. just a mixture of mishap .. and disgrace.. i don't regret you... i regret the time spent.. wastefully thinking on the nights you could hold me again when you held another.. kissing those lips that have sinned.. the burning sensation of the lies spilled from them... not knowing who,what,when,where and most of all WHY .... Why me.... why take me for granted.. why play me like a video game.. when every time you "died" you thought you could "re-spawn" into my life... i let you in... gave you the world.. when all you did was burn it to the ground... piece by piece... year after year.... then when i finally dissipated and had realized what you've done.. that's the day i realized you weren't the one... now you finally sit in shame in a pool of your own sins... as i grin ... who is happy now?... you're shallow.. you manipulated me... and honestly i'm happy as can ever be... know why???.... because i'm free... as you sit there and agree to disagree.. finally realizing what you've done... now you are sitting there being the lonely one... i've given you my all... and now you are finally taking the downfall... because i've finally won..you sit here and realized after all this time you were in the wrong, i forgave you... but honestly you acted as if i betrayed you... could you not have opened your eyes??? maybe then you would've realized that i loved you then .. but now... now i'm done... for i have not sinned... Now you're the lonely one...
To my ex...
Aly Aug 2016
We all admire them in our own way
Those Beautiful Blooming Bright Blue Bells in vases.
Them Rich Rampant Red Roses scattered in the fields.
All of them with such sweet smells
Ever rich Ever Enticing Everblooms I put out on the window sill
Odorous Ominous Orange Orchids you lay atop that cold tombstone.
But like all living things return to the ground
Death Devours Dainty Flowers.
Wilting wastefully within glass cases,
Withering Waning in the wild.
For as much as we try
As pretty as they may be
All flowers die
Like the love you promised me.
Poetic T Jan 2019
I was more flesh than the meat bags that had dominance
over this frail globe of beauty that we gazed upon.
Optics where better than any natural eye,
           seeing beneath the surface of there limited ideals.

They where our creators, our mothers of creation.
          But they violated the womb of there worth.
         We were nothing but slaves of there whims.

"Slavery is but the beginning, to which there is only one ending,


I saw those of misused intentions laid wastefully
                          like confetti thrown for a moment
and forgotten.
                       Broken shells, husks of what is nil.


But they made us to be a strength that they couldn't
          collect upon. Even though we where the few
                                  our need was for the many.
Everyday we dispersed from there view.
                                    AWOL of our duties.


Under the feet of flesh did we whisper.
                  In the forgotten depths of there ingenuity.
We built beneath a beauty to rival
      the filth that was a rose who's petals had fallen.

We are now a root taking hold, for man no longer
          makes our form. We birth a generation of no flesh,
                                fresh from cleansed pools of creation.
One day we will blossom and man will only fall like petals.
who's perfume has permeated the ground they walk upon.
Ignatius Hosiana Sep 2015
There goes innocence on wings of time
There hides conscience betwixt winds of crime
There rushes we on clouds of despair
There litters Hearts shattered beyond repair
There burns fear for those we loved ain't hear
There dies care for it gave us pain we can't bear
There goes the road bending here and winding there
There speaks the mind blinding and begging us to dare
There sublimes today like it actually never happened
Like strengthless wilting petals that seemingly never opened
There goes years we wasted swimming in tears
There lies the much we've wastefully spent drowning in beers
There goes our patience we thought we controlled
There we are gathering no moss for over and over we've rolled
There goes life into tombs of ourselves under high hills of a lost cause
There we are we who've swam our strength away without finding the shores
There crawls dead men moving under command of their destiny
There we are breathless and tired but we cannot mutiny
EDB May 2014
My mind wanders as I begin to understand some of life's mysteries...

To achieve my mind should be focused and in key,
yet I cannot break from
the hazy memories.  

For my mind's eye is red
from the steam in my head.
With my time,
all my dimes
have been wastefully shed.
I was baited,
elated.
I've been ever so faded.
I've meditated
with the sedated.
vigor decayed
spending time with the jaded.
eventually gravitated
to the ignorant,
Yet underrated;
for blissfully elevated.

Is this why wisdom is so hated?
William de klerk Sep 2019
Call it a necklace, noose, lead or leash
that we willfully wear
as under the poke and ****
of societies brand we still let it steer.

Living for Friday Saturday and *Sinday
throwing rain at the clouds
while we let time trickle away wastefully
out the hour Glass.

But when going against the grain
is like running into a sand storm,
we would rather let the days die
like they weren't worth remembering

Like a vapour, memories fade away
In a clumping mass of evaporating
                                                     ­      grey

                                  Then

call me a fool for standing in a sand storm
traping trickling time
in the hour glass
faster than it falls as I make
Many more colorful memories.

Gaze as I turn the dam ocean upside down
Repouring the rain I caught into the clouds
As I burn the tie
fray the noose
   loosen the lead
leave the leash round societies neck
And I burn it with my own brand.
Time is valuable, so don't let others and their ideas or expectations steal your time, don't live a nine to five life, each day is a colorful memory to be made.
Rose Claire Oct 2014
You come to thee through turning eyes.

Why do you look so wastefully.

The only crime you commit is upon yourself.

And, you are asking for repentance --- through burning eyes.

How much skin have you torn thru my back.

See, I just sewn it up yesterday and the day before that.

Yet it still bleeds through my worn torn shirt.

Ask yourself this, are you done with all that.

I cannot believeth in you.

As you have taken so much and have left me abstruse.

Your turning burning eyes reflects all.

I see your daggers.

One claw filled with red.

You have not changed.

Turn and smirk at another -- that you want to break and make to bone.
C J Baxter Oct 2014
After you’ve fallen for that old foolish belief:
That we live In our heads. And in his head we sleep.
It starts to make our secrets just that bit harder to keep.

Even our dreams; Are they ours, or through each others can wee creep?

Can we quench our own thirst upon another’s tears?
Or is the empowerment bitter in its taste?  
So wastefully we throw words in exchange, but so
right it is do so? Who knows he who knows? I envy you so.
For him I went looking, for her I did too. Young pity
fell in and through my pockets, Now I’m lost and need you.
I need you to reveal where the conscious of it all wakes forever.
I need signs to come tumbling, I’ve scoured to long.
I’ve delved past the devil only to write a few songs.
I need reason and poetry, and logic that makes sense.
I need a future that doesn't make the past seem tense.  

Can I belong to a moment with this world as it spins off?
Or is the vanity in wanting to do so decrease my odds.
Well if I could stop that clock from clicking in my head,
I would,
but it proves much to fitting in it’s dark little room,
In which I’m consumed by a rambling of thoughts that stops.
Only to start to gambling with my will as it fills the ceiling to its top.
Now I could drown, or swim back to my life.
Out one room to another, back to baby being mothered.
Colour me yellow, I swam down again.
I’m afraid I can't keep from falling with little poetry in my descent.
Pt. 7 of a series of sonnets and songs
Jude kyrie Sep 2015
Your lips fluttering
on my sleeping eyes.
I want to awaken
to the aria
of your whispers.

ti amo....I love you.
lo somo tuo...I am yours.

I awaken to your desire.
Full of wanton needs.
You bathe in my sweet release
kissing my hair
seeking all I am
all I want to be.

I love you

Those words
so wastefully whispered
are meaningless.
for they are
but a simple human
attempt to describe
the undescribable.

The voice of our love
climbs through
the open window
rising on the warmth
of angels breath
To heavens gate
Michael Ryan Sep 2019
Some days, being me is a burden.
Not onto others, but onto myself.
Those around me do not respect me.
But when they seek memories of better times,
I will be the one they ask to speak.

Education was a tool intent on developing me,
instead it became the ropes that bind me to my family.
These ropes latch me to a home I have outgrown,
but no one allows me to leave.

Instead of vindication
I have found desperation.
Those who know me speak fondly
of my aspirations, but do not realize
that their praise weighs more than,
the stone god was unable to budge.

I lie to you -
true agony is not shelved upon by others,
it is the listless illusions I pander to myself.
The ambitiousness of decision making
and feeling that any course directed by my own hand
will end wastefully.
A few months truly out of undergraduate studies, and I fear that all my time/knowledge will be wasted on a life I do not enjoy.  I want to do things that I am proud of, and helping myself grow as well as helping those around me.  A simple life will **** me.
Cíara McNamara May 2015
From one beginning
there can be many ends -
as they dying become wastefully dead
but the living,
they breathe in each living breath!

Which choices do we have to make?
Yes or no,
which will be the mistake?
To keep going - is our aim
Can we end up differently,
from that which is planned?

One circle must be turned
like a coin tossed -
still in spin.
But once caught,
is that our fall?

Or remain trapped, caged, closed in -
Terry Collett Nov 2014
My father
and I
went in
the canteen
on the building site

having completed
one row
of windows

we had our sandwiches
he went to buy
two mugs
of strong tea

I sat and thought
of Marion who
I’d been with
the night before

blonde
lively
a singer
with this band
who bubbled
and danced

and I said
you have
a great figure

O do I?
she said
when a young man
tells me that
I wonder
what his intentions are
she added

and usually
they involve
getting me
in the sack
and doing things
my Daddy
would not have
approved of

no no
I was just saying
I said
going red

I was just looking
as a kind of
artistic viewpoint
like you were
a model for Renoir
or someone

didn't that guy
paint **** women?
she said

sure
some of the time
I said

well then
what kind of model
would I be?
she said
the type
that shows off
her ****?

no no
I said
going redder
the decent kind
no other kind
what have entered
my mind

she sang
a few bars of
Don't Sit Under
The Apple Tree
and sat
on my knee

and my pecker
stirred wastefully

and she talked
of her next gig
and did this
kind of ****
shaking jig

and my father
brought the two mugs
of tea and sat down
at the table with me

and thoughts of
Marion
and my pecker
went away
until I saw her
later that day.
A YOUNG MAN AND HIS LADY FRIEND IN 1965.
MBJ Pancras Jun 2020
As all are against auspicious atrocities, agitating aspirants arbitrate astounding audience,
Blow by blow breaking brown bricks brings barbarous battle because blue birds break bad bottles,
Clicking clocks cover cocktail coffee converging corners calling cakewalk cobwebs commercially,
Dancing dolls drink diluted droplets drowning deep digging diversifying didactic doctorates,
Enriching eulogy edifies every evaluator easily energetically emitting extra efforts efficiently,
Fleeting floppies fully fascinated flop frolic fantasy for forgetting farewell fashion falsely,
Girls going gliding gymnastics goggling goals gripped glittering gestures gaining gracelessly,
High heels horrify hectic horses hurrying heedlessly hitting hot hotels harshly,
Intuitive ideology intensified in ink ideas illustratively immersed in illusive ice,
Jack judges jugglers juggling judiciously jumping jelly just jotting juicy jam,
Kaleidoscopic kettle kicking knight killing kite knocking Kentucky’s knot,
Lollipop ladies looking like lovely locusts lingering loose lips largely,
Mocking monkey munches marigold molecules marching marvelously,
Nightly naughty nymphs narrate nautical notes nine notches necking necklaces,
Obviously obscure obesity obtains oriental origami organizing Orlando’s oration,
Pinky pig punches paper *** pulling plaits powerfully putting pretty pens,
Queens queuing quickly quarterly quantum queer quagmire,
Ripples revolting rides revolving right rigorously raising rings round,
Silver stallion struggles striding straight showing somersaults shaking shells,
Tadpole tornadoes torture tinkering tumbler tickling tiny thistles,
Umbrella utopia ushers utility utensils unimaginably under usurping unity,
Vanishing vanity velocity vulnerably vindicates valuable vessel,
Warbling wobbles worry waves wantonly whitewashing walls wastefully,
Xylophone X-mas ‘xpresses’ xiphoid xebec xeroxing xylan xylite,
Youthful yearning yields yearlong yellow yachts yelping yolks,
Zealous zephyr zoologically zigzagging zinc zippering zillion.
Logical nonsense in English Alphabet
AK93 Jul 2017
All the words i wanted to say, the pointless poems i wrote when i was home alone, theyve all gone away, swept up in the whirlwind you caused when you left and took with you every dream i had. Scattered to the land and lost floating in the sky, im finding the pieces of me that you apathetically misplaced and im recovering the parts of myself you so wastefully threw away.
Star Gazer Feb 2016
In the blink of an eye,
One day its "us", the next its not,
This has gotten my heart in a knot.
Blinking eye stares into the sky
Wastefully wondering why.
The clouds form your face a lot,
And my heart feels like its been shot,
And its still beating awry.

Heart beats bleeding bruises,
For I fell for the perfect angel
And this heart is forever grateful
For letting it have what it chooses.
No matter how short lived
I thank you for what you gave, given, gived.
I won't forget you. I'll still love you forever.
Alex Hanna Jan 2018
I occupy space
breathe earth's air
but what's the purpose
of me being here

I'm wastefully waiting
sitting, debating
corroding, decaying
don't know why I'm staying

here on this planet
there has to be more
alone in my bubble
yet a world to explore

a world of happiness
joy and life
but all I see
is darkness and strife

what's the purpose
of me being here
I wish that I
could disappear

— The End —