"weared" poems
Thirty three years Alexander lived
Shakespeare wrote his tragedies
the teacher near our house
...in dhoti turned twice
still ***** with yesterday's mud
goes for another regret
what am I doing?
The play was staged
clowns and faces with paint
their age twenty
The man next door
his face well known
for the cycle he drew across the world
where am I here?
The lunatic
in house arrest wants to breathe
showing the foolish thumb
to people on lanes
but what am I doing?
What am I doing? Doing what? Doing what ?
Till half past three into the night
the question haunts my ribs
A inadequate path, oozing with men flood
but all headless clouds
Am I one in them?
All my life I have been placing this head
The weared out head of mine
In one body
in another
Trying to look into the mirror
On which body does this head of mine
look like me
Jun 17, 2018
Jun 17, 2018 at 3:23 AM UTC
His name was Earl,
but everyone in town called him "The bicycle man."
He was hip before hippies were tie dyed,
a bohemian of sorts, a loner, a quiet man.
Lived out at the edge of town in a self made house,
some would call it a shack.
Ole Earl use to scare me a bit
with his gray beard, deep set gray eyes,
low deep voice and the clothes he weared,
But I learned a life lession from that man.
He said, looking up, "See these here spokes,"
pointing to the spinning wheel of my three geared bike,
"they's all got to be in off set tension or else the rim will be warped."
I've noticed over the years that rule applies to a lot more things than wheels.
Jan 18, 2011
Jan 18, 2011 at 9:31 AM UTC
Scared.
They never cared.
At my nakedness they stared.
Told me what they wanted to do was dared.
Seduction snared.
My ****** bared.
Jealous tempers flared.
My photos were glared.
Couples not yet paired.
Photographs ripped & teared.
No clothes was weared.
Dec 19, 2015
Dec 19, 2015 at 6:18 PM UTC
When a just think of her a feel my heart smiling how how can this be i used to hate her but there dayz its sarcastic i adore her i see her and a fyl ma heart aching for her touch......her lips kissing me all day long.....her tounge touching mine exploring my mouth.....to the deepest end...but thats just a dream hope it will come true...but a dont bealive in dreams do you yes do you but i dont care i will fight for her.....coz what am feeling inside is real i love her even though sometimez back she was just a friend.....but she has a dude she loves her so much and i cant break their relationship......but why do i love her the its weared and am planning..to tell her how will she react i dont knw hope she will understand me..coz i love her
Sep 22, 2015
Sep 22, 2015 at 4:30 AM UTC
The allure skies began to tremble
Before the horrible Bomb Dome
Beirut weared a wide black mantle
With moaning wounds in each home
As pigeons of peace died at duty
Beirut my ravishing moribund city
Revered for its destroyed beauty
The sky quivered in bustling pity
Ah, August 4 engraved in history
With mushroom clouds of doom
A massacre a monstrous blistery
Staining blood agony in every room
Steeling from many the innocent life
Yet the rest narrowly escaping death
Are actually dead suffering being alive
Are sorrowly alive in a poisoned breath
Victims chewed by the evil fallout
The epitaph can not return any life
Children cowered with a heavy shout
Hearts cringed as stabbed by knife
So many politicians and scientists
Enslaved to produce a conclusion
We do not need to see their tests
Their deterrence and bribed delusion
Anyone who made lives end
Is Satan, a monster, a real devil...
Nations say weapons are to defend
No! They only permeat their evil
∴ Lyna Salman
Aug 6, 2020
Aug 6, 2020 at 8:03 PM UTC