"weepers" poems
I Am Waiting
I am waiting for my case to come up
and I am waiting
for a rebirth of wonder
and I am waiting for someone
to really discover America
and wail
and I am waiting
for the discovery
of a new symbolic western frontier
and I am waiting
for the American Eagle
to really spread its wings
and straighten up and fly right
and I am waiting
for the Age of Anxiety
to drop dead
and I am waiting
for the war to be fought
which will make the world safe
for anarchy
and I am waiting
for the final withering away
of all governments
and I am perpetually awaiting
a rebirth of wonder
I am waiting for the Second Coming
and I am waiting
for a religious revival
to sweep thru the state of Arizona
and I am waiting
for the Grapes of Wrath to be stored
and I am waiting
for them to prove
that God is really American
and I am waiting
to see God on television
piped onto church altars
if only they can find
the right channel
to tune in on
and I am waiting
for the Last Supper to be served again
with a strange new appetizer
and I am perpetually awaiting
a rebirth of wonder
I am waiting for my number to be called
and I am waiting
for the Salvation Army to take over
and I am waiting
for the meek to be blessed
and inherit the earth
without taxes
and I am waiting
for forests and animals
to reclaim the earth as theirs
and I am waiting
for a way to be devised
to destroy all nationalisms
without killing anybody
and I am waiting
for linnets and planets to fall like rain
and I am waiting for lovers and weepers
to lie down together again
in a new rebirth of wonder
I am waiting for the Great Divide to be crossed
and I am anxiously waiting
for the secret of eternal life to be discovered
by an obscure general practitioner
and I am waiting
for the storms of life
to be over
and I am waiting
to set sail for happiness
and I am waiting
for a reconstructed Mayflower
to reach America
with its picture story and tv rights
sold in advance to the natives
and I am waiting
for the lost music to sound again
in the Lost Continent
in a new rebirth of wonder
I am waiting for the day
that maketh all things clear
and I am awaiting retribution
for what America did
to Tom Sawyer
and I am waiting
for Alice in Wonderland
to retransmit to me
her total dream of innocence
and I am waiting
for Childe Roland to come
to the final darkest tower
and I am waiting
for Aphrodite
to grow live arms
at a final disarmament conference
in a new rebirth of wonder
I am waiting
to get some intimations
of immortality
by recollecting my early childhood
and I am waiting
for the green mornings to come again
youth’s dumb green fields come back again
and I am waiting
for some strains of unpremeditated art
to shake my typewriter
and I am waiting to write
the great indelible poem
and I am waiting
for the last long careless rapture
and I am perpetually waiting
for the fleeing lovers on the Grecian Urn
to catch each other up at last
and embrace
and I am awaiting
perpetually and forever
a renaissance of wonder
May 9, 2015
May 9, 2015 at 12:55 PM UTC
When will the day bring its pleasure?
When will the night bring its rest?
Reaper and gleaner and thresher
Peer toward the east and the west:--
The Sower He knoweth, and He knoweth best.
Meteors flash forth and expire,
Northern lights kindle and pale;
These are the days of desire,
Of eyes looking upward that fail;
Vanishing days as a finishing tale.
Bows down the crop in its glory
Tenfold, fifty-fold, hundred-fold;
The millet is ripened and hoary,
The wheat ears are ripened to gold:--
Why keep us waiting in dimness and cold?
The Lord of the harvest, He knoweth
Who knoweth the first and the last:
The Sower Who patiently soweth,
He scanneth the present and past:
He saith, "What thou hast, what remaineth, hold fast."
Yet, Lord, o'er Thy toil-wearied weepers
The storm-clouds hang muttering and frown:
On threshers and gleaners and reapers,
O Lord of the harvest, look down;
Oh for the harvest, the shout, and the crown!
"Not so," saith the Lord of the reapers,
The Lord of the first and the last:
"O My toilers, My weary, My weepers,
What ye have, what remaineth, hold fast.
Hide in My heart till the vengeance be past."
3.8k
The Grim Reaper reaches deeper,
Over-eager to catch a keeper,
Create another ever-sleeper,
At the expense of ever-weepers.
Playing heart-string harps, his hand extends,
Lost in searching, he transcends
O'er prayers and pleas. He descends:
The catalyst of anguished ends.
A terminator of life's coda,
Enternally, he fills his quota.
Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 6:11 PM UTC
strangely, I think that this
ought be, must be, responsibly,
be the best poem I’ve ever writ,
(though unlikely, as the best will always be the next)
that mine own eyes commissioned,
better be,
just got to be,
this holy-moly notion jeepers weepers,
conceptual rocks me deepest,
an awesome responsibility
to find away of saying
that this beyond conceptual,
coring, especially special sample
If there was to be a but one,
a singularity, a distinguishing feature
of what the human definition
innate contains,
how choice that we animals,
elevate ourselves to being human beings,
the only ones capable of wonderfully weeping
the implications are an astounding!
what a glorious burden,
what a wonderful decision,
the designer slipped in this microscopic checkmark,
somewhere in our cellular DNA perma-dynasty,
runs a common thread, these saltwater fears,
a residual global amniotic fluid hint,
from where we humans out-of-crawled
that empathy,
the signal of an elongated journey of eons,
the marker that says
show the caring,
a trait-ed statement,
us, unique
so often do I weep,
sometimes visible - in my poems listed, oft indicated -
so you could know its sharing was an absolution
that I granted myself,
that that particular poem was a costly one,
womb bloomed, tongue taken, eye written
sometimes invisible - even more, do they,
(nobody knows, nobody sees)
just well up, eye cornered kept, secreted,
only skin-staining the underneath-my-eyes
one more shade darker,
a reminder to all, to mirrored me,
that to forgive myself doesn’t
forgive forgetting
is this then my best?
sufficient to breech your
reserves of pseudo-cool,
that correct boundary pretense that keeps us as
mismatched separates?
you be the judge, you be the jury,
you be the prosecutor and the defender,
for it is all of us
standing in the dock,
on trial,
for in our lifetime
guilty of the inhuman crime,
of not crying enough
Jun 27, 2019
Jun 27, 2019 at 7:15 PM UTC
And in
this
moment
I find
you.
there is
a magician
in your
eyes
that performs
for
me.
and as
your hair
brushes
across
your face,
time
stands
still.
so all
of the
universe
takes
notice
as you
pass.
and the
colors
that are
you ,
bleed
through
me.
knowing
their
way to
heart.
and under
this Capricorn
sky
I confide
to nomad
stars.
and every one
and everything
that is
in the
universe
or ever
was,
and like a
child,
I whisper
your name
up into
the night.
finder"s
keepers...
loser's
weepers.
and I
will
never
give
you
back.
Nov 19, 2018
Nov 19, 2018 at 9:03 AM UTC
*Lavished; I endow many creatures
Trenchant and keen they denude as weepers
As we are harsh while we wangle
Deviser’s enriched are all riotous tamers
Crowns en-dowering among the fittest
Bounteous of all wades in telluric mist
Unscathed by deft spry
Admitting your mordant’s are never lies*
Nov 18, 2010
Nov 18, 2010 at 1:34 PM UTC
outrageously funny
the matters of the heart
makes clowns of us
when we play the part
the cast keeps changing
with the part
from stalkers to streakers
charmers to weepers
lovers to cheaters
playboys to loners
the cast keep changing
with the part
walking out of the theatre
of dead spectators
i think i played
each part
the cast was nothing
but only my past
and my heart
it plays no more parts
Dec 27, 2014
Dec 27, 2014 at 9:08 PM UTC
You will always hold a piece of me.
A piece I will never get back.
Voyage upon voyage unsuccessful to retrieve this missing piece of me.
But no matter if I find it or not, this piece will never become me.
It will never fit in the jigsaw that is my life.
Edges worn down and torn from too much use,
Unrecognizable after all of the abuse.
Longing to fit where it once did effortlessly.
I was in place, everything was fine,
But somehow you managed to contort just one piece out of line.
A piece that you took without even asking,
But a piece I will find even if it's the last thing I do.
Because that piece never belonged to you,
Finders keepers losers weepers, it was still stolen.
Never fully made yours yet you claimed it as your own
Mar 23, 2015
Mar 23, 2015 at 12:50 AM UTC
I stand here silently,
watching them take you away
in a box of metal.
Professional mourners weep
like banshees in a bog.
Strangers, family, and friends alike
All stand,
Allowing ourselves one final moment
before you've been made into ash
to let memory wash over us.
You were the mad one.
The only person I knew who could
eat more than fifteen hot dogs in one sitting
and still have room for lunch, dinner, and dessert.
You always said that you would be the first to go,
that death would take the best of us first.
The men come out to to your family
handing over your ashes.
The weepers leave,
the friends disperse,
the family begins on their way home.
Five years later,
the anniversary of your death.
I stand at your body-less marker.
As I move to turn away
I feel a hand on my shoulder.
I turn around confused
and gasp surprised.
You're more than just
ashes in an urn,
hidden in a closet.
You are the one who mourns,
your death unaccepted by those closest to you.
You ask me to say the words
that no one else had the strength to.
Good Luck.
With that, you are again
Ashes.
Feb 7, 2010
Feb 7, 2010 at 7:39 PM UTC
dawn breaking the black sky
I opened my heavy weepers
expecting her under blue satin sheets
all smiles or laying still, sleeping
my keeper keeping
the orange ball peeks out the barren hill tops
and in the walls of my sweaty, red skull I drove deeper
there, I searched the darkness for my keeper
in lue of her emerald greens
I see reaping the reaper
the yellow tentacles of the morning star now slash
so, I threw my stare wide onto the bedroom
sweeping for her, the female that keeps
for many a times, she'd play hide and seek
but no game, I felt death wound me inside
mercury rising reaches its peak with the summer star
from gentle kisses 'til noon to zoomed the reaper
the reaping it was in the huge cavity of my room
where the crossbones and skull spelled out d.o.o.m.
no longer my keeper, but the finest of reapers
Feb 21, 2025
Feb 21, 2025 at 9:26 AM UTC
The sky is exploding
sending shards of shrapnel
down to Earth
Orbs of cold and wet
that burst on impact
and soak their target in tears
Pieces of shrapnel
skitter across the road
on legs made of fragility
Cold and wet
Teardrops of the sky
Who is it that cries?
Who do they cry for?
Do they see the shadows
that many on Earth have become?
Do they weep because
we are devoured by darker times?
Are the tears,
clear and cold,
pulled by the untimely arrival
of death to a young soul's side?
Do these weepers,
these beings who hide in the sky,
also suffer from
the dark diseases of life,
The mind-numbing drinks
And crazy-making smoke
And blood-hungry metal?
Why does no one weep for them
the way they weep for us?
Mar 20, 2015
Mar 20, 2015 at 8:37 AM UTC
.. Have ?
I hear the world say they have so many things, yet we don’t have so much.
The world has a whole lot of nothing. And people have a whole lot of ignorance.
The only things you actually really have are your hands and whatever lasts ‘till infinity & beyond.
Hold on.
Your hands to learn & mold, because the only things infinite are what you really have.
It’s about the control.
I’m waiting on time.
I used to say i have love, but that wasn’t true. Think Twice.
It’s a different type actually..
Some persons have thoughts, some persons have words.
Real persons have actions, same persons have urge.
My person has guts. My person writes the verge..
Every human has a conscience.
That doesn’t mean every human is conscious.
Every world has a maker, individually.
As a whole, Earth can’t do that, feelings are not a liberty.
The most important thing we have is communication.
The voice one has is key for living.
The craziest is our emotions,
apart from the mind.
Having to do our best to understand & keep what we find.
Losers are weepers.
Failure is something we don’t have, but some people can’t get by.
Aware we can fight, but we don’t know it.
Don’t only move when the music is on.
Dew what a mountain does.
You’re unconscious because your dreams are who you really are; you’re just not living them.
Have *****
‘Cause i once said Have gun, Will ****
Insecurity has us, because the security in us has no confidence.
Fear i know you have, but let’s let free the brave in us.
The Only Things Infinite;
Let’s not let ‘em be strange to us.
Power i try to have over me and all things me.
I just have to gain power over my human.
Rhythm i have and the flow of life in my step.
.. With worldly temptations, i’ve had it !
My faith will not be tainted & tinted.
Deep is the importance of a swinging minute, when progress should be made towards the only things infinite.
Jun 20, 2011
Jun 20, 2011 at 9:50 AM UTC
Goodbye
There he stood, upon that ledge.
Barely a step, from the edge.
Looking down, upon far away ground.
There was no movement, and no sound.
Tears streamed down from that lonely face.
He stood no glory, nor no grace.
'Its all gone, why can't they see?
There's nothing left to take from me.'
'Nothing more I can give,
I've lost the fight, my will to live.'
One more step, one deep sigh.
He closed his eyes, and ceased to cry.
With his last words he whispered to,
Any one that he once knew.
'Good bye, and please don't cry for me.
Sure I'm gone, now you might see.
I couldn't take it anymore,
For all this hurt, there is no cure.
The pain it burned and killed my heart.
You all hated me from the start.
I only wish, the one that mattered,
Would have seen, instead that shattered.
He didn't even realize,
That I loved him; that I tried.
Goodbye, all, its time to die.'
And with that he plunged, from the sky.
His last words, with his last breath,
His last movement, what a mess.
The tears that shed, upon his grave.
The flowers that, weepers gave.
If only they would have showed,
How much they love it, that he glowed.
If only they would have seen,
The sadness that stole his dream.
And the one whose love he didn't know,
Echoed through his heart also,
Wept upon his grave that day,
Then followed him, the same way.
Apr 15, 2011
Apr 15, 2011 at 2:52 AM UTC
We saw we lacked fulfillment of desires,
goals our mind hardwires into our existence.
We made a pact called resistance,
made a promise that appalled assistance
we don't need anymore.
Morally grey, black and white were never
meant to stay, we were supposed to sever
ourselves from past whining, unable to withstand
declining, weepers, lonesome sleepers,
armed with their hand.
We're not back, admitted, we are only just beginning,
we recognized the lack, the start of our winning.
Feb 18, 2017
Feb 18, 2017 at 3:24 PM UTC
Is it possible to know another
to become as one
or is that something poets, lovers,
and fools say
to excuse their own
folly
And, really, would we
want that kind of intimacy
and, if so,
how long
I have seen
the loss of love
the failures
the crash
the weepers
the drunks
for we are all here now
Feb 12, 2012
Feb 12, 2012 at 8:36 AM UTC
I find myself begging for fights so I can add it to the excuse pile
I find myself laughing inside when you’re pissed or picking a fight
I find myself grinning when you grumble
I find myself daydreaming of days where I get to do what makes me happy
I find myself.
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 12:43 PM UTC
I've been lost and left out
Fell down dead now
In droughts dry heat
The floor makes my feet bleed
No silence just screaming
But no death
Just the beginning
What is the meaning?
Wandering the vast isles
Many shreaks within the many miles
Piles of flesh still lust for the rush
Some getup and make a living by selling drugs
Dug themselves deeper while passing by the weepers
Whom chatter teeth clatter
Nothing sadder
Holding matter
In the palms of my hands
As people fry
Poems in my dome
As people try to get out the abyss
The snake hiss echoes through absent dark crypt
Infernos fueled by the flesh
Crimson fire spew as sin holds that soul within
What is it that matters?
Love?Laughter?Disasters?
Or a mad hatter in hells plains
awaiting the Holy gains.
Change.
Is a coming, and even through the valley of pain, flames abdominal lust and shame I keep my Faith for Holy awaits.
Yahweh is great amen forever with the Lord
I'm safe.
Apr 16, 2016
Apr 16, 2016 at 2:22 AM UTC
Oh man I can seeith the beauty in thy things thou calleth ugly,
Oh man I would and will uplift that statuetic queen thou calleth beast!!
Oh man I will learn to feast with her with candles and incense to aroma ourn scents,
Oh man thou canst buyeth her, she's not a slave for thine own rent!!!!
Oh man you throw her in the trash, and I am a trash digger,
Yet what thou doth not know is that thou threw out the gift!!
And kept thy bubble rap!!!!!!!
Haha, blind looker!!!!
Keepers, keepers,
Losers, weepers,
If only hence I'd find such a treat!!
Oh man, thou mayeth shackle her in reigns,blindfold her in vain,
I shall break her loose, and her noose once worn shall be on thy head!!
Oh man, thou hath sliced her by tongue,
Gaveth her false hopes, and no fun,
I'm her plane to fly her out!!!
Oh man,
One of doubt?
Crazy thou sayeth?
that I am eh good friend!!!!
Yet who's the crazy one selling thy gold for worldly deception!!
How's this inscription?????
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 9:41 PM UTC
Finders, keepers
Makes us all desperate seekers
For something important enough to grab onto
And cling to forever.
But hearts are deceitful,
And you’re not something to be owned,
So maybe that’s why the saying ends with
Losers, weepers.
Dec 25, 2018
Dec 25, 2018 at 8:50 PM UTC
Finders keepers,
Losers weepers.
You're the prey
And I'm the seeker.
Hunt you down,
Leave you in pieces,
Hold me back
I really need this!
Mar 8, 2020
Mar 8, 2020 at 8:03 PM UTC
A Weepers Loss
The nesting spirit
Colours her bloom to a skylarks call
A mystic red river roars silent
Oer the hushing lips of time
Playing its dance to the weave
of white willow
Lit to her shadow be a birthing moon
Oer sun drenched ocean streams of desire
A promise firm to the pulse of memory
Tempers its fawn to the flesh of Babylon
Mooring its dawn
To the stain wake of night
Spinning ***** to the severed eye
Set dark to the clik
of a keepers find
Jun 28, 2020
Jun 28, 2020 at 3:23 PM UTC