"weighed" poems
It streams down eye to eye
from the unseen but the all seeing.
Far from the Mars far from the Neptune
skipping all the planets hanging in space
only on the cheek of earth, a drop of tear fell.
Every angel in the heavens' shore
has heard of this lore.
It’s timeless long mesmerising beautiful.
Far from the blue yonder sky
hunky dory is delighting to the eyes
the stunner is made to measure.
A tear in the corner of the eye
as if it's diagonally weighed down
with the 360-degree open looking sky.
As close as within a fingertip comes the Moon
still, a sea is ahead forever untouchable!
May 19, 2017
May 19, 2017 at 11:18 PM UTC
A fine mole down
the blue mountain sky
cannot be weighed out!
It's the cosmos's gold dust
the earthy depth triumphs.
Oh earth, our close clay-star
is far ahead of the day at noon.
Ahead of the moon
ahead of the Neptune!
With a million dash of curiosity
every new sunrise paints
upon her black box with the roaring fire.
Yet the ****** is a veiled wonder!
It has the plethora a room for everyone
and time for timeless times.
Guess, with her longhand
what an inside scoop did it pick out?
You too can be in the know
It's the feminine beauty all in all.
You may have by now
seen women million and one.
The earth is eyeing on only one!
Her closest admirer is the star
of the very luminary bunch
with open eyes in the hearts.
Her dead man is waking up
sniffing the daylight by her.
Yet to make the discovery
both are still wondering outside!
Oct 14, 2017
Oct 14, 2017 at 4:52 PM UTC
empty is not the right word.
what is the word for
not quite empty but not quite full?
there is a glass on the table-
it is not half-empty,
but it is not half-full.
it is just a glass of water.
i am just a glass of water:
not empty, not full;
not happy, not sad-
not anything.
not anything at all.
the clear blue nothingness
reminds me of the fact.
it’s dotted with cotton candy clouds.
i wonder if they are as sweet.
my tongue salivates at the thought.
it is like a land of dreams
without sorrow or pain
yet i am here,
floating lightly
though i feel like a paperweight,
weighed down by the lump in my throat.
it’s hard to remember
what home looks like.
i can’t see in terms of
“where i belong,”
i only see in terms of
“the trees are like broccoli sprouts-” and
“the cars look like hotwheels-” and
“every single one has a person in it, and
they all have their own journeys, and
i am here.”
i don’t think they know how beautiful it is.
i didn’t.
home to me now is a backpack
a couple books
and a trinket from an old friend.
they are the only ones like me:
strangers in a strange land.
i’d like to find my way back someday-
if only i knew the way.
Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 11:14 PM UTC
At times I heard the songs of the giants
who opted to sing for a glass of wine!
Like Omar Khayyam would sing to the grove of vine,
while singing their lullabies they wouldn’t mind,
defying the bloomer stars in the moonlights
gladly treading on the black alleys of the night.
Didn't they budge, didn't they bend to pick up
a potion of the sea, billowing in the dark?
But they opted out, just for a glass of wine!
To paint a glimpse of that gorgeous Saqi
till now they shun, lending the sun a paintbrush,
‘cause "if only it was colourful enough,” yet the sun
paints the enduring shades of the blue yonder.
But they turned around—just for a glass of wine!
The moon hanging low over the ocean took a pause.
The earth weighed down so deep is brimful!
Every sunrise paints new, loves to shine on once more
That delved-deep earth vintage taste, cooled in age-old,
now close by the hands breathe in, full of warm south.
Yet they opted out—just for a glass of wine!
Even the time is speechless, ask me not but why.
Still keeps an ear bent on the wall of the leaning sky.
Nor those who pop out with an inside scoop are ever drunk.
Nor they leak out, it’s a sea off the sea or Abe-Hayath.
It ain’t that small, it is the deathless spring of elixir!
Apr 10, 2017
Apr 10, 2017 at 9:16 PM UTC
I Don't Average Out
I remember crying during lunch my senior year —
my math teacher's eyebrows colliding,
one plane folding into a fractal.
He had sat there, nearly four years,
watching me struggle through an unreal number of numbers —
literally and figuratively —
while again and again the test scores whispered:
You
are less
than average.
But behind the eyes of a determined man
my insecurities never won.
He refused to believe the numbers.
He was searching for some unspoken meaning —
and so was I.
I almost found it the day of graduation.
I almost found it between his eyebrows,
creased like a point of pride —
because I was the first of my family
to hold something as light as a diploma
instead of a heavy head,
nodding under the weight of ******
The first to feel like a feather
instead of a six-pack,
a bad back,
the slow grind of manual labor.
I was flying.
Then college tried to land me.
Again I let an institution measure me.
Test scores trying to tell me what I was worth —
intelligence reduced to something
too narrow to understand its own diversity.
Less than average, they said.
But I wasn't below the line —
I was just outside it.
An individual
above their point of comparison.
I could read a room like a text.
I could build connection out of nothing.
I could debate, move, make people feel something.
Gold doesn't average out either.
So I learned —
it wasn't the diploma I should have chased.
Not the thing I'd wave at my little brothers and sisters
to show them how to live better,
burn brighter,
burn longer.
Here I am.
Red-faced and unafraid.
Spoken word was always there —
hiding between the creases of my teacher's brow,
folded into the question I didn't know I was asking.
The answer was never in his book.
It was in his look.
In his refusal to quit on me.
I could have found it sooner
if I'd known what I was searching for.
I
am
not
stupid.
I haven't failed by choosing something
the institution doesn't recognize.
I am not defined by a score,
a line,
a rule,
a rhyme.
I don't average out —
and that is not a weakness.
Power isn't in a piece of paper.
Power is in your words.
In your chosen behavior.
In the silence you finally break.
The answer was never in his textbook —
it was in his persistence.
In the way he looked at me
like the numbers were wrong.
He just didn't have the words to say it.
But I do.
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 2:16 PM UTC
there was a slice of chocolate cake in the fridge
and my sister asked me if i wanted it.
i didn't respond, stared off into space
and continued to smoke my cigarette
in the kitchen because mom was
asleep already and it was 1 am
on a saturday in july
and it was hot and we were both braless and hoping
the single fan on the counter would circulate the air enough
to make us comfortable in the cottage that we called home
that didn't have air conditioning in the middle of the woods.
the three of us hadn't moved for three more hours,
instead spent all of that time talking about nothing
and everything the way sisters do
because sisters eventually end up saying all the words that have
to be said
but each time it sounds new even though it never is.
we're all different but the thing about sisters is
that other people always see you as the same.
we all eventually grew into having brown hair
even though i had been born a redhead
and she had been born blond
and she had been born the same shade of brunette
that still graced her scalp but was thinner than the rest of ours
and fit in an elastic pony tail comfortably
unlike mine, which broke those things immediately
and she, who cut hers all off in hopes
to cleanse herself and
keep herself from being weighed down.
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 4:16 PM UTC
threads of salt
drowned land
and sea
brisk on the shore
to the vine
of the tree
not fruit
not sweet
but
check beauty
check redolent
check dog named after
and sea urchin-robbed
the steps taken
through the pink
the sunken ships
the little women
with big hair
the jewelry that
weighed them down
to drown
drown
drown
the flower
floats like
a headstone
from the hand of
a daughter
to the mouth of
the sea
where God still
reigns
with a crooked shaft
and a helmet
long struck
by the sky
pink
the ocean loses its way
through the flowers
thorns and
all
Feb 21, 2016
Feb 21, 2016 at 8:24 PM UTC
i want to get high in foreign cities
travel to places i have yet to lay my eyes on
pack a bag and take off, my only motive to feel free
i want to kiss lovers on pavement my toes have never touched
beneath trees rooted with legends in their leaves
ensuring everlasting love
and i want to feel light, rather than weighed down
anchored to one small town
i want to drop everything and get away
to places where time is altered
and the stars are always present
whether it be in the night sky or people's eyes
i want to fall in love with strangers, cities, and scenes
i crave so deeply to feel free
to start anew
but at the same time
i want you to come too
s.s
Feb 26, 2018
Feb 26, 2018 at 10:11 PM UTC
Really? Well, don’t be, because it doesn’t help to be sorry. Sorry doesn’t change it. Sorry doesn’t make it go away. Sorry doesn’t “undo” what’s already been done. Sorry doesn’t erase my memory. Sorry doesn’t take away the searing pain in my chest. Sorry ***** I don't want your pity or to hear that no child should ever have to endure what I did. Because **** happens. It happened to me …it happens to millions of other kids. Shoulda…woulda…coulda…
You’re right – I do have so much going for me. I have an education, a career, financial security – the beautiful house w/the picket fence, the 2 kids and the dogs. And it’s all a huge sham! You can take the girl out of the trailer park, but you can’t take the trailer park out of the girl. And that’s what I’m to be commended for??? That doesn’t make me special. I should be commended because I have an education? Things could sure be a lot worse, huh? I could be a crack ***** living on the street with 10 kids in foster care, unable to afford therapy even if I wanted to go. I could be like “them”.
Wow! I’m so awesome. Yay for me! Kudos to the smart chick that spent years being molested by her father and ACTUALLY made something of her life. It’s a miracle!
It’s all such a sham – a dog and pony show. Smoke and Mirrors, my dear! Put on a stylish outfit, and paste on a cheerful smile, and everyone thinks you have it all together….. No one would ever know different. You wouldn’t have known. If I’d have kept my big fat mouth shut!!!!! I should have known better….I should have sat down and weighed the risks, possible opportunities, the roadblocks the problems, and definitely a cost analysis of plan A – trying to work through the ******** of the past, B – continue to live in denial, C – **** myself. …. That’s what a smart business woman would have done. And after all, I’m super smart, huh? A real genius!
Aug 1, 2013
Aug 1, 2013 at 10:10 AM UTC
#*Might there be a fountain
where souls long dead from thirst
find spirits raised to life in floods abounding free,
so that what once walked as corpse,
night-bound and blind, may see?
Old self exchanged for Treasure,
diving in tastes such rejuvenation
as can't be weighed by mortal measure—
wine unlike our earth-grown fruit whose petals fall,
from this Vine flowers the pleasantness of Love Divine
which bathes in healing waters all
who come as humble newborn with bold **** to dine.*#
May 25, 2016
May 25, 2016 at 12:29 PM UTC
#*Might there be a fountain
where souls long dead from thirst
find spirits raised to life in floods abounding free,
so that what once walked as corpse,
night-bound and blind, may see?
Old self exchanged for Treasure,
diving in tastes such rejuvenation
as can't be weighed by mortal measure—
wine unlike our earth-grown fruit whose petals fall,
from this Vine flowers the pleasantness of Love Divine
which bathes in healing waters all
who come as humble newborn with bold **** to dine.*#
Nov 7, 2015
Nov 7, 2015 at 12:13 PM UTC
I was relaxed, and deep in thought
The type of talk that silence brought
When just in earshot it rocked,
tick tock
tick tock
"Must be a clock"
I told myself and resumed my thought
Though as the seconds passed I could not,
Despite the will with which I fought
Do to its incessant knock
Tick tock
Tick tock
I searched for the clock
Unable to find the train I sought
I grew more and more distraught
With each and every tick and tock
That find the clock, I could not
As the silence grew more fraught
With the knock,
Tick Tock
Tick Tock
I knew the pain of Lancelot
On and on it ticked and tocked
I cursed at the unseen dreadnought
It no longer merely mocked
But each and every tick and tock
Became an unseen onslaught
TICK TOCK
TICK TOCK
T'was 11 o'clock,
When my heart felt the gunshot
Though the shots I could not block
And on and on the bullets poured
Further into the fray I bored
Each foot a cinderblock
Weighed by war
I slowly walked
Tick Tock
Tick Tock
How I'd make it answer for
Alas
With little blood left to speak for Desperately I implored
"Restrain your hands that caused such gore;
We need not fight evermore!"
But when I heard the ceaseless knock
Tick tock
Tick tock
I new my words had been ignored
And slowly collapsed to the floor
****** and bludgeoned when I hit bed rock, I had still found no clock
But tick and tock it had forgot
The church bell rang t'was 12 o'clock,
Though mortal wounds the seconds wrought
I no longer was distraught
And as I lay in the hemlock
It occurred in my last thoughts
I would miss the beating knock
tick..., tock...
tick..., tock...
Mar 28, 2016
Mar 28, 2016 at 9:04 PM UTC
ohhh the things I want to do with you
the thoughts that cross my mind
perhaps it would shock, ideas so blue
temptations await for us to find
I flirt with ideas, weighed against
reality of my bodies desire
nerves all exposed, left in suspence
just waiting for you to take me higher
Apr 13, 2012
Apr 13, 2012 at 12:14 AM UTC
Bravery is not,
Easy to find,
In a culture such as mine,
We often define,
An incorrect view of what is good,
What deserves praise or should,
Be acknowledged by those who could,
Hand out honours.
Bravery is not,
In shooting a gun,
At another man's son,
Or in knowing you've won,
So with a buffer going for the glory,
So you can have the best story,
Of how you scored the key,
Winning blow.
Bravery is not,
A foolish choice made,
That through luck somehow paid,
Off but always weighed,
Down your chances of success,
Though you always said: "Yes",
When asked: "Was it for the best?"
After time passed.
Bravery is,
Admitting to yourself that you,
Might have been wrong to,
Assume what you always knew,
About yourself was definitely right,
And that things might,
Not be as black and white,
As you thought.
Bravery is,
Telling people you were wrong,
That you don't belong,
In the category you were in all along,
And in fact there's more to the truth,
When it comes to you,
And getting to know who,
Lives in your skin.
Bravery is,
Disagreeing with normality,
Arguing with the morality,
Put forward by the society,
That thinks its way is above,
All else, And loving who you love,
And being proud of,
**WHO
YOU
ARE**
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 1:41 PM UTC
Today in an overweight society,
The type of society that deals anxiety,
Anxiety, anxiety, in this overweight society.
Today in an overweight society,
The type of society where diet pills are a normality,
Normality, Normality in an overweight society.
Today in the eyes of an underweight tragedy,
Influenced so greatly by an overweight society,
Tragedy, Tragedy, in an overweight society.
Influenced by a society of fatty foods,
Fear becoming a more common mood,
The fear of falling into the normality
The normality of this tragedy.
The overweight society.
Influence by obesity.
Striving to be what their minds see,
The minds of the children trapped,
Trapped by this overweight society.
Influenced by the skinny girls on TV
Only followed by ads showing fatty foods society demans you eat
Have a cheeseburger, upgrade to a large fry, yet still look like her, it's pounded in her mind.
Young minds believe what they see.
Morphed into the tragedy of society.
A society where eating disorders strive
A society where an 8 year old can consious you starve themselve to feel pretty.
The definition of pretty based simply on TV
Yet nobody questions this more than imperfect society.
Elementary ages childern being fed fat then forced to stand in front of a mirror.
Put a toy in poison and call it magic.
Oh yes, what a fantasy.
A fantasy forcing you into reality.
The reality becoming your worst nightmare.
The reality of your fears driven by society.
I'm overweight, yet pizza is the best choice for a happy family.
A society where mental illness strives.
Why can't people open their eyes?
Spoon feeding childern poison and expecting them to love themselves.
In school teachers force health into thier minds.
At home, parents feed them poison to save time.
Re-creating, reprogramming their fragile little minds, yet still expecting them to feel fine.
Feeling down?
Have a happy meal, gain a pound.
Overweight?
Shame, shame, you must maintain the image.
The image forced into your mind.
This was our greatest fall.
Upon dieting we call.
Skelington stave me.
Anorexia at it's finest.
Anorexia thin and spineless.
Some call you timeless.
But only recently you made your debute.
Make me feel brand new.
Reprogram my mind.
Make me feel fine.
Thank God for thinsperation.
Oh Anorexia, my new inspiration.
Make me feel pretty.
Just like the skinny girls on TV.
Loosing pounds, one by one.
Still weighed down by a ton.
The weight of pleasing it.
The nightmare society created.
Influenced by what we see.
Finally morphed into the tragedy of the normality of this weight obsessed society.
Apr 9, 2018
Apr 9, 2018 at 3:44 PM UTC
Painting me
Like one of your French girls
Is a little worse than cliche.
Paint me in your mind
With rose petals for hips
And the most divine night sky
Beneath my lashes.
Speckle pigments across my skin
Freckles like wet sand, stuck.
Color my scars brightest
Impure veins like that of a leaf
Carrying stories, not water.
Paint my smile most of all
Paint it weighed down by stones
Too many for anyone to remember
Yet stretching, brightly
As if to reach the moon.
Above all else, paint me yours.
Oct 1, 2018
Oct 1, 2018 at 1:27 PM UTC
Gravity
Shakes me,
I'm not fat
But I feel
So
Heavy,
I hit the ground
I wobble
I feel too big
For my skin,
I am not overweight
But I feel my fat,
I wish I weighed
Nothing at all.
Sep 1, 2013
Sep 1, 2013 at 3:22 AM UTC
Heaven is surely here,
hidden within the
heart of man as love.
This is heaven
that I feel within.
Pure bliss
it is definitely.
My whole being
resonates to it.
I am grateful
for this moment
in time.
Filled with
unimaginable love,
A love that sheds
a joyous tears.
Sacred and pure,
it is here to
keep and hallow me.
A love that
forgives and forgets,
a love that
remember nothing
but just to please
and love deeply.
A love that
counts no errors,
but enfolds and
comforts you.
No guilt or deceit
can ever penetrate it.
Though sometimes painful,
it heals without a scar.
Weighed on a scale of
divine purity,
it binds the heart
with joyful tenderness
and sets it free.
This love
doesn't criticize,
it admonish
with compassion,
not confusion.
That life you
wanted so much,
is in your heart,
it will sprout to bring
glory to your soul.
Never minding what
you see or feel.
If it finds you worthy
will rest and abide
in you forever.
Cherish this
moment always
for you may never
have it back ever.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
Aug 2, 2018
Aug 2, 2018 at 12:20 PM UTC
in this age of vanishing dreams
and crying ghosts
I find myself drawn again and again
an undying connection
to this work of art
so out of time upon its creation
as to be an endless fascination for me
so unlike the artist
this suffering soul
who's immense love and anguish
for the less fortunate
coupled with a talent too immense
for one man
created a burden that weighed upon his shoulders
and his heart like a million captured tears
then once upon a beautiful dream
or perhaps just a clever thought or a baby's smile
a brief respite from the pain
he created the contradiction of his lifetime
as if to say to all that may come to know him
through what history dictates
'You see...I was not crazy!'
and The Smoking Skull
was born
Dec 26, 2017
Dec 26, 2017 at 8:50 PM UTC
1725
I took one Draught of Life—
I’ll tell you what I paid—
Precisely an existence—
The market price, they said.
They weighed me, Dust by Dust—
They balanced Film with Film,
Then handed me my Being’s worth—
A single Dram of Heaven!
9.2k
I asked you
If you thought
You were capable of hurting me
You said you weighed 115lb
But a sliver of glass
Cannot weigh more than a few grams
Look what that can do
You are a shattered pane
That is all I feel
Your little slivers under my skin
You are not my mother
But I hear her in your voice
You have a mother's touch
It stings all to familiar
You broke the skin on my face
Open like a ripe peach
I suppose we are all capable of terrible things
But you burdened yours as love
Pressed it into my skin
And let me rot in silence
Apr 24, 2022
Apr 24, 2022 at 10:25 AM UTC
you did not smash a guitar to
splinterings: That Night,
there weren’t enough iiiiii
watching:
six cigarettes later,
all packed,
tossed back,
....you meandered off...
a long pause...
LOST CAUSE
I too patiently waited out the fight
I too patiently weighed out the fight
I too patiently way out did the fight
weighted, I, too,
impatiently,
way out,
-wait-
FIGHT
Jul 26, 2018
Jul 26, 2018 at 2:06 AM UTC
Frozen in the darkness silence peacefully shrouds me
hoping that I am breathless, praying he wont see,
this sublime sorrow I am gasping in the pain
swallowing bitter tears seconds from insane.
Defining the emotion each and every time
trying not to echo, balancing on the line,
silence is a killer but not my reason to die
hearing in this deafness will always make me cry.
The shadows over take me, speak the unspoken curse
just as well I am dying can't bear to smell this hearse.
Weighed down by lost tomorrows my memory finally broke,
why is it always my own hands gripped to make me choke?
His hug comforts my stomach blindly in his sleep
not knowing in this darkness my eyes can't help but weep,
obscurity plays around me tries to steal my breath
every time I close my eyes I know I’m close to death.
Panic underestimates the power the black withholds
carving me so gently, painless as it moulds
I sweat out my reaction cause words can't find a voice,
helplessly devoted to lay I have no choice.
Everything suffocates can't bear to close my eyes
repeated optimism as I see how everyone dies,
my mind is there to haunt me it never gives me peace
all the pills digested at will, still wont make it cease.
Night is a blur now confused by chemical reaction
convulsions rage as death excels performing its extraction,
in the mix I see his face traumatised by my choice, it's made
but time has gone his actions futile as sight begins to fade,
regret stabs flesh repentantly too late to change effect
I know he’ll cry forever at his failure to correct.
My selfish, vengeful actions will speak louder than my word
he never seen the suicide…do you think he finally heard?
Aug 8, 2010
Aug 8, 2010 at 7:07 AM UTC
sad? melancholic? nostalgic?
eyes flit to a distant memory, a
different time ー
nostalgic? melancholic? sad?
where stories weave in and out of
a young mind ー
sad? melancholic? nostalgic?
once weighed down by heavy blocks of unmelted ice ー
nostalgic? melancholic? sad?
but are now buoyed by words, floating up freely to the surface ー
sad? melancholic? nostalgic?
bravery bubbles up on the inside,
shattering the ice coating your tongue ー
nostalgic? melancholic? sad?
the word house finally opens,
but nothing comes out.
Aug 14, 2017
Aug 14, 2017 at 10:22 AM UTC