"wiled" poems
green eyes
how come
that warm
gently rides
to springs of heaven
from frosty blue ice
then turns black ravens
to brightest white doves
and
the hopeless cravens
to bravest heroes
lashes: turkish bows
glances like arrows
runnin' baby roes
make you chase for a while
what a perky look
cheerful naughty snook
but flowing jungle brook
sings her lullaby
a shiny pinky smile
carries an angel tribe
withinside
of the nook
thus devil got riled
was expelled and allied
with the nebbish adam
-rosy pink lips wiled
and might
clothe the seven seas
by the holly tide
May 18, 2016
May 18, 2016 at 12:51 PM UTC
I wonder
Never staying still
Never feeling safe
Never content
I blame it on a Gypsy soul
My gypsy soul
They say I was born for leaving
I never could stay still
They say I was born running
All wiled eyes and blonde hair
That's what they said
I didn't try to prove them wrong
I blame it on my gypsy soul
Dec 28, 2013
Dec 28, 2013 at 3:38 PM UTC
A darling girl of three
Violet ribbon cradles golden hair
They fuss over her porcelain skin
Blushing cheeks and baby blue eyes
“Eyes you just want to steal,” say They.
She crayons pictures of castles
And heroic princes.
Her little dolls are played
Then locked in their little dollhouse
A fair girl of fifteen
Mornings she is taunted and condemned
By the mocking mirror.
She stares
And draws a smile on the vacancy.
Head, shoulders, knees and toes-
Strings attached to all.
Puppetted by the fetters of Expectation,
She smiles, and acts,
And dresses in little outfits
To please Them.
A charming girl of seventeen
Immured little fingers cradle the wiled world.
A Crayoned face fronts the masquerade.
Mangled in tangled strings,
She offers her heart and scissors to a little blonde boy
And cries, Kiss it better.
He smiles and smooths her brow
As his honeyed whispers tear her open
And he ties a heartstring.
He stitches her up with the thread of Promises
Leaving ribbon-scars delicate as lace.
Blueblack bruises blossom across
And stain her porcelain skin.
She shatters
While screaming his innocence.
Thieved eyelight
Makes for a jaded girl of eighteen.
A darling girl of three
Plays with toys
As They toy with her.
Just another broken doll to be.
Nov 2, 2011
Nov 2, 2011 at 7:52 PM UTC
I hit up rock bottom once.
I had no where else to go..
Almost got shot, my mind was so flow.,
my oh so called team. The family of scream ...
the mom made of mess
the daughter of stress,.
step dad did the beatin ,
For his own reason.
I still don't get why he enjoyed making us cry.
when he would hit he just would not quit
making her watch , me on my last notch...
even at four I was pushed to the floor.
once i was eleven I ran for the door,
All from this point I've looked up to a joint .
my new way ,
has bin lit. Nd bin fit.
I look forward to a smile,
Bin alone for the longest of miles,
I was a child created of wiled
I take in stories most made taste so mild.,
YOU made my mothers thaughts and made me be lost ,
I'm not a little girl I'm a devilchild
You say,!
That's why I been on my way
Jun 19, 2013
Jun 19, 2013 at 8:07 PM UTC
I hit up rock bottom once.
I had no where else to go..
Almost got shot, my mind was so flow.,
my oh so called team. The family of scream ...
the mom made of mess
the daughter of stress,.
step dad did the beatin ,
For his own reason.
I still don't get why he enjoyed making us cry.
when he would hit he just would not quit
making her watch , me on my last notch...
even at four I was pushed to the floor.
once i was eleven I ran for the door,
All from this point I've looked up to a joint .
my new way ,
has bin lit. Nd bin fit.
I look forward to a smile,
Bin alone for the longest of miles,
I was a child created of wiled
I take in stories most made taste so mild.,
YOU made my mothers thaughts and made me be lost ,
I'm not a little girl I'm a devil child
You say,!
That's why I been on my way
Apr 16, 2013
Apr 16, 2013 at 2:05 PM UTC
Topics Two!
Of milkshakes and muppets.
And tragedy puppets.
Of flowers and showers.
And wiled away hours.
Of words of cruel tongues.
Obscuring our sons.
Of beer and fear.
And crazy rein deer.
Of Christmas gifts.
And crazy rifts.
Usually start at Christmas time.
Christmas spirits or maybe wine.
Of kings and queens.
And stupid scenes.
In Shakespear to endear.
Of drama.
And armour.
The knight's kitted out.
Of nightmares and scares.
And one who cares.
But noticed never not!
Of fears and tears.
And dogs and cats.
Wearing floppy hats.
Of nature.
And bees
And maturities kisses.
We hope no-one misses our words.
Always read.
Occasionally heard!
We pen another scatty ditty.
Because we live in fantasy.
A world of Walter Mitty!
That's a poet 's point of view.
Penned on here.
Just for you!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Dec 8, 2013
Dec 8, 2013 at 11:16 AM UTC
As the wandering eye did catch.
A glimpse of girl that she might fetch.
Charmed and wiled her way now,
And at her beauty willingly bowed.
Tempt her o'er a bottle of wine,
To see a flicker of wilder eye.
Reflected back across candlelight,
Then saw a shining gaze that night.
So now as I look back at you,
With sultry shaded eyes of dew.
Release yourself for our delight;
We could just forget this night.
Or remember wetly all the time,
Of caress and pleasure following ryhme.
Dec 24, 2016
Dec 24, 2016 at 12:15 AM UTC
Weary from the days trials,
You try to sleep dear child.
Mind wandering a thousand miles,
But no rest in the time away you wiled.
Hope my comforting voice,
And the warmth of your bed,
Gives you well deserved repose,
As on the pillow you lay your head.
Let no worries bother you,
This is the time for slumber.
And if that doesn’t help too,
You can count the sheep by number.
Looks like you went off to dreamland,
So I will say good night.
Hope you dream, of sun and sand,
And wake up to morning light.
Love you, I will always
Hope that makes you smile.
This ends another one of those days,
So I will talk to you in a while!
Jun 8, 2013
Jun 8, 2013 at 9:39 AM UTC
well if im going to be a fking flower
**** roses and orckids
let me be an wiled flower
ugly and free
for the porest of lovers
to give to their sweethearts
embed my love into
the soil, i want to bloome
you a new wiled heart
i want you to kno
what love means
like you didnt before
wiled flowers grow
where they want to
they dont even care!!
who cares!! feral flowers
have hearts too
sometimes
Dec 26, 2011
Dec 26, 2011 at 10:55 PM UTC
However I wasted my younger days
Wherever I wiled away precious hours
Whenever I gazed at the moon and stars
Whatever games that we played and pondered
Whichever adventure we went on then
Is exactly where my mind still wanders
Whoever I kissed and then held hands with
Whatever the spell from the sounds and smells
Whenever my heart was soundly broken
However I try silencing this hell
Wherever that loss is newly spoken
Whichever place causes the freshest pain
Whenever I think of the time in flight
By mistake flew into forbidden space
When 2 jets flanking me motioned us down
How they saw us as Eco-Terrorists
Flying to LosAlamos Power Plant
Where it is strictly restricted airspace
Whenever dad left-once on Christmas eve
However it unfolded felt tragic
Whatever Christmas comes around again
Whoever toasts to the joy of the day
Whatever the chance, gone was the magic
Whichever way we celebrate today
Whichever day Mother's Day comes around
Whoever I'm with matters not a bit
However I remember that morning
While feeding our son, “I love you”, you said
Then later, “I don't want to be married...
Anymore.” That pain floods like tsunamis
However I try to stay in the now
Whenever the calendar reminds me
How my favorite youngest brother died
Whatever the details I sorely pine
Thinking of Sam this 4th of July
When he would have been turning 59
However my days have been wiled away
How often revealing one simple truth
*Where your treasure is, will your heart be, too (Matthew 6:21)
Jul 4, 2018
Jul 4, 2018 at 12:43 PM UTC
They say, when the wicked rule the earth will mourn
I heard that a time or two
They put you in charge of watching me
But who is watching you
Like a judge, the fate of so many waits in your hands
The utensil in your arsenal are daggers to those around
Poisonous arrows in the body's that are found
Mercenaries with degrees.
Your spilling the beans
Friends secrets are the next prostitution ring
Bankrupt in morals your cruelty never ends
Cold and calculating to gain the upper hand
Do you expect us to treat you like Caesar
Because you wiled the power
Treat you with false respect , throw you lot's of flowers
I will say this again with no respect due
They put you in charge of watching me
But who is watching you
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 9:07 PM UTC
You are, I’m sure, the one of purest wit.
The words you wiled cut the mind that let breath
Lungfuls of worldly knowledge that can’t quit.
That word-sword you swing pray it never be sheath
Never will I forgive that evil crime.
The world cannot accept a voiceless you.
My eyes forever miss a silly rhyme
Composed by an almost sweetly hue.
A heavenly trumpet called out ago
The coming of a baby girl did they sing.
Moonlit is her skin that surpasses snow
Her intelligent, piercing, green eyes do bring
Truth to the surface something never known
But softly, never will she leave you alone.
Mar 2, 2011
Mar 2, 2011 at 8:35 PM UTC
I greet the morning balefully,
Not sure if I am sad or glad of its approach.
I mourn the comfortable hours of the night, and my warm bed.
My tired eyes grieve the lost hours of sleep,
Previously wiled away,
In front of the fire.
How could something we miss entirely, be so delightful?
But nonetheless, I drag my sore, half asleep body,
From the protective shell of my bed,
And greet the upcoming day.
There are good things about the day too.
The freshness of the breeze,
The clouds rimmed by the suns gold,
The chance of a new day.
I stand in the cold drive,
Waiting for the day to unfold,
and though I know,
Many good things,
May come about,
I still wish for my bed.
Apr 27, 2014
Apr 27, 2014 at 4:26 PM UTC
On the days I am choked with your memory,
When the good times returned to me so fleetingly,
I allow myself to feel your presence around me again.
I breathe in the memory before exhaling it possibly the fastest I can.
Thinking of you is like a slippery slope.
I have wiled our days away in my memory.
So, let's just make you a memory, my dearest.
Jan 5, 2018
Jan 5, 2018 at 10:02 AM UTC
I am dinning with collectors.
The table is marble white.
In the past scholars wiled away their time here.
Yet I have no money
only my clothes and soul.
Why am I pushed through the door marked religion ?
Are they ungalant seekers too!
There is a 30 year war in progress
Do the priests want by brass belt
to make a musket?
Must I fight the good fight?
Mar 22, 2016
Mar 22, 2016 at 1:06 PM UTC