"wisen" poems
The fair buildings that have seen the yester-years
bask in twilight.
Generations of footsteps and handprints
have worn and wrinkled them.
The wisen walls have overheard conversations
both whispered in confidence and declared in boldness,
and the floors have long absorbed
the tears, blood and sweat of characters
in their own private dramas
played out within these walls.
You and I will never see what the buildings have watched,
hear what they’ve listened to
all those years –
the stories each brick and mortar holds in secret.
And twilights and days will pass
till the impending moment comes, when,
along with concrete pounded into dusts,
gone will be these flickers of images,
the memories of these fleeting lives,
buried,
like tapes and film rolls burned
by the progress of time.
Apr 2, 2016
Apr 2, 2016 at 7:57 AM UTC
Enlighten:
For the load's far too large for my
Weary eyelids to share with their
Lashes, who cut her skin and charge on to
Urge the blond-bangled mare over the
Stable's horizon.
But she lies in
The light kicked from the window's pail and there
Are no tears welling in the pane's corner,
Nor any lashes to wisen.
Jan 4, 2012
Jan 4, 2012 at 2:02 PM UTC
You wake upon a carpet soaked in wine
to feel the walls around you stretch and shrink
and press against the pressure on your spine,
unbed yourself as tucked upon by drink.
Unwind the vise that clamps around the head
and loose the ***** that tightens at the jaw.
You twist the tendons, heavy as a tread
and strip the bolts that drive into your maw.
You wobble, wisen upright with a yawn
and warble, crooning, swooning to the floor
and crumble on the carpet with a coo.
Your cogs are locked; your curtains let the dawn
abound, secured unfirmly as the door,
as bright and strident skewers ****** you.
Feb 26, 2014
Feb 26, 2014 at 6:18 PM UTC
This is a poem from a high school student to the high school teachers,
And those I'm referring to better know who they are.
To the school teachers who think there cheerleaders,
Grow the hell up.
To the teachers who think being our friend is more important than teaching a lesson,
Grow the hell up.
To the over obsessive fools who rearrange the school constantly,
Wisen the hell up.
To the ******* who spends more than 75% of our budget on sports,
Wisen the hell up.
To the the teachers who force students to act like their children,
Get a ******* life.
To the fools who spend their time on Instagram and Twitter to much,
Get a ******* life.
To the schools that don't know their priorities,
Get your *** in gear.
To the teachers who still are kids, for the last time
GROW THE HELL UP.
Oct 8, 2015
Oct 8, 2015 at 12:41 PM UTC
I back track my steps until once again i feel cold pavement on my heels and the dewy grass has retreated to once again stretching to receive the sun. I bump into the same glass door, the *** still warm as though i had just let go if it, it jabs me in my side forcing me to acknowledge my collision as I face the transparent barrier to what I once thought was home. Its so smoky in there that I can hardly recognize the countenances of my old friends; greed, lust, hate, ****** drugs, envy. I shake my head squinting to read their name tags but the air is too thick for oil stone to sharpen and they're so busy till I realize they don't see me right there. staring. I want to say hi, tell em' the world is cool they shoulda' wisened up like me. All I did was tell a lil white lie but if you're like me, and you wisen' up, you too my dear friend may smell the crisp scent of the greener side. And boom there I was back with my crew. Formerly known as lies, my tag clearly now says pride.
Aug 26, 2014
Aug 26, 2014 at 10:30 PM UTC
do you ever miss the rain?
which one?
that one.
yeah i do.
the simple feelings of safety
the smell of the rain
the similarity of home
where you didnt care about technicality
or psychology
when nobody cared about each other but felt home
do you miss the old screen?
you mean the OS?
no the screen
where it was simple but complex
the feeling of the rain mixed
feeling of friends
not that feeling
the other feeling
the similarity of the old layout
not old the better one
yeah the better one
where it seemed as if you knew it for so long
but you didn't
when everyone was innocent
no sketches
playing at home with no pressure
with a head that stops when you stop
the feeling of feeling as if the adults know everything out there
where you felt as if being sad was just a myth
miss the old room?
which one?
the magical one
where your imagination ruled the emptiness
now filled with a head that is technical as it can be
why?
because maturing
looking at the abyss called reality
where everybody is a child
being an adult is just a myth
everybody feels alone, feels selfish, trying to wisen up
they can’t
because you just can't
wise people aren't wise
they aren't adults
they are just children
acting like adults
people want to get on top
why?
because
why?
why not?
everybody looks up to you
everybody obeys to your rules
they aren't forced to or obliged to
they just do
why?
because they are searching for an example of an adult
they search for a person to look up to that no one can look down on you for
but when you are the person on top
you still feel alone
you don't feel complete
you feel like a child
but then you look for another person to look up to
there are no other
so the cycle continues
everybody stomping on each other
we are on top of a flying rock and everyone is focused on looking down upon people with different imaginary views
why?
why not just have fun?
do you ever miss the rain?
which one?
May 31, 2018
May 31, 2018 at 8:57 PM UTC
*Why is the moon
So close to our hearts?
While the hot sun
Burns love before it starts
We can look
Into lunar eyes
While the solar winds
Carry our goodbyes
Does the moon love us
Because we return its gaze?
Does the sun remain bitter
Because we close our eyes to its rays?
The moon guides our lonely night
An audience to our dreams
While the sun awakens our delusions
And reveals all our schemes
It knows
Unforgiving in its intensity
It knows
It offers us no pity
So we run to our lover
At night as it smiles
Soothing our tired eyes
Understanding all our trials
The sun... a solitary sight
Dominates our horizon
The furnace of life
It does not embrace or wisen
Though we walk with a chill
And beg for a warm heart
It seems distant
I always feel apart
Tonight I will await
The understanding moon
Though you reflect the scolding sun
It is you who makes me swoon*
Feb 7, 2012
Feb 7, 2012 at 7:44 AM UTC
How strange a tide… apathetic to its core.
Novichok in the system — we’ve already hit the floor.
Not without warning for the interested few.
Sure, indigo on the spectrum, but black in our view.
Our prophets are wary, lamenting for the lot.
The glass thicker than ever: they’re forced to watch them rot.
Let’s not dilute it over biscuits and tea.
We’re addicted to passion; it drains both you and me.
Quit cold turkey; we’ll wither and die within the week.
We blew past the sabbath; so muddle on and be meek.
Telephone the skies, but the network is full:
We put off the harvest — our calls all but null.
“Don’t think just breathe and wait for the pull of the plug.”
There’s a way, truth, and life; but deafness is the most popular drug.
Our water is muddy; the dolls’ overjoyed.
Reject all the falsehoods; their eyes shimmer from the void.
I’m here to remind you there’s more than you think.
Dead end paths are common; they want you to sink.
Exist behind ego and you’ll miss the horizon.
Perspective’s a gift if you’re looking to wisen.
Races aren’t games for an aspiring professional.
Throw out your excuses you don’t need a confessional.
There’s anguish in the conviction; you’ll be forced to commit.
But sleep-walking is pervasive; few actually submit.
Nov 28, 2019
Nov 28, 2019 at 1:41 PM UTC
a lot more knowing how it turns out decades later
maybe been a bit bolder instead of hoping
been Brasher wore tighter pants sent out longing stares with
all the confidence Elvis would'a
I would have instead of walking by the Jackson sister's house
stayed and threw pebbles into their bedroom windows
or boldly walked up knocked on their door and faced their dad
his six five tallness and said I think I love your daughters
and stood toe to toe and face to belt buckle with
confidence knowing you have to try to shine
have to light a fire to burn
have to live to die
instead of just fading away
the decades it took me to wisen up
I thought I was trying
it was so timid
I'd a bent the rules more
had I just known
Jul 14, 2017
Jul 14, 2017 at 6:01 PM UTC
The appeal of unlimited information is an exciting treasure hunt. I eat politics for breakfast, quantum physics for lunch.
Life is only hard when you’re way to soft, I wasn’t put here to spend my leisure play golf.
I didn’t come here to bow down, quite the opposite, I’m on a quest for a crown.
We are responsible for what we become.. So wisen up or just stay dumb!
Jul 31, 2025
Jul 31, 2025 at 7:53 AM UTC