"withe" poems
This monochrome life is nothing without your light.
The colors pour from your finger tips as you frolic about.
The carelessness of your touch creates new brilliance.
To tame you would be detrimental, but to free you would be exquisite.
They try to hide you away and hinder the beauty
you could create with their monochrome ideals.
Monotone voices and monochrome people,
surrounding and clustered
to catch a glimpse of such a sight is like
watching the soft sun light trickle through the tree tops.
The beauty you are able to expel is like no other you love in spite of everything else.
You shed your light on the cruelest of nights.
Paint the colors of life into everything you see,
and strip away the melancholy of everyday routines.
So happy so lovely so free.
It's time to color our lives withe the beauty of of our imagination...
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 5:34 PM UTC
When the leaves are green, then the birds will sing,
Each note carried upon a sunlit ray;
My heart cannot bear awaiting this scene.
New, vibrant color quells cold, bitter sting,
And rings the chime for a calm and softer day,
When the leaves are green, then the birds will sing.
A winter tale ends well, blue sky it'll bring,
And rare flowers that chase all care away;
My heart cannot bear awaiting this scene.
Robins in trees weave nests of withe and string
As the beat of their soft wings seem to say,
When the leaves are green, then the birds will sing.
Tulips dance in a tepid breeze in spring,
Crimson petals spreading, though not to stay;
My heart cannot bear awaiting this scene.
Bid adieu to steel-gray skies forbidding
Nature's gifts and tranquility, in May-
When the leaves are green, then the birds will sing;
My heart cannot bear awaiting this scene.
Mar 15, 2013
Mar 15, 2013 at 9:28 PM UTC
Tucked away in our subconsciousness is an idyllic vision. We see ourselves on a long trip that spans the continent. We are travelling by train. Out the windows, we drink in the passing scene of cars on nearby highways, of children waving on a crossing, of cattle grazing on a distant hillside, of smoke pouring from a power plant, of row upon row of corn and wheat, of flatlands and valleys, of mountains and rolling hillsides, of city skylines and village halls.
But the uppermost in our minds is the final destination. On a certain day at a certain hour, we will pull into the station. Bands will be playing and flags waving. Once we reach there, so many wonderful dreams will come true and the pieces of our lives will be fit together like a completed jigsaw puzzle. How restlessly we pace the aisles, damning the minutes loitering, waiting, waiting, waiting for the station.
"When we reach the station, that will be it", we cry. "When I'm 18", "When I buy a new 450SL Mercedes Benz", "When I put my last kid through collage", "When I have paid off the mortgage", "When I get a promotion", "When I reach the age of the retirement, I shall live happily ever after."
Sooner or later, we must realize that there is no station, no one place to arrive at once and for all. The true joy of life is the trip. The station is only a dream. It constantly outdistances us.
"Relish the moment" is a good motto, especially when coupled withe the Psalm 118:24:"This is the day which the Lord hath made, we will rejoice and be glad in it." It isn't the burdens of today that drive men mad. It is the regrets over yesterday and the fear of tommorrow. Reget and fear are twin thieves who rob us of today.
So stop pacing the aisles and counting the miles. Instead, climb more mountains, eat more icecreams, go barefoot more often, swim more rivers, watch more sunsets, laugh more and cry less. Life must be lived as we go along. Then the station will come soon enough.
Aug 13, 2013
Aug 13, 2013 at 2:05 AM UTC
waited
for your calle todaye
when it did not come
i kurst'
this cold and
krewel daye
oft played
are the games
of love and lyfe
skillfullye laide
are the snares
and traps
we playe the hunter
we are the baite
be it known to alle
we are the prey
and i
knowinge the price
of painfulle lessons learned
forsooke that knowledge
which thru livinge
alle mustte earne
and thought
to safely
lure you in
withe
mine open hearte
yes
i kurse
this bryghte and sunnye daye
shoulde not the skye
be fulle of kloudse an' fey ?
'twoulde match my moode...
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Pic Poem
http://oi65.tinypic.com/dq2i48.jpg
.
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Mar 1, 2017
Mar 1, 2017 at 12:09 AM UTC
A tear trickled down her cheek
It fall on my heart and i saw it seep
The plant that grew there was gentle and week
And for love it had its roots going deep.
The hardship winds were the nature's grant
Felling huge trees and leaving a mark
But couldn't uproot the growing plant
Of all the big small things in the park.
Giving it strength to live through the worst
Now the weak plant was a warrior
With warship glory a new flower burst
And on the flower came a carrier .
Picking up love withe the pollen grains
Showering it ,flying all far and wide.
Her tears falling on my heart like rains
Of love and care that she can not hide
Oct 28, 2018
Oct 28, 2018 at 12:09 PM UTC
still with the enemy
blood pouring under me
sleeping on the bridge
while the river stains the sand
sinister digits marking the overpass
four more points than you ever made
while my body bathes in flame
youll stay happy, stay loved
wait are you happy, when youre so hated?
Sep 24, 2013
Sep 24, 2013 at 2:01 PM UTC
The day before the trip is one where I'm up early - like today.
I've got to go get my oil changed and have the fluids checked.
Next up is to gas up and fill the tires up to *****
Take a break to relax and smell the coffee - medium roast - and a bagel with cream cheese.
Back at it withe the planning and the finding:
A hotel to stay in
The chains for the tires
The clothes needed...
The clothes I will sleep in.
It's all there and packed up, stacked up by the door.
Time to load up the car.
Tomorrow we're headed for the snow.
Empty the car first of all my junk and trash.
I can't believe how much has piled up and been left.
Maybe let's take out the floor mats and lets definitely use the shop-vac.
Spray in some Febreeze... a couple extra squeezes...
And then squeeze the Windex and wipe all the glass and surfaces clean.
Finally time now to lean the back seat down.
Toss in one bag and then the next.
Stack it, stack it, stack.
One more, two more, there's the last.
Close up the door, lock it, it's time for one more rest.
Tomorrow we're headed for the snow.
Dec 21, 2012
Dec 21, 2012 at 1:48 AM UTC
She had swapped her stolen soul,
Withe the 'Spirits of Saturn'
Her fractured heart,
Withe the 'Diamond Seas'.
I don't think I can stop this storm,
It's red hull churning,
Stirring the golden flakes for years on end.
Burning for four centuries now,
It finally starts to slow.
Time makes it harder.
I wish I could remember
The starlight,
Precious and pure (Just like her promise)
Flows from her words
Cold and distant
Far off from here (Just like my memories)
But it’s the moon,
That pulls her waters
It’s not the distance that counts
For me
Everything isn’t dark enough
Rings and winds,
Is the difference
Between us.
Iced over in methane,
Along the belt of Cetus
I’d still like to see
Eccentric descend.
When the eclipsed shrinking planet,
And the father of Jupiter
Gathered with our sister,
Who could tell no difference
Between night and day,
Aligned in serenade
Under the window of his lover.
Red with the ice of mars,
Seasons twice the length
And the largest with no seasons to bare
Ah, But it is the blue one,
Who didn’t get it’s chance
To shine
Fore,
It’s moon was found.
The sun
3 hours before it’s seen
It is too far,
For something so small,
But far from insignificant.
And it stayed in place,
To watch
Jupiter ascend.
With the stars strung on my back,
I’ll go the length,
Just to show you,
That the
Eternal light
Can still be
Seen,
From the farthest planets.
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 6:10 PM UTC
One more to add to the collection
Piled up in stacks
of memories ,
good, bad, indifferent.
They loom large like a hoarders playground..
Teetering on the edge of remembrance,
Akin to a child arcing on the up curve of a swing in motion all joy and suspense...
The oldest of days
So compressed and worn they have become mere scraps
Postcards withe messages written
In ink faded, jaded
Like ether riding a zephyr they pass through your mind to tiny whirlwinds from days left behind.
This day different from any other, as are they al, closes now awaiting it's
place upon a pile
All so tall now
It was a gooday another one of love, laughter action and rest, commonplace by many standards..
But we have learnt
to take each day and polish it like gem.
And accept it as a blessing ..
Before resting
in order to walk
into yet another day
Oct 31, 2024
Oct 31, 2024 at 9:53 PM UTC
this is my syringe,
hold it for me as i cringe,
a lifeless death soon will come to pass,
as i'm wishing my hearts last.
i'm dying slowly now,
but no one does it wow,
for i've never really been alive,
not since suicide first was tried.
it doesn't matter anymore,
i've finally robbed my life poor,
why does this fill me with glee?
as for my life i do not plea.
i wish for this to be the last time,
that i will ever write this rhyme,
to be finished and forgotten,
not giving a **** about my sin.
to be withe the one that i have always loved,
to hold him until he can no longer be hugged-
the room does spin and i hear her cry,
my best friend that is watching as i die.
she came to save me from myself,
she was to late, an inconvience only for herself,
i knew she'd be coming so i hit it strong,
knowing the purist wouldn't take too long-
to hit my heart to stop it's beat,
to finally feel cold from head to feet.
i left her one last kiss,
on a note that read simply this;
do not resuscitate is all i wish,
don't feel guilty for i did this,
i'll always love you but he means more,
you want me to be happy-this is that score.
the one thing i've wanted, now i do have,
if you feel guilty, my soul it will stab.
all of my poetry take and publish,
if they don't want it, seal with a kiss-
and lock it away, 'til you meat someone like me,
who won't let thoughts of suicide let them be.
Sep 7, 2013
Sep 7, 2013 at 9:47 PM UTC
Take whats left of me
Take it and throw it away
The filth that stains my heart
Scrub me clean
Take my remains
and make me new
The dark is hungry
Calling my name
And then there's the mirrors
Filled withe regret
It's unfair
I think
Staring at something without
Meaning
Something that just withers
Something that dies
Death is just a reminder
That we're all limited
With expiration date
Mar 29, 2014
Mar 29, 2014 at 4:48 PM UTC
When I was driven to compete and test my mettle
I learned a word.
The old man withe the gravely growl. A wise and bedreggled owl.
His eyes bored in as he did impart. The art.
The beauty. You gotta be clutch son.you gotta deliver.
Clutch.
A state of zen.
Conquer the moment
Again and again.
Jockspeak I know BUT analagous to living.
Condensed.The now is all we truely have.
Runners high in the blink of an eye.
Pure pleasure to live the moment.
Unbridled.
Making love. Fucking.screwing. you pick.
For me relaxed concentration. A zen state.
Pure harmony? That special union. A once a lifetime.
Once. And only once.
Clutch happenstance.
Same,same.
Grinding gears? Can't mesh.
Slack tide....suspension. joy or pain?
I learned it became addicted to it
Sheer confidence that I will overconquer
The moment.
Then I lost it and came crashing down.
I was human after all.
But such is the human design.
Soar high and long.
Ignore the siren song.
The moment is all there is.
Jun 8, 2013
Jun 8, 2013 at 11:00 AM UTC
What is tired I don't know but I can feel it in my eyes, my brain.
A dream is suppose to make us float in the clouds, but how when they are all nightmares that lead into my daily seems?
What does it feel like to be rejuvenated and bright like the sun, except I have had to much sun or was it the rainy impact that I'm used to?
I say it's OCD, but is it really?
I say it's my anxiety and deny that it's probably depression, but is it really?
This house is filled with spirits, but I promise it's not schizophrenia.
My mind is a rollercoaster travelling at the speed of light, but which is faster?
I say it's OCD, but is it really? Yes since everytime and day I get an intrusive thought to say.
I sound fowl, grey and shady. Please understand I'm tired.
Going to run down in the ground, until my life pleads withe joy. Give me the sip of tea, since then I will feel awake.
Morning is here, the day is bright, the afternoon comes and I'm starting to get a fright, once it is evening and the sun melts beside the moon, I'm tired and afraid at night time for another tea to make me feel free!
Sep 26, 2017
Sep 26, 2017 at 12:21 AM UTC
As the fingerless *****
grasps my hand
in a gesture of friendship,
persistent groups
of ***** children
tug at my sleeves,
whilst pink-eyed in the sun
the lone albino
stumbles
in the gutter,
in which the starving dog
furiously devours
fresh human waste;
& the helpless young man
withe the twisted limbs
lies gazing at the pitiless sky,
where the red & blue
paper kite
sways slowly in the breeze,
above the huge white cow,
sitting placidly
in the middle of the road,
beside which
the family of five
begin their evening meal.
Mar 27, 2017
Mar 27, 2017 at 3:58 PM UTC
Thats Right its gandhi's country
Proving intolerance to the person who called us so.
Shirtless actors and leather jacketed alcoholics are fine
But a girl in a short skirt,"thats a ***
We got the best soil and a heavy talent.
Also the most ingenious minds and the best gene pool.
still hunger and poverty grab us like bugs
and we're wannabe amercians coz we thinks its cool.
walks a man alone, walks a man tall.
but the whole ******* country, hell bent on proving him wrong.
im no more scared of the darkness outside,damn it!
coz those my brothers who put me on a ship to the inchcape rock.
corruption, treachery,scams and money laundering
but demonetisatin,coz notes are the real problem isnt it?
"WE THE PEOPLE OF INDIA,HAVING..."
oh please would you cut the ********
there can be peaceful processions and hunger strikes
but who cares when we can burn buses and **** children
nepotism is the real trend today
also true talent- that aint nothing worth a million!
Where the head is held high,and the mind is without fear,
applies to the evil, rich or the cruel.
we can have the largest domes and the biggest missiles,
where cast based reservation still prevails withe suicides as a fuel.
Mob lynching is a everyday problem now,also rapes.
it goes on to anti nationalism, corruption and prostitution.
And here is gandhi's country,much like this sonnet
with only problems and no real solution.
Oct 14, 2018
Oct 14, 2018 at 3:39 PM UTC
Let's beat a dead horse on the news report
Let's beat a dead horse on the news report
After all this let's go to Chuck for sports
Let's beat a dead horse on the news report
A silence ringing Ever repeating
Symphony of
Discontentment
Reassessment
Where the heck am I now?
A lofty lonely absolute
With candy bars
Let's be astute
I've lost all of timbucktoo
In times of lonely and the blue
OH let's just get out of here
OH let's just get far away
Withe the ever screeching contamination of armpit's bleeding
Tumors the size of icicles with the everlasting gob-stopper hole
Rearrangement gentle spinings
Take away my Christmas tidings
And leave me here on this freaking porch
Listening to the Police Reports
OH let's just get far away
OH let's just lay here to stay
Let's beat a dead horse on the news report
Let's beat a dead horse on the news report
This evening there's a shooting near a local door
Let's beat a dead horse on the news report
I never said this would be easy
But I always expected it nonetheless
I never knew that it'd be so hard to
Listen
Just to
Listen
OH we can never get far enough away
OH somehow I've only managed to stay
Saturday night is the wrecking crew
I'd ask if you were here, but I think you've spewed
The intellect and nonetheless I'm making up for all my
misplaced tests
Taking time to make the rhymes and bring about the chiming of the tolls
The ringing of the chimes
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 2:49 PM UTC
Just woke up to the thought of love
Do I love the one
Who ignores me
Who knowsy love yet,
Turns around so he can't se me
The one who is waiting for an opportunity
The one who gets better everyday
The one whom I have to fake with
But in that love I love him
But then again
What is that word?
What does it mean?
Am I too young for it
Or do I love the one who
Laughs with not at me
the one who walks withe after school
The one who I know takes care of me
The one who seeks opportunities and doesn't just wait for one to come.
The one who make my heart beat fast with the thought
What is love?
Who is my love
How can I know difference?
Should I know the difference?
Nov 29, 2012
Nov 29, 2012 at 6:52 AM UTC
With So many enemies
To see
It's like destined
For my prophecy
But it only
Made me
A stronger man
Especially
When I learned
To keep a clip in hand
I got more beef than Pakistan
If you innerstand
Would you understand ?
My words chosen
Carefully
And viciously
Some say I spit
It like makaveli
I'm just speaking
From my mind tryna shine
Like the Sun beamin'
Off my millimeter nine
Prisoner to time
Made for the crime
Perfect rhyme
While y'all pinchin' pennies
I'm throwin dimes
Stack money
And **** a *****
Friends to foes
Only stick around for ya dough so
I had to reform my circle
**** em I don't care
If they die
My enemies get the fry gotta stay high
As I curse my enemies from these rhymes
That don't lie
Huh
Don't make enemies withe me
My words are mostly wise
Rise
Heat like a passion
Between a chick thighs
You know ya
Mesmorized
Cuz my 9 baptized minds
Hidden under an eternal guise
Used to be an Angel
But my enemies tried
To corner me
In different angles
Broke the jingle
And made me a new tune soon
Foolls gone come
Out the wood works
But to me they been dead
In the dirt
For what it's worth
I'd rather be dead
Than alive hard to survive
N This game of life
Addicted to strife
Made sorrow my wife
Since I made a pledge
To the allegiance
Of rebels upped my levels
Now I'm feelin'
Untouchable with resources
Step outta line
Be a fresh frozen corpse
Mind warped
Enter the twilight zone
At the speed of light
No longer sufferin blight
Give it all my might
Til the day that
I die. I'll still
Put up a fight
To crumbles my enemies vengefully
Speakin' out against me so
Si don't make enemies with me
Sep 11, 2017
Sep 11, 2017 at 5:57 AM UTC
When I see a person
Any person
Someone I like, someone I don’t like
(More so even withe latter
For they show me aspects of myself
That I may not want to recognize
Posting a challenge to strengthen and grow)
I see the pain I am faced with
In seeing this, forces move in
With intent to heal
Break habit and soothe the patients,
Of the world
I am a psychologist
Because I recognize the potential in us all
To continuously become
Harmonize even in the tremor
Of pain, for even joy is an ailment
Constricting reason
Showing colours
more well maneuvered hidden ness
Yes, this is our battle
And like Arjuna, we must do it
With love, the force of compassion
Nov 21, 2020
Nov 21, 2020 at 9:36 AM UTC
my family always said you were bad news
I never believed them
I always stood up for you
even when you stood me up
I'd say your going through rough times
but we all knew it was an excuse
cause, I was going through some **** too
but I was always there for you
you were only there when you had an audience
or when I finally got to the fence
of I'm done with your ********
that's when I would take the hardest hit;
when i thought you were you again
but realized the girl I once new is irretrievable
So I'm done
I'm done with your games
being an extra in your show
a side character when the plot gets boring
I'm done being an understudy of a friend
I'm done withe this show
so close the curtain
this time i'm certain
I've torn of the script
I've got rid of all the ties
I'm done I'm sick and tired of your ******** and lies
goodbye
Mar 13, 2016
Mar 13, 2016 at 10:29 PM UTC
Lawrence Hall, HSG
[email protected]
Avon Man and the Mystery of His First-Best Bed
I gyve unto my wief my second best bed…
-Attributed to Shakespeare in his will. Or Churchill. Or
Milton. Or Elvis. Or Some Famous Man. And Shakespeare
was secretly a Catholic. (No, he wasn’t.) (Yes, he was.) (No, he
wasn’t.) (Yes, he was; I read it on the InterGossip.)
That second-best bed doesn’t matter a pop
Those anyones whoever slept in it are deads
Memorialized as dashboard bobbleheads
At Ye Olde Anne Hathawaye gifte shoppe
Kinge Richarde nevere cryede, “mye kyngdome fore ye bedde!”
Yea, goode olde Sirre Erpinghame joked, “Now lye I like a kynge”
So what’s the deale withe the firste-beste bedde thynge?
Thatte seconde bedde is where the Widowe rested hir hedde
Ande thusse ye scholares maken withouten cessatione
Unsupportede argumentes and allegationes
Jan 25, 2024
Jan 25, 2024 at 9:31 PM UTC