"woeful" poems
If you could read my mind,
You’d see a thousand papers
Filled with broken poetries
And deadbeat proses
Full of woeful verses
With mournful pieces
Of unfinished stories
That are yet to be written
And failed to be spoken;
If you could read my mind,
You’d hear horrible screams
And earsplitting weeps
From shattered dreams,
Kept in a nasty notepad,
Scribbled on a bed
Of bloodstained words,
Ringing in my head.
If you could read my mind,
You’d see the shadows
That lurk within me;
You’d hear the bellows,
Screeching the words
“I’m tired,”
“I’m a failure,”
“I’m stupid –”
I know it sounds stupid,
It’s pathetically foolish
And seems like *******
If you could read my mind,
You’d feel the tears
I had ever failed to cry;
You’d see the people
That make the weak weaker;
You’d see the monsters
That consume my head;
You’d hear the hollers
That failed to be freed;
You’d see the heart
That still bleeds and bleeds.
If you could read my mind,
You’d see the face
I’ve failed to show back then,
The face I’ve faked back then.
If you could read my mind,
You’d see a character
I had ever failed to become
If you could read my mind,
You’d be able to read
A book you never wished
To touch and read,
But sometimes I still wish
Someone could read my mind.
Sep 5, 2018
Sep 5, 2018 at 3:34 AM UTC
*Blue is the boulder overlooking the bay
Loosely pocked by weather-worn stains
Unwavering guardian of all that lay
Enigmatic yet silently screaming its pains
Blue is the reflection dancing playfully
Laid generously by the twilight moon
Upon the vast canvas of the darkened sea
Elated ripples readily accepting such a boon
Blue is the halo encircling the moon
Lavish circlet gifted by the sun
Unnoticed by eyes that slumbered too soon
Evading the sands of time that run
Blue is the silhouette of a lone sailboat
Lurching and bobbing by will of the waves
Unknowingly catching the zephyrs that float
Eluding the fingers from watery graves
Blue is the man; perched upon the boulder
Lapping up the stars mirrored upon the sea
Usurped heart of his had never sung drearier
Ensnared by woeful wonderment...*
that man is me...
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 10:28 AM UTC
What do you think xy would do?
If he dressed in red and high black shoes.
One fine summer day A = B met
Exactly alike in elements
Produced their own sets
With a ...
Everything keeps on going.
Out jumps { },
Nothing is showing.
So natural numbers are the same as counting
What other kinds are there?
Tell us quickly please
The tension is mounting
Did you say members or elements?
Are there many?
What a find.
Infinite or finite sets,
Numbers in a line
Taking the time,
Oh woeful occasion.
The struggle of learning
Mathematical expressions.
This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base. All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws
Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright
Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3), Tammy M. Darby Oct. 22, 2014
Oct 22, 2014
Oct 22, 2014 at 7:21 PM UTC
I torment the salt of the earth,
~"Who am I?"~
Eat up the children from unholy birth,
~"Who am I?"~
The ravens caw and come to pick,
~"Who am I?"~
Off woeful ones that I've made sick,
~"Who am I?"~
See travelers on the road of pain,
~"Who am I?"~
Rider on the clouds drive you insane,
~"Who am I?"~
I'm coming for you, I'm coming quick,
~"Who am I?"~
My art deception, my craft, -the trick...
~...Anatu...~ *
Jun 27, 2016
Jun 27, 2016 at 10:23 AM UTC
Go hang yourself, you old M.D.!
You shall not sneer at me.
Pick up your hat and stethoscope,
Go wash your mouth with laundry soap;
I contemplate a joy exquisite
I'm not paying you for your visit.
I did not call you to be told
My malady is a common cold.
By pounding brow and swollen lip;
By fever's hot and scaly grip;
By those two red redundant eyes
That weep like woeful April skies;
By racking snuffle, snort, and sniff;
By handkerchief after handkerchief;
This cold you wave away as naught
Is the damnedest cold man ever caught!
Give ear, you scientific fossil!
Here is the genuine Cold Colossal;
The Cold of which researchers dream,
The Perfect Cold, the Cold Supreme.
This honored system humbly holds
The Super-cold to end all colds;
The Cold Crusading for Democracy;
The Führer of the Streptococcracy.
Bacilli swarm within my portals
Such as were ne'er conceived by mortals,
But bred by scientists wise and hoary
In some Olympic laboratory;
Bacteria as large as mice,
With feet of fire and heads of ice
Who never interrupt for slumber
Their stamping elephantine rumba.
A common cold, gadzooks, forsooth!
Ah, yes. And Lincoln was jostled by Booth;
Don Juan was a budding gallant,
And Shakespeare's plays show signs of talent;
The Arctic winter is fairly coolish,
And your diagnosis is fairly foolish.
Oh what a derision history holds
For the man who belittled the Cold of Colds!
10.9k
Charming lass, the shark she did trust , was a nimble one,
softly nibbled the dead cells laid crusted on her heart
genial it was so she felt like closing her tired eyes a bit,
her bed, lukewarm water, ominously bobbed all the while.
A woeful clown, she dreamed, tried everything to make her laugh
with his pathetic pranks; a jellyfish wearing a wedding dress
seeing this, smelled blood, tried to raise an alarm.
The shark was the one responded, "Don't you wake her up"
the waves were lapping on the shore, then dense silence reigned,
as expected a sanguinary sunset it was,on water blood lay splattered.
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 5:58 PM UTC
I’m fine, thanks…
Is that what you truly mean?
Or do you mean
I’m tired…
I’m lonely…
I’m hurt…
Confused. Bewildered. Angered.
Disillusioned…
Skeptical…
Or maybe
I’m distressed…
I’m woeful…
I’m pathetic…
Lost. Vulnerable.
Infuriated…
Empty. Lifeless. Crushed. Tortured. Dejected. Offended. Afflicted.
Desolate. Desperate. Rejected. Heartbroken…
Tormented…
I’m scared…
I’m disgruntled…
Embarrassed…
Weak. Dreadful. Hungry. Aggravated.
Guilty… Shameful… Frustrated… Jealous… Horrified…
Overwhelmed…
Devastated…
Defeated…
Is fine ever what you truly mean?
Or is it a cover?
Aug 6, 2013
Aug 6, 2013 at 3:57 PM UTC
Banana splits lickedy his spican-and-span throbbing
peninsula clock jar.
The scar from his far faux **** ignited his beating
hexagonal calendar.
Which is used to peruse the jujubees metallic books in the public
libation crazy train station.
His ecstatic adulation exemplifies why diamonds are
a girl gorilla's favorite soap.
His floating cubed boat is on a remote desert
impala growling at the turquoise toilet.
But his spoiled toys are annoyed about the choice between life or
demonstrative sponsored concerts by budweiser.
Woeful razor beaked birds marvel at absurd his Salvador
Daoist Dharma surreal cereal caramel karma flakes.
Mar 28, 2015
Mar 28, 2015 at 4:02 PM UTC
Tethers that prevent flight
from shaken swollen tears
feathers spent in woeful plight
and a snipers cross-hair sight
amid muffled explosive cheers
Brothers in Arms
never lost to forgotten years
and the sound of a distant gunshot
is all that he hears.
R.I.P. Sgt L.J.
Jun 25, 2014
Jun 25, 2014 at 10:50 AM UTC
The ****** of the east and west,
At Your recovery we all rest,
Lord is merciful but the people are not.
Clocks tick and the days goes by,
I'm afraid that you will never be forgotten.
The west will dangle you
Before the eyes of thousands.
For all the thousand things they want
Your agendas are quite right I'm afraid,
Perhaps they thought metal was the answer.
They were afraid as well.
Showed, praised and written about,
Cherished and awarded.
Our dear malala.
I can't help think,
Perhaps you're a puppet
And west the clever puppeteers.
Brave as you are,
I know for sure now that
You don't stand a chance.
Life might be short but it seems like an eternity.
For change is what you want,
You don't reside with the enemy,
You don't accept their awards.
When a government can't assure us change,
What chance do you stand with your words,
For you are just a girl with a bullet hole.
And half this country is drowned in illiteracy.
Brace yourself sweetheart,
Cause you are just another girl,
Where millions others are fighting a real fight,
All you do is befriend the woeful west.
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 10:30 AM UTC
Cherry petals through currents of air
travel far to get caught in your hair.
Just as I travelled, woeful, worldwide
to find home here, at last, by your side.
Thrown off balance when first meeting you,
I resisted but fell for your charm
and strong heart that can never wish harm.
Blooming trees around you—what a view...
I reach out, set the pink petals free
from the waves of your locks—a brown sea.
Like a siren, you call—my head dips.
You're the one in control, don't you see?
My mind races, my pulse wildly skips
as I steal a warm gasp from your lips.
Jul 23, 2021
Jul 23, 2021 at 7:37 PM UTC
a quote of Bernard-Henri Lévy
~~~
the divers’ recovery, diverse,
shipwrecked salvage from different locations,
auctioned to the highest bidder,
tho the excised excerpts are exceptional,
none come to do the bidding,
for the provenance of words
belongs to all, and to none
~~
“so oft we trifle words,
expel them from the country of our body,
without passport and earnestness,
as if they were the cheapest of footnote filler,
day tourists, to be treated as leavings,
refuse for daily discardation,
barely noting their fast comings and faster disappearance,
but leaving not, a mark of distinction”
“the addicted pleasure words granted to we privileged few,
like every enslaved soul to the mind, which I am, I am,
evening dreams, midnight thinkings, sunrise seeings,
how can I infect and thus protect the young to the liberty
to love the crafted content of our human essence to better
comprehend that a moment caught on tape of our shared
words is a holiday, a celebration for the ages...and every molecule,
becomes a human tuning fork in concert, in pitch identical, in blood tainted with the simplicity of we are all the same, only words, this will transmit”
“murmur me, with soft downy charms,
these words discovered
recoursed and intended well to
pointedly offset and contradict
their very own tumultuous discovery uncovering,
tear tongue me
with calming, lapping word wages,
hymns harmonious and fine homilies,
a call, a request,
a bequest
to sedate my shrill life
“some cells, microscopic, preserved digitally,
aged to imperfection, thrash my eyes,
making me speak in tongues I do not recognize,
but fluently possess, no wonder there,
the memory place fairly empty,
room aplenty for passerby's and the imagery
of the vaguest of dearly departed
skin is not the only mot shed,
sloughing of woeful words”
“speak them slow and distinct,
for they arrive slow to you,
a trickling of refugees for your sheltering,
harbor them as full companions,
protected by natural law,
provision them well,
prepared and ever ready for a quick departure,
moor these words at the embarcadero,
for the next restless leg of endlessness,
which they themselves will inform you
will last longer than eternity,
long after there are no humans to speak them”
Mar 27, 2019
Mar 27, 2019 at 4:55 AM UTC
Her folly lies in her capacity to love dangerously,
For she loves in many faces, in many words and in many tongues.
She lives inside her love, mutating her heart ever so.
Relishing, perilously, in the daze of its endangerment.
And for the fragments of her heart she is so terribly loved in return.
But only for a moment.
For she holds too much insanity in her sorrowful bones.
It infests her blue veins and plays with her hair.
It kisses her in the darkness of hidden longing,
And traces her skin with wistful desire.
Her insanity holds her to the wall and caresses her neck.
Her insanity gives her a cigarette and watches her blue smoke dance with a smile in the early morning.
Her insanity laughs with her in a melancholy haze of youthful poverty.
Her insanity holds her in his arms.
Her insanity is inescapably wistful.
It finds her in the night,
In the secret carousels of woeful nostalgia.
Her insanity has destroyed her so, and has so wickedly masked it as bliss.
She is irrevocably doomed, for she will spend her days submerged in an ocean of faces;
Hoping, so beautifully desperately,
That she will find a piece of him inside them.
-
*"Can I stay here a little longer?
I'm so happy here."*
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 10:01 AM UTC
These are confessions I can never send.
Because they blatantly won't understand
and that is something I need to get,
They don't care for me enough to accept the ways they hurt me and say sorry.
They are hypocrites,
Because they want me to stay weary.
They want me to always let go and cry alone.
They don't care if around them I'm woeful.
Mom,
You always said I was in the wrong,
Cleaning and chores were our only "bond"
You never chose me unless you could brag.
Dad,
You broke my heart,
You'd catch me when I'd fall
But never stuck up for me in the end.
Mom chooses to make me a villain,
All I wanted was her acceptance
but she sees me as a sinner who's selfish,
I should put my pain aside and pretend I'm good.
I will be left to wonder forever,
Why my pain doesn't matter
In comparison to my sister,
Why am I less accepted when I'm in pain?
Dad loves me because he sees himself in me.
I look like him, we share a hobby
but growing up I believed that was the only thing he loved about me
Because one moment he'd be there, but would runaway when I needed him most.
Alone, he would listen,
He would say he'd help me
But in front my mom he was different.
Suddenly, what we said in the car was insignificant.
I'm an adult who doesn't know her needs, wants, and likes
Because I spent my life trying to be accepted.
No one taught me how to accept myself,
Or how to know what I need or want.
If someone cared unconditionally,
I clinged to them.
I hoped they'd never leave,
because I never got that from my family.
Now I'm in therapy, crying in every session
That I'm hurt again because of them,
Or hurt by myself because
I don't know who I am.
Mar 6, 2024
Mar 6, 2024 at 7:17 AM UTC
Listen to the slivering paths of the Autumn breeze
The coming velvety skies drenched in ink reflecting silver stars
Wave goodbyes to the elusive flawed brown stone with pensive eyes
A heart will gasp years ahead for callousness past shown now in tears
Remember those golden sunsets for now woeful days are never azure
Watery eyes and wrinkled mask lament a time you could have shared
A King's ransom at your feet twined with an honest heart assured
Hear the whisperings of the mockingbirds and muted cold choruses
Rainbow starlights betrays pots of gold hidden never to be found
Maidens dance retro and the harpist pluck for painters with brushes
By sunkissed shores blends of contrasts joyous in customary ponds
Smiles pure from honeyed caves same when as waxed spears plunges
Save me a place in the delights of Troy and tell Helen to send a sound
Bring me home to peace and love, rescue me from lions in golden cages
[email protected].
Sep 18, 2018
Sep 18, 2018 at 11:09 PM UTC
**Doubt thou the Earth doth spin,
Doubt the skies not to be Heaven's chin.
Doubt that Heaven's green and gold,
Her pulchritude is a fairytale told.
Doubt thou we'll meet the Lord,
At the other side of life's road.
Doubt that in Heaven's pleasant glade,
Life shall dare never to ever fade.
Doubt thou the sight before thy eyes,
Infinite not to be the coyly sinking skies.
Doubt that a pulchritudenous flower,
Akin to any other flower loses her allure.
Doubt thou Hell ain't a woeful grave
But never doubt thy love I dost crave.
©Kikodinho Alexandros
Jumeira, Dubai
28th January 2017
Jan 28, 2017
Jan 28, 2017 at 1:49 PM UTC
I’m left with no one to talk to,
with none to ever share
Only my blackened heart to feel,
the crouching, gray despair
I want to shout, to scream for help,
but I don’t have a voice
My soul is left in darkest void
without a single choice
The shadows whisper at my name,
they want to get along
They sing for me, and cry for me
a very woeful song
But I don’t care, I never heed
I know it’s now too late
To fix my very crippled life
And untwine my twined fate
It’s gone now, I failed all of it
I left it, I did shun
Leaving it to rot and to die
And wither cold and wan…
Aug 20, 2013
Aug 20, 2013 at 8:29 PM UTC
As The Far Distance Of The Skies
The Distance From Your Eyes
Then The Ground And The Stars
The Distance From Your Ears
I Send Whispers And Sparks
And Few Words For The Times
When I Used To Touch Your Arms
With That Look!, Everything Charms
Here I Am Calculating The Miles
On A Woeful Stressfull Verses
In A Camp Fire Talking To Ashes
Few Words To Burn With Papers
To Fuel My Fire With Poetry Pieces
Hear My Hurtfull Heart Weeps
About Many Shattered Dreams
Bleeding Between The Life Claws
Tell Me About Her Glorious Flames
Tell Me About The Hurrican's Chase
The World Where They Hitch Rides
Tell Me About The Next Goals
Remind Me About The Lost Souls
I'm Paying The Bills For My Sins!
But I Did Not Do Any Wrong Things!
Gasping Breath And Washing Tears
Playing Guitar, And The Letter Sings
Author / Aladdin Aures H.
Jul 27, 2019
Jul 27, 2019 at 4:55 PM UTC
Come dance with the devil,
hear his violin call,
the soulful beauty of its music,
calling one and all,
Coiling round your soul,
with his slender, twisting arms,
teasing and beguiling,
singing his woeful psalms,
He’s taking his curtain call,
as you gently start to weep,
waiting for the darkness,
your soul is his to keep.
Oct 5, 2014
Oct 5, 2014 at 1:15 PM UTC
Like a grain trapped under the eyelid
Impairing the vision, in heart and mind
Flush it out with rivers, woeful and turbid
This grain still there; rendering us blind
Tiny and inconspicuous; No one sees the grains
Everyone's 'gifted' with their own to nurse
Doubling over we see each others' pains
Hidden and embedded within the poetry laden verse
Sep 15, 2014
Sep 15, 2014 at 2:35 AM UTC
∙∙∙◦◦•◎•◦◦∙∙∙
Rejoice and praise
in all my voice He bestowed
-music upon thee
in shores were the seas meet
-and mountains reached
were the valleys peaking feat
He treasured a song for me
and every day I'll keep
-just as I'd sing
A song only Jesus give,
-comforts my woeful soul
blissfully of His forcing Lo
Nineteen in a world I never
-dreamt
people in strife, unbridled-
broken in the midst of life
hide away in His wings,
-As I find my peace of mind
Thieves strive, a callous ****
to ****** the song I sing,
but of all in all between,
a Cross He carried for lives
to save and shall not parish
a tomorrow for me to sing
Cling as He promised He be
His heavenly touch,
-reaching a thousand as much
Angeles came in joy
as I keep singing this song,
The song of my Savior & Lord
Amen...
Sep 18, 2017
Sep 18, 2017 at 10:28 AM UTC
Who said
sound is a vibration
that travels at a bizarre speed?
I saw it softly floating
ensconced in bubbles
to a celestial gravity
that pulls them up
to the realm of idyllic bliss.
Bubbles exude the
brilliant hues of my yearnings,
wrap me inside
their merino fleece warmth,
hold me to their *****
with the tenderness
I ever cherish in my soul.
Sound nestles in its heart
a mesmeric glow of music
ordained to play
the salute note
to augur the birth of a
new hankering.
The woeful flute
of the gypsy maiden
soulfully sings
a melancholy melody
for her lost love
to get a phoenix’s wings
under the silver mist of the
new moon’s splendour.
Sep 18, 2018
Sep 18, 2018 at 12:52 PM UTC
If you could read my mind,
You’d see a thousand papers
Filled with broken poetries
And deadbeat proses
Full of woeful verses
With mournful pieces
Of unfinished stories
That are yet to be written
And failed to be spoken;
If you could read my mind,
You’d hear horrible screams
And earsplitting weeps
From shattered dreams,
Kept in a nasty notepad,
Scribbled on a bed
Of bloodstained words,
Ringing in my head.
If you could read my mind,
You’d see the shadows
That lurk within me;
You’d hear the bellows,
Screeching the words
“I’m tired,”
“I’m a failure,”
“I’m stupid –”
I know it sounds stupid,
It’s pathetically foolish
And seems too *******
If you could read my mind,
You’d feel the tears
I had ever failed to cry;
You’d see the people
That make the weak weaker;
You’d see the monsters
That consume my head;
You’d hear the hollers
That failed to be freed;
You’d see the heart
That still bleeds and bleeds.
If you could read my mind,
You’d see the face
I’ve failed to show back then,
The face I’ve faked back then.
If you could read my mind,
You’d see a character
I had ever failed to become
If you could read my mind,
You’d be able to read
A book you never wished
To touch and read,
But sometimes I still wish
Someone could read my mind.
Dec 23, 2018
Dec 23, 2018 at 1:38 AM UTC
You ask me how brave I am
And I responded with certainty,
“I am brave enough to love deeply
And be foolish in the eyes of many
For I only love and hurt alone.”
I am in love with a young man
Whose courage can never be compared
He makes me fearless; shameless even
Making me dive into this love of mine
Without even thinking if it may be reciprocated
I dared to reach a star like him
Though in the sky, he resides
I dared to go beyond this love
Crossing seas to get a glimpse of him
And now I’m finally close to my dear
Again, you ask me how brave I am
And I looked at you with woeful eyes,
“I am brave enough to let you break me
And let you ****** a dagger into my heart
For you don’t see me the way I see you.
But how brave are you really, love?”
May 8, 2017
May 8, 2017 at 3:18 PM UTC
My pen weeps;
*It weeps everyday,
upon the rugged pages of my diary.
A rainbow of tears.*
The blue ink sets free
*Dark shadows
Looming in my soul.
Deep;
Amidst the hollow wasteland of my thoughts.
They take me
To the nooks and crevices
Of my past.
A yesterday,
So beautiful, So far away,
Yet*
unreal.
The red ink,
*It paints;
Swollen memories,
That refuse to
Let go of my grasp.
Buried deep within
Yet*
alive.
And Indigo;
*That sketches,
The abysmal dreams.
That scar my mind,
When the world Is snoring,
In it's beauty sleep.
As i slowly slip,
Into a wilderness.
A madness,
Exhausting
Yet*
Infinite.
My words;
*Rain upon the blank pages,
With a ink
so melancholic,
It seems like the tears,
Would never dry off.
Yet*
they do.
*Just like the colours
In my life.
Slipping away,
into pages.*
*How the cage
of my body,
Confines a heart;*
Suffocated
Starved
*That sings like a canary,
Woeful ballads Of freedom.
That begs to stretch,
It's wings.
And taste the dew
Of morning,
Lying upon the half awake
Bud.
A charming
melody,
it weeps everyday.*
Just like my p e n.
May 6, 2017
May 6, 2017 at 6:11 PM UTC