"worrier" poems
The world farmers day
We are celebrating valentine and friendship day
It is the time to celebrate world farmers day
farmer o farmer you are the great worrier
you feed the world
you make the world better and you are the great !
Today it’s the time to honor our farmers
It the time to say jai jawan jai kissan
It’s the time give honor to our farmer
Who work for us to get better food .
Today nobody wants to be farmer
Because farmer job people fills cheep
But we have to under stand
Without farmer we cannot live ,
Farmer o farmer you make the world better
You work under the open sky
Today is the time for celebrate world farmers day .
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 10:11 AM UTC
Stillness and immobility
They look just the same
But one can be bliss the other is pain
The stillness arises when the tension is gone
When the tension grows immobility is born
The blessing of stillness it flies high and wide
The curse of tension pulls the mind closely tied
Stillness and immobility
They look just the same
But one can be bliss the other is pain
In the eye of a storm mighty worrier she waits
Her opponent exhausted from the forces he breaks
From the centre she moves in any direction
Her hands tied only by one thing - affection
Stillness and immobility
They look just the same
But one can be bliss the other is pain
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 7:18 AM UTC
Already the month
of August 2018,
May never become
a je June'm
(Forget-me-not)
time of year,
especially for nouveau
homeless and,
penniless residents,
(now more like worrier),
who reside in the
(burnt to a crisp)
Golden State where,
towering uncontrollable
wild fire infernos veer
really did tax mental,
physical, and spiritual
oye vey iz mare (to
the bajillion power
of Google Plex) their
heirlooms, mementos,
and trappings of
das kapital lifestyle
went up in smoke,
which tragedy didst seer
the eyes (yes, iz traumatic,
but also the air)
looms with toxic
particulate matter,
though concerned former
propertied owners
(now ashen faced)
as utter grief doth rear
a scorched (bumping) ugly head,
yet the onset of Autumn,
(and the main
purport of this poem)
(oh my dog, that twill be
in approximately three weeks,
when Eastern Orthodox Church
denotes beginning of ecclesiastical
annum mull house
for straight or queer
(these times opening
doors to LGBT, or GLBT
(an initialism that
stands for lesbian,
gay, bisexual, and transgender),
nonetheless history
replete with app pear
chock full of factoids such as:
September (Latin septem,
"seven") with near
exhaustive steeped in
pagan glory of antiquity.
Ancient Roman observances
for September include:
Ludi Romani, originally celebrated
September 12 - September 14,
later extended to
September 5 to September 19.
In 1st century BC, an extra day added
in honor of deified
Julius Caesar on 4 September.
Epulum Jovis held: September 13.
Ludi Triumphales held: September 18–22.
Septimontium celebrated September, and
December 11 on later calendars
September called "harvest month"
in Charlemagne's calendar.
September corresponds partly to
Fructidor and partly to Vendémiaire
of first French republic.
On Usenet, September 1993
(Eternal September) never ended.
September called Herbstmonat,
harvest month, in Switzerland.
The Anglo-Saxons called
month Gerstmonath,
barley month, that crop
then usually harvested.
Aug 31, 2018
Aug 31, 2018 at 5:00 PM UTC
As the Phoenix rose from her ashes
And the Dragon silenced his roar
The distant lighting flashes
And he swoons as he watches her soar
For he had seen never something so bright
She burned with a fire that could not be doused
In this the Dragon felt contrite
And all her enemies the Phoenix would roust
She had this way about her, something so soothing and warm
Legend told of her beauty and intensity
And how she could calm every storm
The Dragon enjoyed her propensity
He found her beautiful, alluring and strong
The Dragon was mesmerized by her brilliance
She sang such a beautiful song
She exalted such resilience
The Dragon could not help but sing along
Though the Phoenix may have her battles, she will always win the war
For the Dragon sees the warrior
And her magic quiets his roar
So the Dragon is no longer a worrier
She moves in a way that's enticing
With every move that she makes
The Dragon will never abandon her
No matter how hard the ground quakes
The Phoenix is a one of a kind
An answer to a prayer
There is no greater light that the Dragon could find
Than the beauty of the Phoenix's flare
May 23, 2020
May 23, 2020 at 8:43 AM UTC
They tell me
"Be a warrior
not a worrier"
But where is
my armour,
my sword
and
my helmet ?
You state such a claim,
but where should I aim ?
Who is the enemy,
the one to be defeated ?
Please point at it now
so this journey can be completed,
for I'm tired to allow
my mind to doubt so desperately.
I wish you'd hand it to me on a plate.
But hey, what's the fun in this mate ?
If the path is too straight,
how will I learn
to trust my own fate
without a string to follow ?
I guess my fear
I'll just have to swallow.
Feb 13, 2018
Feb 13, 2018 at 10:27 AM UTC
"If I was a bird, I'd be an owl."
If I was a bird, I'd be a-
"Don't say pigeon! I hate pigeons."
Pigeons? What is so horrid about them?
I thought and feared for my potential existence.
What if I was a pigeon?
What if my feathers were grey?
What if my belly was fat with breadcrumbs
and street scrap?
What if low coos did escape my throat
in efforts to keep warm and draw love?
What if children did push me to fly away?
What if I did choose to sit on trees,
and **** on statues of prominent people.
If I was a bird I'd be a warbler- no, a worrier.
One that plucks its feathers,
be it grey or rainbow-colored.
One that grows weak when flying in the cold,
but makes it south, all in all.
One that doesn't have a beautiful singing voice,
but chirps aways all in its lonesome.
If I was a bird, I'd peck at windows,
only to fly away
when someone comes to open it.
Because I know when I'm not welcome.
May 23, 2015
May 23, 2015 at 4:18 PM UTC
One day, I'll pray
to make this pain go away.
Someday, I must say
my past will never drag
me down today.
There will come a day
where everybody knows my name.
They will say to me that
I was once a worrier,
but now I'm a slayer.
I slay every fear and anxiety
that creeps upon me like a serpent.
I held on to my sword
for I will no longer
be a slave no more!
I will travel across
the land to find the cure
for I am a warrior.
I shall fight,
if it's the last thing I'll do!
the devil will never have me
because we're through.
I lift up my hands
to the righteous King,
for he has blessed me so well
that I could sing .
After many years of doubt,
I won't let my fears and emotions
pour anything out.
I must have the courage
enough for me to flourish.
Jun 27, 2016
Jun 27, 2016 at 10:17 PM UTC
his head bleeds rivulets of flowers
on the street with few passerby
but there is still naught, not
a worrier, we are all sons of this soil
which has imbued in us the shield
of defense against pain, poverty,
wound and death, we are all idols
of this soil with our open eyes
that see but never could comprehend.
we are solemn in our expressions
but only if it could turn into actions
that we have long forgot the story of,
there is pain in every glance, and
that is all there is to it, our hands
clutching our ******* as we pass by,
our eyes squinted with the soil kernels
touched by his blood, fainted of life,
(of alcohol may be) and of lifeless visions.
his toes are half hidden beneath a car
(is he just asleep, my eyes ask me,
I have no answer, I pass by: a passerby)
a turbaned man sees through his shield
while speaking on his phone, the lips
next to me tell of the blood I failed
to see or sniff and him being passed out
by alcoholism, those lips wonder if he’d die,
may be he would, we’re all dead, when alive.
May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 8:50 PM UTC
To say goodbye ain’t easy,
when you’ve done all that you can..
to convince yourself subconsciously that there’s more to a man..
Then what you see in photographs and read in magazines,
those flawless shining faces on your flashing TV screens.
Accepting to abandon sorrow,
can be a feat fit for a warrior
I was never one to dwell for long, but I’ve always been a worrier.
I’ll let you go, I’ll do it now.
You go your way, I’ll go mine.
And I’ll try to forget those summer days,
where we were tranquilly intertwined.
All those nights I whispered thanks to you,
cause I was scared as hell,
of where’d I’d be perpetually after that final bid farewell
I had a feeling from the start!
I had my doubts and in my heart
I knew, I knew
You were too good to be true.
Nov 6, 2010
Nov 6, 2010 at 12:02 PM UTC
Be dark, night--
on rests the Swallow, the
vagabond, the worrier.
With darkly cauls and veils
of infancy, the blue-bloods
calling:
Mother of mercy, Mother
of grief.
and in greed, he follows,
a blind man wretched beneath
the sun and quiet in the night.
Be dark, night.
Be folded by the belly,
Be milk, warm-cast in life's
coldly arms--
for the transient, the reviler,
wander hand in hand
lonely by the light.
Aug 14, 2012
Aug 14, 2012 at 12:01 AM UTC
When you have low serotonin levels.
When you have low serotonin levels, exercise has never been more important. Unfortunately, all the shaking from said unknown anxieties doesn’t count. So instead I usually find myself on a bike pedalling furiously away from all my problems. Or I slip on a pair of sneakers and sprint away towards the greener side.
When you have low serotonin levels, sleep has never been more needed. Sadly, this doesn’t seem to come easy for someone like myself. For some unknown reasons, I can’t get my eyes to shut. I can’t turn my brain off and my thoughts run wild.
When you have low serotonin levels, coffee has never sounded any better. Coffee seems to cause my shaking to simmer when for most others it would go out of control. Nothing too sweet, just enough to trickle down my throat. Afterwards, it’s like the fog has been cleared. The best of course is shared with friends on a cobblestoned street in Europe. Watching people pass by with smiles on their faces.
When you have low serotonin levels, music has never been more relaxing. Suddenly, all the thoughts are drowned out by someone else’s worries. Instead of my foot bouncing anxiously up and down from nerves, there’s a beat. If you can give me music to listen to, then you can hear the beat of that rather than the non-rhythmic beat of my anxious feet.
When you have low serotonin levels, friends are the light in a world full of shadows. They allow me to laugh and smile. They are what push me to not be afraid. I talk to them, and suddenly I’m more myself than I have been in months. I’m laughing, I’m smiling. I’m making jokes. When I do cry, I have them to lean on. And I’m forever in their debt.
When you have low serotonin levels, optimism is key. You have to believe you see. Try and wake up and smile. Love yourself and those around you. Laugh until your stomach aches. Cry until a small river has been made.
These are the thoughts from an anxious worrier.
And I don't want to tell you. I don’t have to tell you. Things could be different and I could be somewhere else. But no. Instead I am here.
I don’t want to have to tell you. But maybe you should know.
Mar 7, 2018
Mar 7, 2018 at 11:20 AM UTC
I can’t remember the last time I had someone worry about me in a way that didn't make me angry. In a way that didn't make me want to immediately hit them for giving me that much space in their life.
But tonight, when I walked out of that bathroom & saw the look on your face and forced myself not to cry as I told you the truth about why I didn't want to go home, I realized worry is okay.
I’m a worrier so I know what it feels like & I don’t want other people to feel that way about me for some reason.
But you were worried, genuinely worried, and it made me feel an emotion I have yet to put my finger on but.. it wasn't something I've felt before.
I've never had a boy or a girl worry about me like that. Ever.
But you did & for some odd reason, I want to thank you.
Thank you for giving me that place in your heart, thank you for allowing me to mean that much to you. Thank you for not letting me push you away & just giving up. Because otherwise I would be lying in a cold basement sleeping instead of sitting up at 5:05 am in my warm bed, writing my first piece of poetry about you.
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 5:09 AM UTC
Note To The Reader: Attempting to read all of these would be ridiculous but I hope that you can scroll through and hopefully see something you can connect to.....
1. I am sad or unhappy a lot
2. I am happy sometimes though and so I try to make other people laugh then to make up for the times I make them cry
3. I love sunny days with a light breeze and alternately heavy rain and thunderstorms
4. I am a sucker for all things involving sugar in all its forms
5. I am an analyzer
6. I am a worrier
7. I am messy
8. I am opposed to people who aren't themselves and people who apologize for saying the truth
9. I am a terrible typer and speller
10. Fine is a word I use for almost everything
11. I dislike spending time with most of the people I know
12. I dont think the apocalypse would be a bad thing
13. Eight is my lucky number
14. I love books as they are my escape
15. I am in love
16. I want to be an artist
17. Music is my life and the reason I'm still alive
18. I only watch really funny movies or really sad movies
19. I love making lists
20. I love buying new notebooks and pencils
21. I'm self conscious and stubborn
22. I'm mildly lazy and very direct
23. Obsessed with DIY
25. Im a freak about germs
26. I am and have been depressed from a very young age
27. My favorite colors are blue and brown
28. I believe in magic but not true love
Jun 23, 2013
Jun 23, 2013 at 3:19 AM UTC
The night is young
Not even 10
Or maybe it's late
Worries wrap my body
Like a burrito
Stuffed
Overly stuffed
Terrified my worries are going to
Spill out
Some say...
My middle name is warrior woman!
I say
"Worrier woman"
I joke.
Money is always the key
Money this
Money that
Why can't we give each other compliments as a form of payment
Or not
I don't care
I do...
Helping hands fall short
The worried faces drown my mind
Biting lip
Picking skin
Biting nails
I wasn't made for this life
But I have to live it.
Keep your head up
Tupac
I wish
I hope
I cry
I pray
So hard
I pray
Please be there.
He is
Ramble on
Led Zeppelin
They're there too
Goodnight
It's 10
Jan 6, 2016
Jan 6, 2016 at 12:52 AM UTC
Worrying comes as second nature to some people,
Do not tell them to stop, if they knew how - don't you think they would have saved themselves from the heartache's that would ensue?
Worrying is inevitable;
The only difference is, it comes more naturally to some rather than others.
If you cross paths with a worrier - take my advice,
Leave them be.
One woman's worry can be another woman's sanctum.
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 6:56 AM UTC
I feel naked in your eyes
skinned, dissected, analyzed
like you already know my thinking,
my secrets, the things I hide even from myself.
You must already know I'm a worrier, and I get high on anxiety like it's my ******* job.
You know that sometimes I make myself eliminate my meals in unhealthy ways to avoid love handles.
I'm almost positive that you know I feel naughty when alone at night and ease my frustration
while thinking of your body.
Your probing eyes
must see my weaknesses,
how I am only a human, a little girl who can not stand to be disliked yet will not accept affection.
Those eyes have seen my fears and insignificant dreams,
like how I wanted to teach immigrants to speak American and give my organs to small, sick children.
Your mind must have some opinion of it all,
all of me, my characteristics and problems and how they mate to create my personality and mannerisms.
I feel so judged and critiqued under your scientific stare,
but the way your eyes stay still and barren, void of all emotion
makes me feel that you are an epicenter of passion that craves to bite into my skin
and I want to let it happen.
May 18, 2012
May 18, 2012 at 10:45 PM UTC
Self care is showering
for the first time in a week
It's remembering to eat
And pushing through my anxiety
when the phone rings
Self care is gritty
It's ***** and rough and almost living
Learning to love myself is a dark, twisted path
full of thickets and chiggers
and shadows trying to lure me astray
It's trying to understand
that I am worth more than my broken parts
That I can be more than a peach pit heart
with arsenic pumping through my veins
Self care is knowing no one can save me from me
I will rescue myself
I can be my own hero
Self care is broken knuckles and ****** knees
from fighting my own castle walls
It is meeting myself in a battle of will
and being aware I might not succeed
Self care is pushing on,
when all the signs scream run away,
because I've been running for too long
So, at least for now,
I'll face the danger of self care
Dec 6, 2015
Dec 6, 2015 at 9:58 AM UTC
Example: some candles smell best just past their last gasp.
Divorce: when a lover doesn't love what they've done.
Annulment: when it might as well have never happened.
Reboot? [Y/N]:Y_
Wake yourself up on a pillow of gravel with your bike in the bushes beyond.
You might be that undaunted worrier of ways to evade.
You might fight with the tide of those lingering days.
Likely unlikely but possibly nightly they leave you behind; Spite, your mind.
Reboot? [Y/N]:Y_
You're left threading through time as your Been and your Being age.
Your breath ebbs slower as the world rolls beneath you.
You're still pursuing your quiet addiction to the hustle of life.
Your gentle cage will help to keep you objective-oriented.
You'll die.
Accept it.
Reboot? [Y/N]:_
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 4:16 AM UTC
Twenty-nine scars
Twenty-nine lessons I have learned
Twenty-nine reasons why I am now a warrior
Instead of a worrier
I craved the blade to ride across my skin
Slicing open that first layer
To let free the blood that cried for an escape
This was my way to deal with the pain
Because I thought it was the only answer
To deal with my fear, my worries, my loneliness, and my insecurities
These scars aren't just from kissing the blade
I had another love from the plastic cuticle pusher
With a metal end
And the lighter I ignited to heat it up
I was convinced that physical pain
Could fight off emotional pain
But if seen by those I love
Then those scars from the physical pain
Would only bring them emotional pain
I am sorry
This is not wanted
I do not deserve this
No one at all deserves this
Pain I sense
Will be pain I will approach
Pain I can find
Will be pain I will fight
These are twenty-nine scars
Twenty-nine reasons why I deserve to live
Twenty-nine causes of self-love
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 6:29 PM UTC
I think too much.
I care too deeply.
I text too often.
I laugh too hard,
For fear of them having to fret
As much I do.
Such is the nature of a worrier.
Nov 5, 2017
Nov 5, 2017 at 1:23 AM UTC
sitting in LA traffic,
feeling very traff,^
unsurprisingly,,
dream-haze to SF,
now, every doorway
is an entrance/exit
to the Matrix
the movie is all about
concentric circles of reality
intersecting, when I emerge
in Chinatown, me and naturally,
Neo too,
(older and cute, and edible, like my fav flav)
who finds me equally irresistible,
He asks am I real,
sore disappointed,
for earlier, making love,
there were no harpsichords,
just The Zombie’s breathy vocals,
singing prophetic these songs
“She’s Not There” and
“Tell Her No.”
my then reality was in no doubt,
but nearness breeds suspicion
as much as trust, and Neo
is a worrier, I foresee not
much future for him & me
other men have called me Shylock,
for the betrayal probability is nearer
to 1, and these words, a reality test,
a forewarning to all in my bed sojourn,
are framed, resting above my pillows:
“*If you ***** us, do we not bleed?
If you tickle us, do we not laugh?
If you poison us, do we not die?
And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge?*”
tear stains, some from loneliness,
others from being held to tight,
some from my own scripts reread,
some from you, you don’t even know
when they stay over, I give them
one of two matching robes, both
Barbie pink,
those that laugh and grab it on,
they’re the keepers, they are for real,
just like me
by the way, so many of you have drunk
my crazy words, it’s inexcusable that I’ve
not thanked you yet, individually like the
Queen Mother teaches, repeat reminds,
preenly informs, nothing better than
a hand written thank you note, so
considered yourself served and appreciated!
am I for real?
the very question I ask myself daily,
to my morn mirror who magic replies,
more than real, crazy unique special, so so
different, otherwise I wouldn’t stick around,
and I thank the mirror with a lipstick kiss,
and it blushes from the love so real, and
cracks
a smile and says you be careful my genteel,
lady princess, your pale skin is exposed and
the California sun is a burning torch and it
touches your perfect body like all the others,
whose fingerprints evaporate in time, so husband
your love, give it slow and precious, for you are
more than mere real, after all,
you are Brandychanning
Dec 20, 2023
Dec 20, 2023 at 12:16 PM UTC
Rough night and wind is blowing
wondering if you are ok and safe.
Not a worrier but I think of you at odd times
like last night when gusts of winds nearly broke my windows.
Hope you are safe and sound and protected
from this strange winter storm it's raining hard but not snowing.
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 5:59 AM UTC
I cross my path at dawn
and see my feet go on
just tracks of cats
and tracks of me
a time elasped
seen unity
I'm not a cat
don't wanna be
but wish I knew
just who had made
those tracks
a worrier a wanderer
a warrior a ponderer
a hurrier a squanderer
or a freak inside
a dream
tracks tell no lies
all alibis
but the tracks I see
say I wander free
tho I wonder
will I ever be
my burning brain
is going dim
the tracks just feign
how sure I am
but that's okay
the cats would splain
the tracks say
where you been
©2012 Lyn
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 10:22 AM UTC