that poem is good.did u ever read 2pac's poem called did u ever hear about the rose that grew from the concrtet
my finger hurt....whats that....my fingers hurt...now ur back's going becuz u just pulled landscaping duty does anybody else fingers hurt?...that what i thought
Originally posted by tremors for love
yes but little did I know my tears spilt for her would come back and nearly drown me. Like some self-fulfilling prophecy I became the fucked up man she so desired. Makes me kind of laugh when I think how things turn out. Be careful what you wish for, for it could meet you half-way
if you were to choose between her and your own happiness, what would your choice be?
people are creatures of habit, don´t make one out of your grievance... don´t deny, sing. if you understand, you´ll get over with it.
i had no choice, i was forced to stay numb...
i had to obey...
Write. Wind each new thought upon the stream;
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
Originally posted by exhale people are creatures of habit
(Start on an EMajor7)
Sylvie makes it plain
that she'll never break her wing
She's faced her trials alone
Kept her mind through everything
Still I ask her if she knows
Why she keeps
on
breaking
love
down
Sylvie works so hard
To keep afloat her home
And it's there she's shared her bread
With the beggars and the lame
Still I ask her if she knows
Why they end
up
turning
her
down
Sylvie, I can't say just where the crux lies
Perhaps it started when you were small
You had half the eyes on earth to grace your soft face
But they'd be damned if you'd ever keep still
Sylvie doesn't change
She says you can never change
You can try to change it all
But you'd only fool your soul
Still, I ask her, as she's turning
Would she like
to hold
a stable
love
down ....
Write. Wind each new thought upon the stream;
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
Originally posted by exhale if you were to choose between her and your own happiness, what would your choice be?
people are creatures of habit, don´t make one out of your grievance... don´t deny, sing. if you understand, you´ll get over with it.
i had no choice, i was forced to stay numb...
i had to obey...
A hard question. At the time I chose her. What would I have done differently? No regrets, I'd make the same mistakes again. For what she showed me and what I've seen, though sinister has made me who I am today. No regrets, to see the truth of the world where light can come from the deepest darkness. Beauty I've learned shines from corruption twice as strong. Choice, obey, your enigmas call to me, set chains of memories cascading down my spine. Friendship may be the constant that eclipses all this pain
Cancel my subscription to the Ressurection
Send my credentials to the house of detention
Some people say that it is a selfish act to depend your happiness upon another person; they say you cannot love if you possess.
Too deep we have sunken to make a distinction and thus we much rather suffer and upset both parts, after the unit has broken apart.
Only a few have understood, the rest of them write…
Sometimes I believe, sometimes I doubt… regardless, I write too.
In times of the darkest thoughts I remember –
Cannot see good, if bad isn´t my best friend.
Write. Wind each new thought upon the stream;
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
I feel I need to quote this. For many reasons of my own!
winded is the sailor...drifting by the storm...
wounded is the organ he left all...bloodied on the shore...
gorgeous was his savior, sees her...drowning in his wake...
daily taste the salt of her tears, but...a chance blamed fate...
little secrets, tremors...turned to quake...
the smallest oceans still get...big, big waves...
ransom paid the devil...he whispers pleasing words...
triumphant are the angels if they can...a get there first...
little secrets tremors...turned to quake...
the smallest oceans still get...big, big waves...
i'll decide...take the dive...
take my time...not my life...
wait for signs...believe in lies...
to get by...it's divine...whoa...
oh, you know what it's like...
turns the bow back, tows and...drops the line...
puts his faith in love and tremor christ...
Cancel my subscription to the Ressurection
Send my credentials to the house of detention
Yes, I do get tired sometimes
of man´s incapability to pass on the news.
So fast is my life but so slow your sight…
Discerning me from me, too much to ask?
Frozen with stun
no movement planned,
changeless the surface of visible part,
is it to reshape your present façade?
Write. Wind each new thought upon the stream;
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
Originally posted by exhale Some people say that it is a selfish act to depend your happiness upon another person; they say you cannot love if you possess.
Too deep we have sunken to make a distinction and thus we much rather suffer and upset both parts, after the unit has broken apart.
Only a few have understood, the rest of them write…
Sometimes I believe, sometimes I doubt… regardless, I write too.
In times of the darkest thoughts I remember –
Cannot see good, if bad isn´t my best friend.
"Laughter is the most poetic thing in life, that is the right kind of loving laughter. When, after a lifetime of struggle, we produce the quintessence of ourselves, it will be something free and young."
Write. Wind each new thought upon the stream;
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
Write. Wind each new thought upon the stream;
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
Can a poet be too sad to write,
can a poem let him down,
can people close their hearts to listen
causing heartsick, you can´t see?
My spirit is tonight on moving,
yarning speeches to disclose
my face to you now, seeking comfort,
propose to dance but no response.
Memories, they will rejoin now,
to fight the fight when feelings reign now,
can, please someone approach to me now,
and hold the pen, I am too weak now.
Write. Wind each new thought upon the stream;
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
To make the night my companion
As it tumbles out of the day
To set the sun on this yearning
For dawn like it was
Then
For if night was my ally
I think I may be able
To face the morning
With that same childhood smile
I once knew
Recognise myself playing in the sand
Watch the beach smile back
At footprints dissolving
Into the past
Future
Stretching out across the sands
Too many tides have been and gone
Since then to return
To that open horizon
Stay with me a while
Play with me a while
We'll take shelter in the dunes
And watch that same sun set
Over our youth
Cancel my subscription to the Ressurection
Send my credentials to the house of detention
A wake up call
some other afternoon…
The blue warmth of that day
fills in the lines in my diary.
Words so short and soft,
nobody knows why.
I hear stones falling.
Is it just me?
I read words to his mistress
how ruthless and how real!
I whish…
He could give those words to me;
Standing between nothing,
on the way to nothing, bottomless…
Dusting the signs after miles of walk,
Drawing a life, someday a fairy tale.
Write. Wind each new thought upon the stream;
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
The night,
I met all my ghosts and fears,
ghastly faces and bodies,
feasting the shades they leave behind
with death all around.
I need to merge with you all
out there,
no power, no will, no courage to go
to touch the sunshine
so honest and mild,
to sober up
I need me by my side.
Write. Wind each new thought upon the stream;
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
by your side?
when inside, we're all the same.
we're all the same, in the rain.
we all fall down the same.
like water down the drain,
only a puddle remains.
we all fall down the same...
it wasn't me,
wondering who you were with.
it wasn't me,
writing down my wit next to a candle wick.
it wasn't me,
watching my life go down the drain.
but i'm okay...okay.
i've mastered the Heart of,
the Art of falling down & getting up again.
but i want none of it, none of it.
i want none of these things,
none of these reasons...
to have to get up from again, ya know?
it's a long way down...
down to the bottom of a bottle, down to the bottom of you.
i'd have another drink if it was coming from you.
from you...
and it's a long way down...
down to the bottom of my Heart,
where i'm writing this to you.
we all fall down the same,
it's how we get up...that brings change.
and, when i fall down,
i flinch no more.
i've been to every possible scenerio before.
and, when i fall down,
part of me wants to fall a little more.
there's something exciting...
about knowing you haven't hit the bottom yet.
there are three words to be said...
and there are three words you could say,
and i'd never fall down the same...
again.
Another poem would sing
I am blessed with the word;
Another writer could write
I posses the greatest gift of the sword.
Too many victims my tongue has counted,
Too less have enjoyed the spirit it can create.
I curse the day he made me a witch
But no curse at all could call it THE day.
Spending the long days melting my thoughts,
Creating the poison that will waist them all,
Boiling my tears will spice the drink,
Adding the leaves of his made up bouquet.
So much anger on surface in the pot
Stressing the taste of my stale, evil blood,
Raging storms of devils´ prayers uncontrolled,
With eyes on your portrait, please run away!
The past years of silencing through me will speak,
Hurt you so much, trample to dust.
Punish the punished as always the law,
Saving the saints it won´t be my choice.
More drug, more drug to the poisonous drink,
“Call for them all and let´s make a feast!”
Eat worms and roast rats, all with the bones,
If out of the drink, I´ll magic some more;
“I can´t let you down, I´m too noble a host,”
I won´t help you up, I´m corrupted by worse.
Pray now, you pity, I spit on your hopes,
There´s no promised land – how stupid the thought!
For the dreams you will dream perhaps good enough,
It´s attractive sides given – I´ve figured them out.
The feast has now started,
“Please(d), do come in,”
All you believers, dreamers of Him.
So grateful they show, all fall on my chest,
“Feel free to anything, I´ll do my best.”
The simple my language will win your smile
Not aware of the fact – I´m not of that style.
To check on the main course I excuse for a while,
“It won´t take long, please, help you with wine!”
Upstairs in my lounge I will find my rest,
I will find my pen:
Guilt is to rise, the weight needs to pass.
Alone now with Vedder (the rest after will come),
He paints my black heart black by remembering the cause…
Read as it goes…
Don´t call me daughter, not fit to be
The picture kept will remind me…
I can´t hear any music
The slaughter must have come to an end,
So pale all the faces, so pleased is my soul.
Is it now final, the battle is won?
Will calm me for a while…more victims to come.
The wars of all wars are raging inside,
All cannot be won,
All cannot collide.
More poison, more poison, quick
More fools will come by:
Too greedy for my wine,
For the true sense too blind…
Write. Wind each new thought upon the stream;
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
Originally posted by suede by your side?
when inside, we're all the same.
we're all the same, in the rain.
we all fall down the same.
like water down the drain,
only a puddle remains.
we all fall down the same...
-kNb/06.02.2004
Still think we´re the same I couldn´t duplicate this statement cause it´s words I´ve heard again and again doesn´t make any sense to my reaction of the past present or future but mostly past anyway I´ve laid on the bottom and it wasn´t just once I stopped counting cause it wouldn´t make any difference the problem is I got used to the rhythm and it´s too deep rooted cannot deal with all the nightmares any other way but filling the blank lines it´s how I get things out of my head and my ghost but I´m perfectly ok and I´m not worried just get tired sometimes but hey, thanks for the poem a good poem made me think much appreciated! any time again
Write. Wind each new thought upon the stream;
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
it´s a poem in a poem,
can also be the answer to some questions,
could be a poem for another poem,
might be a basis question for another contemplation...
whatever you prefer,
I´m glad you´ve listened to it.
anytime again
Write. Wind each new thought upon the stream;
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
He made me cry,
I never cry in the morning…
For the impression of light
I wouldn´t be worried.
I´d walk pass the colours
Regardless the clarity,
When boasting with character
I´d close my eyes knowingly.
I can hardly be touched
By any spring that may come
with the green that she´s painting me
I can only stay numb.
I´m not fighting the envy
I couldn´t have won
Just waiting so patiently
For the moment to come.
I´ll stand by rivulet again,
Counting the drops of rain,
I´ll let the wind stroke my face
Calm down, and not chase.
a wee simple poem,
feels ok sometimes
Write. Wind each new thought upon the stream;
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
Originally posted by exhale He made me cry,
I never cry in the morning…
For the impression of light
I wouldn´t be worried.
I´d walk pass the colours
Regardless the clarity,
When boasting with character
I´d close my eyes knowingly.
I can hardly be touched
By any spring that may come
with the green that she´s painting me
I can only stay numb.
I´m not fighting the envy
I couldn´t have won
Just waiting so patiently
For the moment to come.
I´ll stand by rivulet again,
Counting the drops of rain,
I´ll let the wind stroke my face
Calm down, and not chase.
a wee simple poem,
feels ok sometimes
And simply lovely!
Please, keep exhaling!
Forget your perfect offering, there is a crack in everything, that's how the light gets in. - Leonard Cohen
"There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so".
W.S.
Write. Wind each new thought upon the stream;
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
From what I´ve read, I can understand pretty much the same, really.
Hmmmm...
It could just be my way of thinking.
Write. Wind each new thought upon the stream;
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
Comments
if you were to choose between her and your own happiness, what would your choice be?
people are creatures of habit, don´t make one out of your grievance... don´t deny, sing. if you understand, you´ll get over with it.
i had no choice, i was forced to stay numb...
i had to obey...
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
(Start on an EMajor7)
Sylvie makes it plain
that she'll never break her wing
She's faced her trials alone
Kept her mind through everything
Still I ask her if she knows
Why she keeps
on
breaking
love
down
Sylvie works so hard
To keep afloat her home
And it's there she's shared her bread
With the beggars and the lame
Still I ask her if she knows
Why they end
up
turning
her
down
Sylvie, I can't say just where the crux lies
Perhaps it started when you were small
You had half the eyes on earth to grace your soft face
But they'd be damned if you'd ever keep still
Sylvie doesn't change
She says you can never change
You can try to change it all
But you'd only fool your soul
Still, I ask her, as she's turning
Would she like
to hold
a stable
love
down ....
1997
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
A hard question. At the time I chose her. What would I have done differently? No regrets, I'd make the same mistakes again. For what she showed me and what I've seen, though sinister has made me who I am today. No regrets, to see the truth of the world where light can come from the deepest darkness. Beauty I've learned shines from corruption twice as strong. Choice, obey, your enigmas call to me, set chains of memories cascading down my spine. Friendship may be the constant that eclipses all this pain
Send my credentials to the house of detention
Too deep we have sunken to make a distinction and thus we much rather suffer and upset both parts, after the unit has broken apart.
Only a few have understood, the rest of them write…
Sometimes I believe, sometimes I doubt… regardless, I write too.
In times of the darkest thoughts I remember –
Cannot see good, if bad isn´t my best friend.
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
I feel I need to quote this. For many reasons of my own!
winded is the sailor...drifting by the storm...
wounded is the organ he left all...bloodied on the shore...
gorgeous was his savior, sees her...drowning in his wake...
daily taste the salt of her tears, but...a chance blamed fate...
little secrets, tremors...turned to quake...
the smallest oceans still get...big, big waves...
ransom paid the devil...he whispers pleasing words...
triumphant are the angels if they can...a get there first...
little secrets tremors...turned to quake...
the smallest oceans still get...big, big waves...
i'll decide...take the dive...
take my time...not my life...
wait for signs...believe in lies...
to get by...it's divine...whoa...
oh, you know what it's like...
turns the bow back, tows and...drops the line...
puts his faith in love and tremor christ...
Send my credentials to the house of detention
of man´s incapability to pass on the news.
So fast is my life but so slow your sight…
Discerning me from me, too much to ask?
Frozen with stun
no movement planned,
changeless the surface of visible part,
is it to reshape your present façade?
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
"Laughter is the most poetic thing in life, that is the right kind of loving laughter. When, after a lifetime of struggle, we produce the quintessence of ourselves, it will be something free and young."
Patrick Kavanagh (1904- 1967)
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
Hides meaning between her lines
Shares her mind like an iceberg
For us careless sailors
To break upon
Lurking beneath the surface
Much more than can be seen
Experiences hinted at
The meaning's in between
Send my credentials to the house of detention
thank you...
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
can a poem let him down,
can people close their hearts to listen
causing heartsick, you can´t see?
My spirit is tonight on moving,
yarning speeches to disclose
my face to you now, seeking comfort,
propose to dance but no response.
Memories, they will rejoin now,
to fight the fight when feelings reign now,
can, please someone approach to me now,
and hold the pen, I am too weak now.
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
As it tumbles out of the day
To set the sun on this yearning
For dawn like it was
Then
For if night was my ally
I think I may be able
To face the morning
With that same childhood smile
I once knew
Recognise myself playing in the sand
Watch the beach smile back
At footprints dissolving
Into the past
Future
Stretching out across the sands
Too many tides have been and gone
Since then to return
To that open horizon
Stay with me a while
Play with me a while
We'll take shelter in the dunes
And watch that same sun set
Over our youth
Send my credentials to the house of detention
A wake up call
some other afternoon…
The blue warmth of that day
fills in the lines in my diary.
Words so short and soft,
nobody knows why.
I hear stones falling.
Is it just me?
I read words to his mistress
how ruthless and how real!
I whish…
He could give those words to me;
Standing between nothing,
on the way to nothing, bottomless…
Dusting the signs after miles of walk,
Drawing a life, someday a fairy tale.
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
I met all my ghosts and fears,
ghastly faces and bodies,
feasting the shades they leave behind
with death all around.
I need to merge with you all
out there,
no power, no will, no courage to go
to touch the sunshine
so honest and mild,
to sober up
I need me by my side.
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
when inside, we're all the same.
we're all the same, in the rain.
we all fall down the same.
like water down the drain,
only a puddle remains.
we all fall down the same...
it wasn't me,
wondering who you were with.
it wasn't me,
writing down my wit next to a candle wick.
it wasn't me,
watching my life go down the drain.
but i'm okay...okay.
i've mastered the Heart of,
the Art of falling down & getting up again.
but i want none of it, none of it.
i want none of these things,
none of these reasons...
to have to get up from again, ya know?
it's a long way down...
down to the bottom of a bottle, down to the bottom of you.
i'd have another drink if it was coming from you.
from you...
and it's a long way down...
down to the bottom of my Heart,
where i'm writing this to you.
we all fall down the same,
it's how we get up...that brings change.
and, when i fall down,
i flinch no more.
i've been to every possible scenerio before.
and, when i fall down,
part of me wants to fall a little more.
there's something exciting...
about knowing you haven't hit the bottom yet.
there are three words to be said...
and there are three words you could say,
and i'd never fall down the same...
again.
-kNb/06.02.2004
I am blessed with the word;
Another writer could write
I posses the greatest gift of the sword.
Too many victims my tongue has counted,
Too less have enjoyed the spirit it can create.
I curse the day he made me a witch
But no curse at all could call it THE day.
Spending the long days melting my thoughts,
Creating the poison that will waist them all,
Boiling my tears will spice the drink,
Adding the leaves of his made up bouquet.
So much anger on surface in the pot
Stressing the taste of my stale, evil blood,
Raging storms of devils´ prayers uncontrolled,
With eyes on your portrait, please run away!
The past years of silencing through me will speak,
Hurt you so much, trample to dust.
Punish the punished as always the law,
Saving the saints it won´t be my choice.
More drug, more drug to the poisonous drink,
“Call for them all and let´s make a feast!”
Eat worms and roast rats, all with the bones,
If out of the drink, I´ll magic some more;
“I can´t let you down, I´m too noble a host,”
I won´t help you up, I´m corrupted by worse.
Pray now, you pity, I spit on your hopes,
There´s no promised land – how stupid the thought!
For the dreams you will dream perhaps good enough,
It´s attractive sides given – I´ve figured them out.
The feast has now started,
“Please(d), do come in,”
All you believers, dreamers of Him.
So grateful they show, all fall on my chest,
“Feel free to anything, I´ll do my best.”
The simple my language will win your smile
Not aware of the fact – I´m not of that style.
To check on the main course I excuse for a while,
“It won´t take long, please, help you with wine!”
Upstairs in my lounge I will find my rest,
I will find my pen:
Guilt is to rise, the weight needs to pass.
Alone now with Vedder (the rest after will come),
He paints my black heart black by remembering the cause…
Read as it goes…
Don´t call me daughter, not fit to be
The picture kept will remind me…
I can´t hear any music
The slaughter must have come to an end,
So pale all the faces, so pleased is my soul.
Is it now final, the battle is won?
Will calm me for a while…more victims to come.
The wars of all wars are raging inside,
All cannot be won,
All cannot collide.
More poison, more poison, quick
More fools will come by:
Too greedy for my wine,
For the true sense too blind…
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
Good poem, exhale.
Still think we´re the same I couldn´t duplicate this statement cause it´s words I´ve heard again and again doesn´t make any sense to my reaction of the past present or future but mostly past anyway I´ve laid on the bottom and it wasn´t just once I stopped counting cause it wouldn´t make any difference the problem is I got used to the rhythm and it´s too deep rooted cannot deal with all the nightmares any other way but filling the blank lines it´s how I get things out of my head and my ghost but I´m perfectly ok and I´m not worried just get tired sometimes but hey, thanks for the poem a good poem made me think much appreciated! any time again
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
this poem of yers spoken to my heart!
thanx sharing
~~its better to be hated for who you are than be loved for who you are not~~
F.ZAPPA
can also be the answer to some questions,
could be a poem for another poem,
might be a basis question for another contemplation...
whatever you prefer,
I´m glad you´ve listened to it.
anytime again
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
I never cry in the morning…
For the impression of light
I wouldn´t be worried.
I´d walk pass the colours
Regardless the clarity,
When boasting with character
I´d close my eyes knowingly.
I can hardly be touched
By any spring that may come
with the green that she´s painting me
I can only stay numb.
I´m not fighting the envy
I couldn´t have won
Just waiting so patiently
For the moment to come.
I´ll stand by rivulet again,
Counting the drops of rain,
I´ll let the wind stroke my face
Calm down, and not chase.
a wee simple poem,
feels ok sometimes
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
And simply lovely!
Please, keep exhaling!
W.S.
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
Shakey Baby aside, have you ever read any Wolfgang Iser?
Hmmmm...
It could just be my way of thinking.
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.