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Yelling Written Words

If you write me a letter
with your heart full of hate
your words will burn away the paper,
leaving ashes in its wake.

Please keep your written voice down,
the yelling hurts my heart.
Just please don't ask my secrets of me,
it will only make this
that much worse.

Delving deep inside myself,
I push you far away.
These wounds mean nothing to me,
not a feather or a sand grain.

My hands are burnt,
my heart is scarred,
just leave me be,
I'm too far gone.Yelling Written Words3 years ago in Concrete Poetry

My AmbitionsMy Ambitions.

People tell me I have talent.
And my attempts at poetry are noble and valiant.

I want my words to leave a mark on this earth.
I write for myself, to give me some sort of worth.

I still think anyone is capable doing I what I do.
Paint the same or an even better image of the one I just drew.

I've been accepted by a few, but rejected by many.
This life is perpetual and the strain is getting heavy.

I write for you, as well as for me.
I write from my heart, to set my mind free.

A man who writes poetry isn't the epitome of masculinity.
I had to disregard the stereotype and over come the humility.

My writing is all I have My Ambitions1 year ago in Concrete Poetry

You gave me bread on a rainy day
Such goodness took my breath away.
You told the world how you felt.
Through shallow confusion my heart melt.
We grew close and drifted apart.
I still love you with all my heart.
I found you hurt and to a cave we fled.
I could only kiss your lips but I watched as you bled.
I had to go to save your life.
I broke a promise that ended your strife.
You found some berries and ended a life.

We heard a cannon; a dog was near.
We ran for the Cornucopia and fled our fear.
Climbing the metal, making it safe.
Cato appeared but I had faith.
He grabbed you up, said it was over.
I had more luck thWinners1 year ago in Concrete Poetry

Truth3 years ago in Concrete Poetry

The Simple PoemThis poem will begin from here.

It shall start with a dusk and a child. Trying.
Trying to fly a kite in the rain.
The sunrays have just dimmed out.
Or mellowed down, surrendering to a dark azure.
The pitter-patter of rains
Drenching the fingers of the child on the roof. Fingers
That hold on to the thread that connects, quite shamelessly,
The dark skies to a kite, blue coloured. Throughout.

The dusk. I would have thought of writing a poem.
And only thought, when the thread shall snap
Taking the kite down. And the child too.
Let's watch the two as they progress downwards
Let's watch the two and see if down's the place they'll be.
Let's watch The Simple Poem2 years ago in Concrete Poetry

Liliths DigressionYou could be my Lilith
Conjured in sleeplessness,
I see only an hour
Before the day is betrayed
And night is born again.
I recreate another's love affair;

To you I am Adam.
My first love, my first wife
You wanted equality –
Flawed dominance –
Control on top of me
While I penetrate from beneath you
And so I banished you from Eden.
You became a daemon,
Wondering the earth
Seducing the seducer,
Sex with the archangel – Sameal –
Both good and evil,
He snakes inside you now.

Of academic reasoning
You became a symbol
Adopted by the feminist,
Labelled Mother Goddess
To oppose those that would keep womeLiliths Digression2 years ago in Concrete Poetry

Losing MeI find peace in loathing
I suffer pleasure from pain
I feel comfort in dark clothing
Whether judgment or acceptance is my bane

I have cried all my tears
Still in darkness I am bound
Wandering desperately through the years
The true identities never to be found

Lost is all
A blanked out, thrown out memory
From the abuses that do appall
Hope and love was my every

But now my life will soon dissolve
Into a screaming dark place with no resolve...Losing Me1 year ago in Concrete Poetry

Her skin of powdered rice paper
the scent of rotting orchids,
a drug-induced Noh dancer with
slowly writhing limbs akimbo-

silver-gilded girl of the moment
at the factory that turned out
Monroe silk screens, and porn
to the drone of a refrigerator,

from asylum to the Big Apple,
the apple of her father's eye
and of his desires, she'd sleep
among the gay lovers, pretty boys

with erotic names of exotic birds,
knowing she was safe for a while
as they quarreled among themselves-

who'd bring her chocolate shakes,
and chauffeur their princess
to her doctor's for injections
(she was too much a lady to do it herself)

until her fingeEdie3 years ago in Concrete Poetry

Last Spring FlowerLast Spring Flower

Take a pack of cigarettes
Consume the two remains,
Leave beneath a tarnished sky,
The suns light betrayed,
One beam I walk towards
The only end I see,
To unfold and bloom
Like a fresh born flower
Full of feeble power.

If I said my shadow was a friend
I'd be lying through my teeth
But there is no one else
Except a hollow me
Spilling from feet
Lengthening the sun
And every second passed,
Measured by the kissing gates
And shoulder high stiles.

With ground the colour of tobacco
My feet make cigar shapes,
In a coat more like a cape
My whole life kept inside,
Pockets deep with nothingness
Left as lint and Last Spring Flower3 years ago in Concrete Poetry

Empty Souls          Empty Souls...

The night is black

Nothing but broken stars

And empty dreams

To frame its d.a.r.k.n.e.s.s.

The book is blank

Its pages numb & mute

It is empty

~O*b*s*o*l*e*t*e~

Because what is a book

Without majestic words

To make it feel

W  H  O  L  E

The wind is cold

It whispers...

It speaks lies

With an all-deceiving tongue

It dances with the trees

And taunts

The lonely moon

With its scent

And I am

    A

            L

    &#Empty Souls2 years ago in Concrete Poetry

About scarsScars are painfull; mine are beautiful.

----

Can anyone love a woman full of scars?About scars2 years ago in Concrete Poetry

The Red Road

There is a Red Road
That stretches from Cape Town to the Elysium Fields
And on that road there is a pit stop at Robben Island
To a prisoner's cell, prisoner 46664
Where the heart of a hero
Was once born

There is a Red Road
That runs from Berlin to Hades
And on the road there is a pit stop at the Biederitz River
Where the brutal ashes of a man named Adolf
Drift away in the currents
Endlessly

There is a Red Road
That lies between Poland to Zion
And on that road there is a pit stop at Auschwitz
Where the spirits of the dead
Still gather at the Death Wall
To remember

There are a million pit stops to be made
On the myriad paths of the interwovThe Red Road3 years ago in Concrete Poetry

My BrotherI watched my brother go through the door, wanting him to stay with us for more.
He's too young, he has too much life,
to go where death comes on swift wings.
My mother cries, my father is silent.
I stand as a vigil on our doorway, watching as he fades from sight.

I look through the newspaper, seeing if America won against Iraq.
I see soldiers who are only boys, who have seen more bloodshed than most old men.
I look through the page of the dead, praying I don't see my brothers' name.
He is not, but I still don't sway,
because my brother is still away.
I pray for the day that he comes home,
safe and ok.My Brother3 years ago in Concrete Poetry

Lessons LearnedShe is in the pictures,
Smiling her toothless grin.
What I wouldn't give
Not to care again.

It was a beautiful and innocent time;
She'd never believe
That there are poems
That don't need to rhyme.

I have so many things to tell her--
That Pooh Bear headbands
Aren't cool forever
(No matter how much cuter they are than Hello Kitty)

And she won't love Kim Possible when she's older,
And that hearts
Break easily--
Even if they're made of gold.

I wanna tell her --
Again and again --
Even if she's heard it a thousand times,
Even if it's a million,
That she should never hurry growing up:
Cause when she eventually does..
She'll keLessons Learned8 months ago in Concrete Poetry

The Green Waves of Midland EnglandThe Green Waves of Midland England

Silver skinned trees –
Birches bear the wood
And cast passing horses
In shade.

Dew drops on grass blades
Glisten;
From afar it seems
As if the sea
Had found its way
In land.

I try to fit my feet
Into hoof prints,
I am unable
And to the stable they lead,
I follow.

The stable hand attempts to put
A feedbag
On my mouth,
I refuse her.

Put upon my knees
I am saddled,
Chained
And left to walk and graze
The field.

I find with every revolution
The grass and the dew
Looks less like the coast.The Green Waves of Midland England1 year ago in Concrete Poetry

Nearly goneMy mind ticks seconds out of existence
Take a look at the clock
Are they here to stay?
Amongst Skyscrapers high and tall
My voice fades away
It's a retired noise
The car makes contact
I think the stopwatch broke
The pavement tastes disgusting
Horror in their eyes
they've remained
I must survive
Not yet
can't...
die...Nearly gone3 years ago in Concrete Poetry

The Right Side of TrinityThe Right Side of Trinity

The fibreglass bath was warm underfoot
As it retained the temperature of tepid water
That you bathed and shaved in.
After you had finished,
Through the steam I saw the mirror
And wiped it to see my face.

I held the shower head above me
As there wasn't a fixing.
Washing my body I thought of you
And him
Wondering where I fit
Between or outside the two of you.

When dressed I pushed damp hair
To one side of my scalp
And emphasised my eyes with black make-up.
I wore my tee-shirt loose at the neck
And my jeans low on my hips
For the bones and hair
To show.

Beside the fish tank I saw you
Kneeling like aThe Right Side of Trinity1 year ago in Concrete Poetry

IllusionsWho is that?
I look in the mirror

It's not me...

She has my same eyes
My same hair
But something's…

Different…

I can't tell what it is
We look the same
We think the same

Wait, there it is
She's fat

I'm fat…

I can see it now
Why didn't I notice it before?
My clothes seemed to fit just fine
But there's no hiding it

I'm obese…

I must stop eating
Stop drinking
Stop…

Living…Illusions3 years ago in Concrete Poetry

Freedom of Choice

Freedom of Choice
No longer shall I be shackled to the chain of events that tied a noose around my neck and dropped the plank. By accepting my reality and rejecting the hope of deliverance, I am free to touch ground intact. Shedding my skin and emerging anew granted me permission to clean a slate I failed to realize was even flawed. In this ideal, we were born to believe that we only can walk on a path that was hand selected for us and we die in the futile attempt to make it so. Do not perish with thoughts of faulty self-discipline and unique subject matter. We have the ability to tread as many paths as we see fit for our omniscieFreedom of Choice3 years ago in Concrete Poetry

Her BloodHer Blood

Her blood falls softly,
Through the cracks of the heart.
She is sweetly unaware,
Of her life falling apart.

Her blood soaks through,
The depth of her true colours.
She'll never truly show herself,
Safe in her steel armour.

Her blood clots numbly,
Unable to carry goods around her own.
Choked in her prayers,
Hope was a place overgrown.

Her blood drips through,
The gaps in her outstretched hands,
No longer will she suffer, now;
Her mind is in other lands.

Her blood seeps through,
The cracks in her foundation.
Yet she still believes in faith.
Yes, we've resorted to sedation.Her Blood2 years ago in Concrete Poetry

NightlockShoulders yanked toward quiver
she slides through the forest like a knife
or is she just a ghost?

Not while there is an ounce of gray
in her eyes or a single human
left to love.

Left to defend.

Rook against rook, knight against knight
laying in wait to shoot at the machine
but no heart could foretell
what lay under the mud.

When it's time, the arrow stretches in her palms,
an elastic dancer on the swell of a bird's note.

But she keeps the best weapons for herself:
her tongue is wise and her throat is a whip
cracking hearts with a defiant song.

A folded waterfall slithers down her back,
but no sense of innocence can be containNightlock2 years ago in Concrete Poetry

38. trustIt is a matter of perception
And is also a matter of interpretation
Trust, a funny thing it truly is
But how do we live our lives around it?

Do you trust me because you know me
Or is that the reason for your distrust?

You have parts of me
That no one else will ever have
But you seem to be unaware
Or is it just not enough?

I trusted you because you never gave me a reason not to
But now that you have, how do I piece it back together?

I am lost in my mind
As the realizations set in
What I had not seen at first
Is slowly setting in

Is it worse to have suspicion though nothing done
Or betray promises made to seek your own truth?

38. trust8 months ago in Concrete Poetry

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