Unless
That tribal instinct sits in the denial.
Words fly in fog carrying absurd meanings.
I was ready for the impeachment.
Like a pinned butterfly
you lived several times, repeating
a dialogue on a mindless thought.
From nothing to nothingness,
you reach nowhere, over and beyond.
Where now? A state of deadlock?
Too insignificant when you climb down
against the black magic of language.
You loose the center by waking up.
Between this death and the next
you throw something in the ring,
to show my life was deflected.
poem by Satish Verma
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Related quotes
The f word and me
The other day we discussed reasons
why people use
the magical f word.
a Young woman is of the opinion
that it’s because of a lack of imperfect language,
where a person’s vocabulary
lacks other words to use.
I think that there are many more other reasons
to slip in everywhere
and that vocabulary
has very little
or nothing to do with it.
One thing that can incite it
is exposure,
where people hear it
hundreds of times
every day
like in an army.
Subsequently without intention
it becomes part of your conversation
and your own vocabulary,
without drawing any attention
with yourself.
The word f is a power word
that give colour intensity
to the meanings of other words
and it can underline, emphasize
or lift some out.
You can also use it as a word
that has many meanings
and use it like a good shifting spanner
that shift for meaning values.
This word can also
be almost any word type
that gives bigger power
to other words used with it.
The thing that really matters
what others read
in the meaning of my words
and if I loose integrity by using it.
There are times
my mother wants to catch a fit
when I use the f word
and not from the meaning
of my words,
but from the negative context
that can be drawn with the word
and the easy transfer
of the word on children that hear my dialogue.
[With thanks to Skymaster, whose article inspired this poem.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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She gives me butterflies
Her presence over whelms me
unique and pretty like a butterfly
Yet this butterfly
like a baby bird not ready to fly
taking caterpillar steps and crawling
as a pupa to a butterfly as if she
over protects her self as if shes not
ready to try and catch feelings
It's only often I catch
butterflies but she's one
of the prettiest I'm talking
point blank got it oeriod
She gives me butterflies
but when is she gonna be
the butterfly I groom
she says n way shes ready
but that may change that thought
if I keep it steady
But butterfly I'm ready
when you are come fly to me
or just simply say hi to me
For u give me
butterflies and I cant help
but stare sometimes
Never thought I
would the eye of ur butterflies
but life like a box of chocolate u
never know whats inside
might just be the one that gives
u butterflies
However Absurd
Ears twitch, like a dog, breaking eggs in a dish.
Do not mock me when I say this is not a lie.
Its funny thing, half serious, with our hands on our ears.
Living dreams with mouths ajar, wide awake, we go to sleep.
However absurd, however absurd... it may seem.
However absurd, however absurd... it may seem.
Something special between us, when we mmade love the game was over.
I couldnt say the words, words wouldnt get ny feelings through,
So I keep talking to you...
However absurd, however absurd... it may seem.
However absurd, however absurd... it may seem.
Custom made dinosaurs, too late now, for a change.
Everything is under the sun, but nothing is for keeps...
However absurd, however absurd... it may seem.
However absurd, however absurd... it may seem.
song performed by by Paul McCartney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Butterfly Wishes
Butterfly, flutterby
Come to me
Take me to Mexico
On your delicate wing.
Butterfly, flutterby
It is early fall
I want to escape from here
To you I call.
Butterfly, flutterby
Be with me tonight
I’ll be ready in a minute
Ready for take-off; ready for flight.
Butterfly, flutterby
How gorgeous your face
Yellow, black, stained-glass wings
I see your mysterious smile and dainty grace.
Butterfly, flutterby
I’m waiting; I’ll stay
Please don’t forget me
But look! Now you’re going, going, gone, away.
Butterfly, flutterby
How can this be?
You said good bye
Now what about me?
Butterfly, flutterby
You could have come to me
Could have taken me to Mexico
On your delicate wing.
Butterfly, flutterby
This is not the end
Return for me next year
I will be waiting and watching, again and again.
poem by Jennie Scheihing
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Ready To Love
When I look at you all I can see
Is the shadow of your life
You see this stage is a mirror
You can see me
But I can't see past its light
Lovers have tried to reach down inside
I only said that they were wrong
But when all I've got left is me and my pride
I realize you can't buy love with a song
So somebody take me out of the night
Show me what life is made of
Won't somebody reach inside of my heart
I think that I'm ready to love
I think that I'm ready to love
I feel like I'm ready to love
Well a lesson that's learned too late is a crime
I can't stand the pain of what could have been
Oh it's such a shame there's no one to blame
But no one knows what I have seen
What do you see when you look at me
Do I really seem so far away
But the song will go on
And you will applaud
And look at me I'll just keep singing
Somebody take me out of the night
Show me what life is made of
Won't somebody reach inside of my heart
I think that I'm ready to love
I think that I'm ready to love
I feel like I'm ready to love
Oh show me what life's made of
Somebody please reach inside of my heart
I think that I'm ready to love
I think that I'm ready to love
I feel like I'm ready
song performed by by Melissa Etheridge
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Disingenuousness
Here lies another box for nature,
Carbon ready;
Black to eyes down here,
Where death is at its job.
Up there you’ll hear a rhythmic sob
Or two from living yet-to-dies –
A humming lacrimoso –
It all but cleans the eyes:
Forget it –
The dismal show of grief –
Life is only chemistry –
Our stay is only brief.
It’s we who hype it up!
Diaphragms jerk again;
The jet monotone of hearses
Feeds the disingenuousness
Of undertakers –
They seem to stare at something up ahead –
For them, it’s in the blood,
To taxi off the dead.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011
The March of Death
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lied II
How many times does a dog bark
in the night, the same two-tone bark:
black. red. black, black, red-unseen,
never tiring or growing hoarse, the
rope tightening about his throat an-
chored in eternity. Black, red, red,
red, black, red, red, black, black, black,
complaining it is cold or alone,
complaining its life's a bust.
How many times does a cab stop
in the light rain of a night
short, before a diaphanous screen door
to which a thick moth clings-
a little tire-shriek capping a faint
complaint of rubber against its condition
over a crunch of gravel, of course, and a slam,
waking the body sleeping within, who
sits up with a start and remembering nakedness
intones, 'Lovely moment, at last you have come? '
poem by Morgan Michaels
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Unlost Existence
When an embryo was growing in a petri dish
I said this is it my adieu
for I am now ready for a new journey of self denial
a skull in my lap
after the abdication of ancient fear
the eyes of buttercups poked with hot iron rods
a hoe breaking the neck of a bowed man
to humanize an ugly beast
my fragile hands make a cup to collect the light
of a fading sun to pour on the stillness
of the dream’s dark roaring
that’s how a pinned butterfly becomes
resigned for capitulation
poem by Satish Verma
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Before My Eyes
I see before my eyes the wonderful words,
Speak them around the mouth to sustain,
So that meanings are clear to the birds.
I saw so many reasons to master and also afterwards,
Seen so many sessions of praise of this book to attain,
I see before my eyes the wonderful words.
Created and longed for, the books and pages are blizzards,
Looking for times so tight with sin again,
So that meanings are clear to the birds.
May we attain longevity when we read books backwards,
Leaning against the wall to hasten the air plane,
I see before my eyes the wonderful words.
Pleasing us one way is like living a way of life with hazards,
Leading is a disease of words, so frightening for after pain,
So that meanings are clear to the birds.
Can the heraldry of our country be the same innards,
Liking this sign captures the books’ meanings from the brain,
So that meanings are clear to the birds,
I see before my eyes the wonderful words.
poem by Naveed Akram
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I Am
I am your spoken truth
I am the lies in you
Im gonna make you shine in everything you do
I am your lighted way
And Im your darkest day
Im here to help you see you can rely on me
Just consider me your friend
I am until the end
Can I guarantee you life?
I dont think I can
This isnt the life for me
This isnt the way I want to be
And let me tell you
Death will come when Im good and ready
I am your peace of mind
Confusing all your time
Im running through your veins, I am your pain
I thought by now youd know
Ill never let you go
Its time you recognize I am the devils eyes
Just consider me your friend
I am until the end
Can I guarantee you life?
I dont think I can
This isnt the life for me
This isnt the way I want to be
And let me tell you
Death will come when Im good and ready
This isnt the life for me
This isnt the way I want to be
And let me tell you
Death will come when Im good and ready
Take me by my hand
And let me show you what I am
Im taking control again
Now I know I can
Take you back to where it all began
cause I am
This isnt the life for me
This isnt the way I want to be
And let me tell you
Death will come when Im good and ready
This isnt the life for me
This isnt the way I want to be
And let me tell you
Death will come when Im good and ready
song performed by by Godsmack
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Hundred Times Over
A hundred times over words have flowed through my fingers to the keys
A hundred times over I have released the freedom that is in my mind,
A hundred times over I have become one with my inter most longing,
A hundred times over I have taken a journey to show you my own world.
A hundred times over I have written of pain and life, of sorrow and joy,
A hundred times over I have used my art to show you what's in my mind
A hundred times over again I will show you.
A hundred times over I have cried for those, whose names are untold,
A hundred times over I have showed you their pain.
A hundred times over I have become their connection to you,
A hundred times over I have showed you the beauty of our world,
A hundred times over I have taken you somewhere you may never see,
A hundred times over my words have screamed the horror of darkness,
A hundred times over I have sung to you the beauty of light,
A hundred times over I have taken your hand to lead you to a new place
A hundred time over I have written for those who have no words to write
A hundred times over I have tried to show truth in a world of lies,
A hundred times over I have have tried to show the world's beauty,
A hundred times over again I will lead down these paths,
A hundred times over and over again I will show you reality,
A hundred times over and over again I shall show you my world,
A hundred times over and over again until you have memorised truth,
A hundred times over again until you can repeat what I have told,
A hundred times over again shall I create an art of words, time, of life.
A hundred times over again I shall do this,
A hundred times over again.
A hundred times over.
poem by Bethany Maxwell
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I'll Sleep My Life Away
When dying tomorrow
is no worse than dying today,
I'll sleep my life away;
no hunger unbearable,
no pain so lacerating -
no lie to make up...
no human defamed.
The world shuts down,
the avenues sleep.
The body forgotten,
the heart stops to weep.
With clouds as my roof,
darkness, my covers...
I hover in nothingness
for nothingness is life.
Death is waking up in obscene streets
begging for food that could not satisfy -
for hunger, pain and sorrow meet
under that same old sky.
Death is waking up in misery
and remember you still breathe
the filthy air and you still see
everything obscure;
nowhere to avert to, everyone's averse.
When mirrors are horrible,
no brighter side to look upon...
when dream is but a worn-out lie,
when children's cries linger on
and there are no lullabies
but cars that hover on.
Death is waking up in agony
and remember you still breathe...
weak hands raised up, palms to the heavens
for coins to purchase bread.
Oh the cruel life you have to live,
with filthy water you just but drink -
I'll sleep my life away.
Life to me is when I close my eyes
and everything falls into place.
poem by Jessel Jane Tevar
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Lincoln Avenue
Well I guess this is where I left my life
And all its operations
And I know that I will never get this twice
With all negotiations
This feels like the place between what is and might have been
So I guess this is where we both find out
If this was meant to be
And I'll tell myself, I don't need you
I'll tell myself enough to get me through
But I'll finally show you how I should have been being with you every day
If you can take a little more
Now it takes me back to times on Lincoln Avenue
When you said you'd never get tired of the boy
That seemed to be so far from growing up
But we were different then
This feels like the place between being ready and being in the way
And I'll tell myself, I don't need you
I'll tell myself enough to get me through
But I'll finally show you how I should have been being with you every day
If you can wait a little more
This feels like the time that I'm ready for you
Are you ready for me
'Cause I'll tell myself I'll make it through
I'll tell myself anything to get over you
And I won't blame you but I'm finally ready to show you
That I'm ready to show you, I'm ready to show you, yeah
I'll tell myself that I never needed anybody anyway, but anyway
I need you
I need you now
I need you now
I'm ready now
song performed by by Train
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Fresh Endeavour
So now I've taken leave of life,
I thought you'd like to know, I still
Possess a mind in love, oh wife;
A soulful eye to catch a show of
Silent beauty – ever yours;
An ear to pick the metaphors
Of tonal dance in words you say,
Grasp a thought in verse you pray
Inside your head, bemused of mind,
Softly mournful, intertwined with
Understanding tears.
I'll drift a whisper o'er to you
To tell that I am quietly calm;
Keeping time till your adieu
To flesh, upon the carol of a
Psalm of consummation. Now!
A fresh endeavour – we're forever
One together, resting yonder,
Cross our open plane of blue.
Copyright Mark R Slaughter 2009
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death death death death death death death
death death death death death death death
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death death death death death death death
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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I'm Just Another Writer of This World
A lot of you are better then me.
Yet they see fit to put ahead of you and i don't even know why
As one I am not trying to reach for the sky
I'm just trying to get by as we all are.
I do not got the talent of a star.
I just write what comes from heart.
We are not different
Yet they divide us apart.
As if I can reach people the way you can.
I say no man, I can't
You know of words I'm only slowly understanding the meanings
So why is it, that as I write this I'm the one achieving
That's right put the undereducated guy in the front
Have him falsely lead this pack.
Well that is not my pact.
In the face humility I bow before a crowd
Knowing only that I must learn
As I have to earn money to put food on my table.
You take down my book.
That one day just maybe will
I say how dare you in all affection you've show'd me
Still you attack my pride and joy.
I'm just another writer of this world.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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The language of friendship is not words, but meanings. It is an intelligence about language.
quote by Henry David Thoreau
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Butterfly...
Butterfly...my all..my own, Butterfly
My butterfly, I remember the
day we met. You bumped into me.
Well, sort of floated, from no where,
and from that moment, I recall what
I said, 'Well, my little butterfly,
where did you come from.?
Butterfly, you laughed, and responded,
'I picked you out, and just floated down,
and landed on your shoulder.
Butterfly, there are many that think
that a Butterfly, can't laugh, but you did.
They think that a Butterfly, does not cry,
but you have.
Can a Butterfly be happy, cause happiness?
Butterfly, of mine...you did.
Can a Butterfly, caused one to nearly burst
with joy? Butterfly, you did and you have.
Butterfly, there is not a moment, since I
met you, that I can not recall.
Some might wonder what a butterfly, drinks.
Butterfly, shall we let them know, we became
intoxicated, as we sipped the nectar of life.
As my butterfly and I floated through the
wonders of earth, I wish we could share the
joy we found, with all of this planet.
Butterfly, shall we always be together?
Butterfly, I do not mean, just here on
earth, I mean until the stars stop shinning.
Butterfly, I mean, until there is no moon...
no anything, but my Butterfly and I.
Butterfly...I think that we will. Butterfly,
I believe that we were meant to be.
Counting
When you were rolling in dust,
a puritan said, truth was me.
It was getting dark in Himalayas.
Black words, black themes.
You have started a journey in daylight
in a hot desert of fear.
Tormented, because of the heat
of arguments. Mimicry makes you sick.
Mocking birds fly straight for lofty peaks.
Self-denial was hurting sometimes
against copious rewards and generous handouts,
like pinned on a totem.
The happening must start
with hidden promises of price.
poem by Satish Verma
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More Words
Sometimes words reach out
to help heal wounds.
Sometimes words reach out
just to claw at a feeble soul.
Sometimes words reach out
to seek help.
Sometimes words reach out
to bring life to idleness.
Sometimes words reach out
to expose a lie.
Sometimes words reach out
to undress from its truth.
Sometimes words reach out
for it needs to be spoken.
poem by Janine Alyssa Navarro
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Mother and Daughter
Linda, you are leaving
your old body now,
It lies flat, an old butterfly,
all arm, all leg, all wing,
loose as an old dress.
I reach out toward it but
my fingers turn to cankers
and I am motherwarm and used,
just as your childhood is used.
Question you about this
and you hold up pearls.
Question you about this
and you pass by armies.
Question you about this -
you with your big clock going,
its hands wider than jackstraws -
and you'll sew up a continent.
Now that you are eighteen
I give you my booty, my spoils,
my Mother & Co. and my ailments.
Question you about this
and you'll not know the answer -
the muzzle at the oxygen,
the tubes, the pathways,
the war and the war's vomit.
Keep on, keep on, keep on,
carrying keepsakes to the boys,
carrying powders to the boys,
carrying, my Linda, blood to
the bloodletter.
Linda, you are leaving
your old body now.
You've picked my pocket clean
and you've racked up all my
poker chips and left me empty
and, as the river between us
narrows, you do calisthenics,
that womanly leggy semaphore.
Question you about this
and you will sew me a shroud
and hold up Monday's broiler
and thumb out the chicken gut.
Question you about this
and you will see my death
drooling at these gray lips
while you, my burglar, will eat
fruit and pass the time of day.
poem by Anne Sexton
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