A Man’s Dirty Night
Consumed in his own thoughts,
In his own little Paris.
People on pass by,
The queue going nowhere,
His pockets are empty,
Everyone asking for money.
The last of his change spent in that greasy spoon,
Washing last night session away.
Two coffee’s and gut buster,
The pounding head slips away into it’s own coma.
She was good,
She was bad,
She wasn’t cheap,
She may have looked it under the bridge,
Knickers to the knee’s.
She complained that she cut her knee,
He nailed her good.
The checkout girl say’s next,
He snap out of his thoughts with a smile,
Hard to hide his thoughts,
Has she checks him out below the bridges.
poem by Joseph Tanner
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Related quotes
Bones of a Bad girl
Flesh to flesh
Thoughts to thoughts
Bad girl, bad thoughts
Bad girl wants to touch flesh
But bad man slaps hand away
Bad deeds, good thoughts
No flesh for bad girl
Girls do not touch, thoughts unwelcome
Boys touch flesh, no bad boys
Friends who hold hands, bad girls
Boys who touch girl, good thoughts, warm flesh
Girls crave flesh, bad bad girl
Flesh turns cold, bad thoughts
No way out, big trouble
Flesh is melted, distorted, explored
Thoughts revere, devilish girl
Boys do deeds, good thoughts
Girl slapped on the wrist, more bad
Boys given treats, deeds undone
Girls have bad thoughts, naught arms purple
Flesh dark circles, sketches, screams
Bad wirls with thoughts and deeds, girl want flesh
No flesh is for free, girls still scream
poem by Kelsey Wallace
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Thoughts Just Thoughts0
Who am i?
A lonely vesicle
An open shell
Only to be filled with thoughts
Only thoughts
Thoughts capable of causing
Causing so much damage
Thoughts that falsify good intentions
Thoughts I hope will never cross
Even the darkest of people
But I continue to smile
It’s all we can do
But we are continually
Insisted to cry
We let our eyes fill
With salty waters
And lock those doors
We hide behind
Reassuring ourselves
Those others are on the outside
So we are stuck in this isolation
That is welcoming and intimidating
All at the same time we cry
We show our emotions
To no one but ourselves
poem by Charlie Alexdranda
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Do You Have Any Thoughts About Me?
Do you have any thoughts about me?
And I want to know if the thoughts that you have about me
Are any good?
Do you mind sharing the thoughts about me?
What are the thoughts about me like?
Are the thoughts about me semtimental?
Are the thoughts about me very romantic?
Are the thoughts about me full of love?
poem by Aldo Kraas
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My Thoughts
Thought in the eyes,
The ears.
Thought in mind,
The brain,
Thought in heart,
The soul.
Great thought is great
when it becomes great deeds.
With my thoughts within
Building my world within
Learning with thought;
Is great learning wisdom.
Learning without thought,
Is opportunity lost.
Thought for others
Thought for God
Thought for good
Thought for God’s blessing
Thoughts teach me,
Thoughts educate me,
Thoughts clarify me,
Thoughts enlighten me.
Thoughts make me wise
Thoughts make me patience
Thoughts make me trust others
Thoughts make me clam.
Thoughts before act
Is smart and wise
Act before thoughts
Is stupid and foolish
That’s my thoughts
They make thinking clear
They make belief deepen
They make confidence high.
In thoughts, my world
In my world, make my thoughts.
In thoughts, my words
In my words, make my speech
It’s my thoughts count
Counting my thoughts
To endless counting thoughts
Thinking the thoughts endlessly
My thoughts and thoughts again.
poem by Lawrence Hiung
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Houses of Dreams
You took my empty dreams
And filled them every one
With tenderness and nobleness,
April and the sun.
The old empty dreams
Where my thoughts would throng
Are far too full of happiness
To even hold a song.
Oh, the empty dreams were dim
And the empty dreams were wide,
They were sweet and shadowy houses
Where my thoughts could hide.
But you took my dreams away
And you made them all come true --
My thoughts have no place now to play,
And nothing now to do.
poem by Sara Teasdale
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Learn thoughts, not words.
Good in thoughts, not so in words,
Good in words and not so in thoughts
Human beings tend to be.
Thoughts are the binding force, not words.
Sincerity lies in thoughts
28.05.2001, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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What Good Is Freedom
Apes must have thought that the first people were such defects, with such disabilities, such handicaps. If they apes had thoughts in their minds, their thoughts would think, 'What good are the human's thoughts, awareness, sense of self, what good is thinking, is knowing, is being free, is having the faculties to know your self, how could that help them survive in the real world, in reality.
poem by Michael Kavuoti
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Forgive, but never forget.
As the pretty young teenager lay on the bed,
With the most darkest thoughts swimming through her head,
A minute she spent staring into space,
Wondering why society was so hard to face.
You see, this young girl had done nothing wrong,
Yet no matter how hard she tried she just didn't belong,
Simply because she wasn't perfect,
She was made to feel like, as a human, she wasn't worth it.
Depression and sadness became all this girl knew,
The urge to pick up the razor just grew and grew,
Alone in the world, she had no strength to fight,
That's when she decided tonight was the night,
Ending her life, she believed, was the only way,
How can she carry on when all she saw was grey,
So she picked up the knife and ran it through her skin,
Her life was gone before it could truly begin.
News of her death spread far and wide,
"What a shame, we had no idea, " they all cried,
She was the talk of the town for a while,
Before people moved on and regained their smile,
For the teenagers who society remembers with regret,
We shall never forget.
poem by Just Paige
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Thoughts Of You
Sitting on the brow of the hill
looking at the city below
with its lights shining,
jewels upon a crown.
I sit and think
of the pinnacles I have reached
and my thoughts always pull me back
into thoughts of you.
You were the crowning glory
no jewels or money could buy.
The pinnacle I reached
that was so close to heaven
that it only seemed an arms length away.
Life was so good to me
until that fateful day
you said you were going out,
but never came back again.
Now I am only left with
thoughts that linger on,
questions lay unanswered
of where you have gone.
There is no warmth here anymore,
only in thoughts of you.
You inherit everything I see
and I ask the same questions
repeatedly every night
where are you
and when are you coming home.
Am I only to live my life
forever in thoughts of you?
27 November 2009
poem by David Harris
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Happy Thoughts, Happy Thoughts, Think Happy Thoughts
I have to keep reminding myself to forget you.
Forget you and me.
(Happy thoughts, happy thoughts, think happy thoughts.)
You wanted me to promise to never say it again
Those three words
(Happy thoughts, happy thoughts, think happy thoughts)
Which is laughably easy to do right now because
We are so far out of touch I couldn’t reach you if I tried
(Happy thoughts, happy thoughts, think happy thoughts)
So I plod through grey days and inky dark nights
Heavy laden with regret
(Happy thoughts, happy thoughts, think happy thoughts)
Tomorrow I will remind myself to forget you.
Forget you and me.
12-25-07
djlw
poem by Shannon Wright
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The Girl I'm Starting To See
what do you see?
when you look at me?
i'll tell you what i see,
a girl who has accepted who she is,
a girl who just realize that giving up life,
is not going to change a D@mn thing,
no matter how much you want it,
to change everything,
it just made me realize more,
that life has more to offer than meet the eye,
would you agree?
you just can't give up when life gets hard,
if that the case,
we all won't have a chance to become something,
to live out our dreams,
we have people who remind us,
how special we are,
but, we let negative thoughts cloud out judgement,
when we need to push through,
and see all that we can be,
cause i no longer want to be,
somebody who given up,
just because life gotten hard,
i want to be that role model and leader,
i always knew i can be,
cause in the end,
that's the girl i do see,
a girl who want to change for the good,
the place she at now,
is nowhere near where she wants to be,
she tired of playing games, ,
tired of trying to get people to understand her,
cuz the only person it should of mattered to..is me,
along the way,
i forgot who was important,
i forgot who i was and who i wanted to be,
but, that's okay,
along the way,
we all have to make mistakes to learn,
otherwise, we won't know,
who we really are,
cause this is the girl i'm starting to see.
6-11-09
poem by Mona Martinez
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An upright soul
Thoughts must conform to words
And words to deeds to give peace.
Good thoughts and bad words: one is
raw.
Bad thoughts and good words: one is a cheat.
Good words and bad deeds: one is
cruel.
Bad words and good deeds: one is a
barker.
Thoughts, words and deeds must not
be
In conflicts to ensure an upright soul.
25.11.2004
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Coffee
Sometimes life is merely a matter of coffee and whatever intimacy a cup of coffee
affords. I once read something about coffee. The thing said that coffee is good for you;
it stimulates all the organs.
I thought at first this was a strange way to put it, and not altogether pleasant, but
as time goes by I have found out that it makes sense in its own limited way. I'll tell you
what I mean.
Yesterday morning I went over to see a girl. I like her. Whatever we had going for us
is gone now. She does not care for me. I blew it and wish I hadn't.
I rang the door bell and waited on the stairs. I could hear her moving around upstairs.
The way she moved I could tell that she was getting up. I had awakened her.
Then she came down the stairs. I could feel her approach in my stomach. Every step she
took stirred my feelings and lead indirectly to her opening the door. She saw me and it
did not please her.
Once upon a time it pleased her very much, last week. I wonder where it went,
pretending to be naive.
"I feel strange now," she said. "I don't want to talk."
"I want a cup of coffee," I said, because it was the last thing in the world
that I wanted. I said it in such a way that it sounded as if I were reading her a telegram
from somebody else, a person who really wanted a cup of coffee, who cared about nothing
else.
"All right," she said.
I followed her up the stairs. It was ridiculous. She had just put some clothes on. They
had not quite adjusted themselves to her body. I could tell you about her ass. We went
into the kitchen.
She took a jar of instant coffee off the shelf and put it on the table. She placed a
cup next to it, and a spoon. I looked at them. She put a pan full of water on the stove
and turned the gas on under it.
All this time she did not say a word. Her clothes adjusted themselves to her body. I
won't. She left the kitchen.
Then she went down the stairs and outside to see if she had any mail. I didn't remember
seeing any. She came back up the stairs and went into another room. She closed the door
after her. I looked at the pan full of water on the stove.
I knew that it would take a year before the water started to boil. It was now October
and there was too much water in the pan. That was the problem. I threw half of the water
into the sink.
The water would boil faster now. It would take only six months. The house was quiet.
I looked out the back porch. There were sacks of garbage there. I stared at the garbage
and tried to figure out what she had been eating lately by studying the containers and
peelings and stuff. I couldn't tell a thing.
It was now March. The water started to boil. I was pleased by this.
I looked at the table. There was the jar of instant coffee, the empty cup and the spoon
all laid out like a funeral service. These are the things that you need to make a cup of
coffee.
When I left the house ten minutes later, the cup of coffee safely inside me like a
grave, I said, "Thank you for the cup of coffee."
"You're welcome," she said. Her voice came from behind a closed door. Her
voice sounded like another telegram. It was really time for me to leave.
I spent the rest of the day not making coffee. It was a comfort. And evening came, I
had dinner in a restaurant and went to a bar. I had some drinks and talked to some people.
We were bar people and said bar things. None of them remembered, and the bar closed. It
was two o'clock in the morning. I had to go outside. It was foggy and cold in San
Francisco. I wondered about the fog and felt very human and exposed.
I decided to go visit another girl. We had not been friends for over a year. Once we
were very close. I wondered what she was thinking about now.
I went to her house. She didn't have a door bell. That was a small victory. One must
keep track of all the small victories. I do, anyway.
She answered the door. She was holding a robe in front of her. She didn't believe that
she was seeing me. "What do you want?" she said, believing now that she was
seeing me. I walked right into the house.
She turned and closed the door in such a way that I could see her profile. She had not
bothered to wrap the robe completely around herself. She was just holding the robe in
front of herself.
I could see an unbroken line of body running from her head to her feet. It looked kind
of strange. Perhaps because it was so late at night.
"What do you want?" she said.
"I want a cup of coffee," I said. What a funny thing to say, to say again for
a cup of coffee was not what I really wanted.
She looked at me and wheeled slightly on the profile. She was not pleased to see me.
Let the AMA tell us that time heals. I looked at the unbroken line of her body.
"Why don't you have a cup of coffee with me?" I said. "I feel like
talking to you. We haven't talked for a long time."
She looked at me and wheeled slightly on the profile. I stared at the unbroken line of
her body. This was not good.
"It's too late," she said. "I have to get up in the morning. If you want
a cup of coffee, there's instant in the kitchen. I have to go to bed."
The kitchen light was on. I looked down the hall into the kitchen. I didn't feel like
going into the kitchen and having another cup of coffee by myself. I didn't feel like
going to anybody else's house and asking them for a cup of coffee.
I realized that the day had been committed to a very strange pilgrimage, and I had not
planned it that way. At least the jar of instant coffee was not on the table, beside an
empty white cup and a spoon.
They say in the spring a young man's fancy turns to thoughts of love. Perhaps if he has
enough time left over, his fancy can even make room for a cup of coffee.
poem by Richard Brautigan from Revenge of the Lawn (1971)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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I think it was when I ran into Kerouac and Burroughs - when I was 17 - that I realized I was talking through an empty skull... I wasn't thinking my own thoughts or saying my own thoughts.
quote by Allen Ginsberg
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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If It Was About A Lot Of Money
If it was about a lot of money...
My mind would be,
Trimmed in dollar bills.
With-my-thoughts-on a million of them,
And a caring less of my fellowman.
And if it was about a lot of money...
I'd ignore,
Every two cents made.
By anybody wanting to deliver to me,
Any consciousness attached to common sense.
If it was about a lot of money.
If it was about a lot of money.
If it was about a lot of money...
I wouldn't be concerned about the suffering seen.
And if it was about a lot of money.
If it was about a lot of money.
And if it was about a lot of money...
My eyes wouldn't cry when I see these scenes.
If it was about a lot of money...
My mind would be,
Trimmed in dollar bills.
With-my-thoughts-on a million of them,
And a caring less of my fellowman.
If it was about a lot of money...
I'd ignore,
Every two cents made.
By anybody wanting to deliver to me,
Any consciousness to instigate.
If it was about a lot of money.
If it was about a lot of money.
If it was about a lot of money...
I wouldn't be concerned about the suffering seen.
I'd fill my pockets and get away!
If it was about a lot of money.
I'd fill my pockets each and everyday.
If it was about a lot of money.
I'd fill my pockets and get away!
If it was about a lot of money.
I'd fill my pockets up and run the other way.
If it was about a lot of money.
If it was about a lot of money.
If it was about a lot of money.
And if it was about a lot of money...
There wouldn't be a single word I would say.
I wouldn't have concerns or feel this way.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Myriad Thoughts
I sit here in myriad thoughts
dancing around my head
too fed up to put them to bed.
Thoughts of the past,
thoughts of the future too,
thoughts of things this and that
and thoughts of what to do.
Memories invade at times
of pastures long gone by
as the myriad thoughts
fill my mind with anger and with love
and times; I wish I could have lingered with
when my years were young.
Things pass in phases,
hearts entwine then fall apart,
seasons readily appear,
stay awhile and then depart.
Here I sit in a lonely waste
thinking thoughts of what might have been
if the crystal ball I look into had only seen.
Now the myriad thoughts appear
to haunt me in quiet times
and carry me to distant places
the world has left behind.
Those little specks of moments
that still linger from the past
that lay waiting to capture me
before the quiet time has passed.
28 November 2009
poem by David Harris
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My Thoughts Of Suicide
Here I sit and write this poem
Thinking of all I love and all I hate
Thoughts of suicide thinking its my fate
I think of all the times I used to laugh
And now I wish I'd just die
How did so much misery come in to my life
And now all I have are thoughts of suicide
Crying every night is not the way to live
Heck I'm still a kid
I should be out hanging with all my friends
But these thoughts of suicide haunt my head
Will they care when I am gone
When nothings left expect my thoughts
And this small poem telling everyone
I will be no more in about an hour
Don't try to save me
Just save your tears
Nothing can stop me
Because i have thoughts of suicide
Heres to the end my dear friend
I hope you live life through
This is the end to this girls life
And all her thoughts to boot
Nothing there but my thoughts my secret thoughts of suicide
poem by Danielle Arsuaga
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How Could I Hide?
There is no escape
Always creeping, always following always there
Always here, there is nowhere to go
Nowhere to run to
Nowhere to stay far from
No distance great enough
No wall strong enough
Never enough
How can you hide
From what is inside
How is that you could distance yourself from that who is in you
That who is you
How is that you could just not be the you who you are
How is it I could not be me
No matter what I do he's there he's in me he is me
How could I not be the sum of my mistakes?
How can You tell me that I'm more
How could I not be something to abhor
I cannot run from who I am, how is that not tied to what I did
What I do doesn't that become me? Do I become that?
My mind tells me that's wrong, my heart is evil, but it knows You
The part of me that does know You says You can erase it all
But I don't feel it, I'm sorry, I often don't, I feel like me
And to me that is the greatest torture to be me
Because the me that I think that I am is someone who I could never
Bear to live as, never, not ever
Instead of believing you I just ask How can I hide?
Can I hide from what's inside?
Can I cease to be me
Can I escape the mistakes
Can I escape the thoughts
Can I escape the identity
Can I escape from me
There is nowhere to run, nowhere I've gone
Nowhere I feel I can go
Will be far enough from me to escape me
Nothing in my mind feels sufficient to conquer me
I cannot divorce myself from what I believe makes me who I am
How could it not rule me, the evil thoughts I have thought
Are not just thoughts in the past, they're thoughts that last
They're thoughts I still think, how is there freedom from that evil
How is their cleansing from that sin
Truly without You there is no hope and I cannot win
But even with all You say about me I don't know how to change
Can I change my idea of me?
Can I come int my new identity?
Can I really escape when I cannot run?
I must fight against him
Show me Your love
Help me please
Cleanse me from 'me'
So that I can be me
poem by David Knox
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A Boy Drowned
A boy walked to and fro along the bridge,
His mastering of good news was sound and bright;
As the knowledge of wisdom set in from the river,
The waves had spent their effort for too long;
The rivers mastered the boy, for the bridge was long,
And the bridges were so far in the distance.
Every boy will learn for the news to be a world of good,
The good life exactly arrived with seas of wonder;
Knowledge exercised its power on the wondrous boy,
For the bridges he had traversed produced more learning;
Bridges across the water killed the boy who mattered,
For he was found on a riverbed, dead and drowned.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Mull Around Inside My Head
In the early morning hours
when the world is still in bed,
I come downstairs and make a cup of coffee
while my thoughts mull around inside my head.
I think of things I would like to happen
making little sketches if they did,
smile at how I could create a perfect world for me.
I think of my friends
who maybe worlds apart
and how I could be closer to them.
The scenarios I think of
I know will never be,
they are just in my thoughts
that mull around inside my head.
30 November 2008
poem by David Harris
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