Situational Neglect
I'm surrounded by the sounds of f**king idiocy
The television that never shuts off or up
The moronic laughter at the low brow sit-com
Do you realize the sound you emit
Your double digit I.Q. on display, gleaming
Made almost brighter in the technicolor
Not knowing, comprehending that it should clothe and hide
Itself
Mouth agape, eyes X-ed
Until the simp comments on the banal commentary
Start spilling out the neck
I can smell it and I want to wretch
Polby Saves
Copyright © 1996-Present
poem by Polby Saves
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You Kill the Self
By Dora Flood
I'm surrounded by the sounds of fucking idiocy
The television that never shuts off or up
The moronic laughter at the low brow sit-com
Do you realize the sound you emit
Your double digit I.Q. on display, gleaming
Made almost brighter in the technicolor
Not knowing, comprehending that it should clothe and hide
Itself
Mouth agape, eyes X-ed
Until the simple comments on the banal commentary
Start spilling out the neck
I can smell it and I want to wretch
poem by Dora Flood
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Depression is Refractory
Depression is reading bad poetry
Written by merely dysthmic people
Depression is people which does result in
Hell (thanks Jean-Paul)
Depression is the pain caused by people
Trying, poorly I might add, to articulate what
'Depression means to me'
Depression is tantamount to hunger
Something we all must suffer
Some will starve to death
You, my poetaster chum
Are only late to dinner
The pang will pass
Copyright © 1996-Present
poem by Polby Saves
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The Sound of Your Laughter
The sound of your laughter
Is what pulls me through
The harshest winter
The sound of your laughter
Makes every bright summer day
Brighter
The sound of your laughter
Is what gets me up in the morning
With it
I can take anything life can bring
Not to make too much out of it
But to me
Everyday Is a good day To live
To The sound of your laughter
Secret love
He gloomily sat by the wall,
As gaily she danced with them all.
Her laughter's light spell
On every one fell;
His heartstrings were near unto rending,
But this there was none comprehending.
She fled from the house, when at eve
He came there to take his last leave.
To hide her she crept,
She wept and she wept;
Her life-hope was shattered past mending,
But this there was none comprehending.
Long years dragged but heavily o'er,
And then he came back there once more.
-Her lot was the best,
In peace and at rest;
Her thought was of him at life's ending,
But this there was none comprehending.
poem by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson
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We The Electronic
See us on the underground
Packed up in our sardine cans
Tailor made with suits and shades
Lipstick teeth and waxwork hands
Electronic, we're electronic
Jumping on conveyor belts
Escalators in our heads
Programmed for another day
Talking to a faceless friend
Electronic, so moronic
We're electronic, we the electronic
Electronic
Hear the ticking in our beds
Find the balance in our heads
Wishing we could make a change
See the morning coming in
Electronic, so moronic
We're electronic, we the electronic
Electronic
Electronic, so moronic
We're electronic, we the electronic
Electronic
Electronic, so moronic
We're electronic, we the electronic
Electronic
song performed by by Feeder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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True Laughter
So that's what it sounds like.
True Laughter.
I don't hear it that often.
Even when I do, it's quickly silenced,
usually by someone to afraid to let their guard down.
It sounds like running through the rain,
hands locked with friends that embrace who you are.
The friends that see through the stranger
that sometimes takes your place.
They don't even realize he's there
because truthfully,
he's not.
It sounds like tripping down memory lane,
reminiscing and smiling at awkward photos.
It sounds like talking to an old mentor that hasn't changed.
You show up on their doorstep two years late for class
and they still welcome you in.
It sounds like hot soup eaten in cold clothes;
sipping hot chocolate while watching
video tapes of an old friendship.
You smile and laugh,
because it was there and you had forgotten it existed.
Soon everyone's laughing because it was
and it is.
Then you realize
it always will be.
Huh
So that's what it sounds like.
True Laughter.
poem by Cary Kelly
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A Poem A Day
a poem a day
is a pain in my neck.
and that
is everyday.
and everyday is
also a pain
in my neck.
and my neck
however,
has no mouth
to complain.
i need a massage.
i need a little
pampering.
perhaps a kiss
in my
ass from
an innocent
moral
religious
woman
no, do i have really
to be banal
about my
search for the
holy?
never felt
immaculate
but i will try
not to be vile
and irreverent
to emotions
into the sacrosanct
the righteous
seraphic saintly
sublime self
into the valley of
death
i will still sing my
song.
truly, i must be
in this daily dose
of pain in the neck
poetry
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Ivy Covered Walls
Maybe you can move into a cabin
And near a river down a lonely winding road
Friendly conversation
Then you read by candlelight
Every word of every story told
Maybe you can move into the castle
Surrounded by the ivy covered walls
Find a bit of paradise
Where no one bothers you
Only time they come is when you call
Something I never realized about the city
Once its in your heart its there to stay
When you close your eyes you realize
Its been there all along
Home is where you live and where you lay
Everywhere that you go it may seem funny
You can hide if you want, you can change your name
Everywhere I look, everyone I see
Everywhere its all the same
Something I never realized about the country
Once its in your heart its there to stay
When you close your eyes you realize
Its been there all along
Home is where you live and where you lay
Everywhere that you go it may sound funny
You can hide if you want, you can change your name
Everywhere I look
Everyone I see
Everywhere its all the same
song performed by by Peter Cetera
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sounds
What are the sounds we love to hear,
the sounds that bring us joy?
They are all the sounds we've listened to,
sounds that don't destroy
how you feel or how you react
when they reach your ear.
They touch a certain part of you
that sometimes brings a tear
of joy.
A child's laughter so innocent and pure,
a rolling wave down at the shore,
a sound of comfort from a spoken word,
a sound of wind chimes in the air,
a sound of silence while in prayer,
a sound of white noise when you sleep,
a sound of joyful tears you weep.
These sounds and many, many more
can change a person's mood.
They soothe your body and your mind
so nothing can intrude
upon your joy.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Salvia
The laughter terrifies you But it's coming from inside you It dribbles down your face and shuts the eyes you cannot hide through. You notice what's beside you and the music that you ride through and you fear that its repeating as time rewinds to bite you. A never ending cycle of the screaming that you fight through to look for what reminds you of the world you knows behind you. Stuck in never ending cycles of the screaming that you fight through to look for what reminds you of the world you knows behind you. Nothing now reminds you and the screaming terrifies you and the music turns to noise of which the voices do not like you. The sound you cannot ride through and the sights you have to fight through and the screaming hits the ceiling of which you wish to fly through to flee from what now ties you to the world that now reminds you of the never ending cycle of the screaming you can't fight through. Time now tries to bite you, but with strength you start to fight through, and the screaming stops repeating and the music you can ride through. The sights your eyes denied you are now dancing alongside you and the screaming's not inside you but now laughter all around you. Time comes back to find you and denies it tried to bite you as what made that world that tied you: was the salvia that tried you.
poem by Peggy Pollock
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A Portrait Of Tomorrow
get the pen of the present
and take the colors of the past
use the hand that you trust
and begin making
tomorrow's portrait
have the ears of twenty years ago
try listening
if the sound is happy
put them there
and for the nose
smell the sweat of your childhood
those that play so well on the grass
and took the plunge on the clean rivers of your life
if you have that nostalgic feeling
then put that nose there
and how about the mouth and the lips
i think, if i were you
i'll take the teen age years
remembering the first kiss
and the first communion
the sound of a tight embrace
and if you like those happenings
then have those years
as your mouth and lips
and even the teeth
and now for the eyes
those that know really how to see
clearly and probingly
ponderous eyes
where wisdom is embedded
i think if i were you
take it from the present
those that see the past
as a summary
and of course the future
as a plan
specific and determined
strong and willing
and with a stroke of your
skilled hand you put the final
touches of tomorrow's portrait
you see your face and you say
you are beautiful
you caress it and tell yourself
you are lovable
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Lift
The wonderful thing
about being with
you in this hotel
lift in London full
of people is that none
of them knows what you
and I are about to do
in bed or possibly
on the floor in fact not
even you realize yet
how much you're going
to enjoy this act for
which we have no name
not clinical or hideous, just
a double digit number, perfect
as a skater's figure eight
poem by David Lehman
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Bible Stories: Job (Chapter XXXXI)
They stand before him all helpless;
They wish to see him overthrown;
Aroused, he turns so relentless;
None who assailed him, came to town.
Need I mention his limb’s great strength?
The fitness of his armor worn!
His outer garment’s extra length;
His double corselet, when he’s born.
What teeth of sharpness, his mouth guard!
Who can open his mouth agape?
How closely fitted back-scales hard!
Caught by his jaws, none can escape.
He sneezes fire through his nares;
His eyes are fiery too like dawn;
From mouth leap forth sparks of fires;
Steam seething from nostrils gets born.
His breath can set all coals afire;
His neck has strength that’s terrible;
His stony heart can ne’er retire;
Atop the sea, he’s horrible!
No sword can cause him injury,
Nor can the spear or weapons all;
None can stop him when in fury;
What reinforced an armored wall!
To him, iron appears like straw,
And bronze is akin rotten wood;
No arrow hurts or gives him awe;
Clubs seem like splinters, almost food!
With belly sharp like pottery,
He sloshes through the swamp and mire;
He is a living battery!
The sea depths boil as if afire!
He churns the sea so violently;
A shiny path, he leaves behind;
He’s King of beasts eminently-
The scariest on earth in kind!
poem by John Celes
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What One Creates
Not one to inspect,
Over another's collection.
To brush quickly through...
With reviews or suggestions.
I realize the pain it takes...
To select what will be saved,
By refurbishing what is accepted...
And tossing away,
What doesn't make the grade.
I can't be the critic,
To make that choice.
Although I feel forced,
For an opinion to voice!
I much rather watch,
Portraits hung!
I know what it takes to get to that place.
For seconds it may take
To critique...
The lifetime of one that completes,
From a nothingness...
To what a 'nothingness' can become!
And to observe without effort...
The skills it takes to get this done,
I am not so unwise to realize...
What one creates,
And what 'that' takes...I appreciate.
Unlike some,
Who are please to critique!
With eyes that are fast,
And feet quick to run!
If emotions aren't instantly attached...
Or imaginations unused are fused,
To conform with those with none!
I choose to be 'there! '
In the 'moment'...
To observe and be aware.
With a patience I enlist.
Knowing creativity shared like this...
And on display,
Deserves much more...
Than my quips without wit!
Or thoughtless comments made...
As if my pleasure to judge what's produced,
Will boost a huge ego...
I'm already trying to reduce!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Yin and Yang
The television downstairs is blaring
“Americans don’t want National
Health-care” from the Fox network;
But there are no conservatives
In our house
To listen to that stations commentary.
Upstairs my wife is in her sanctum
Chatting with cyber junkies on facebook.
What I consider a waste of ones time.
But she works all day and if she wants to
Push a mouse
Around a pad and type the keyboard, Amen.
It is amazing how different we are:
What she considers something relaxing
And fun, I think it banal and dull.
Telling her that, I would come across
As a louse
And I wouldn’t want that said of me.
Withal, we obviously have chemistry
That works well together and for so long.
It could be a lot worse I should think:
I could be living alone without her
And that’s one option I’d never consider.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Me and Laughter Together Always
Sometimes I laugh out loud
Showing you that I could care less what you have to say
All that matters is that my feelings are hidden
Hiding from those who judge me and those who love me
And Laughter helps me do just that
Laughter is my better half
Laughter stands with me when I’m bored
Laughter comforts me when I want to cry
He keeps me company through grief and through happiness
For better or worse, in sickness and health, through thick and thin
I love Laughter and Laughter loves me back
And yet you don’t know why Laughter makes Me
Look deep into my eyes when I laugh and you’ll see
You will find all the hate, all the pain, and all the hurt
But if that’s all you see
You’re not looking deep enough
Look past the tears that I won’t allow to flow
Look past the memories that I can’t let go of
And when you see through all the hate, all the pain and all the hurt
You'll find Me
I cover Me up with Laughter
There are none who can see the true Me
They can’t see through my Laughter
And if you should happen to see Me
I won’t need Laughter to hide anymore
Because I can cry on your shoulder
I can smile and enjoy you company without a single sound
Only then, Laughter won’t be my protector
Until then, it’s Me and Laughter together always
I hide my feelings through Laughter
So if you’re trying to figure out what I’m thinking,
Laugh with me and you will then see...-Me
poem by Nyoka Mitchell
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In Times Like These
I seek The Father’s Will, not mine, in God’s Ways and in His time,
For on the path He has me take, my life, my God will not forsake.
As the present times do darken, I know my voice, He will hearken,
Sending me His calming Grace, His presence in the darkest place.
I know just what I would desire, but, God’s Plan for man is higher,
And He knows just what I need, so for such things I do not plead.
God is never far away from me, no matter what the times may be,
Even if my heart wells up with fear, I know my Lord’s always near.
It’s knowing God within my heart, that calms my fears at the start,
When my heart begins failing me, through God’s Spirit I shall see,
The plan God has for everyone, who truly trusts in Christ His Son,
And all we need is trust in Him, Christ, who saved us from our sin.
Present times so dark and bleak; affects the strong and the weak,
Knowing not what is just ahead, can fill hearts with fear and dread,
But, knowing Jesus Christ as Lord, true peace to us He will afford,
To understand, God is in control, of the world and our eternal soul.
When man’s alarms start to ring, I know I belong to Christ the King,
Who rules and reigns from on high, as man’s darker ways go awry,
As man’s ways falter all around, Christ places me on firmer ground,
In a Kingdom which has no end, with God not the world as a friend.
(Copyright ©04/2009)
A tribute to the BBC 'Young Musician of 2008
This is what love
sounds like. This
is how you know
the heart is only ever one.
This boy, he’s twelve years old,
he’s standing on the platform
in the huge hall. He’s simply
waiting to play himself to you.
The trombone is now a few inches
shorter than he is. When he started,
it was bigger than he was.
He begins to play, Can this sweetness
have come from this contraption?
If Pythagoras was lecturing tonight
on music, measure, the harmony of spheres,
he’d have brought his tape measure
in case we needed proof.
If giraffes could sing,
they would sing to this trombone,
knowing themselves beautiful like it,
knowing that they both know
where music comes from.
How far it goes.
The sound says,
purity sounds like this. Listen.
The sound says,
did you know that innocence
can contain the whole of wisdom?
Listen.
The sound says,
did you know that experience
can know itself in music?
Listen.
The sound says,
I am music. This
Is what music is. I am
all music in this moment.
If tears were joys, they
would sound like this.
If joys were tears, they
would both sound like this.
The sound says,
I was made for this.
Listen.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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For your love
‘For your love’
Open your eyes
Take in the sights
Not in the dark love
Keep on the lights love
That’s the sight of true love
Take it slow love
Take time to know love
Make my eyes glow love
Open your nostrils
Take in the smell
It’s there In the air
The high of true love
That’s the smell of true love
Take it slow love
Take time to know love
Make my eyes glow love
Open your ears
Listen to the sounds
The sounds of heartbeats pulsating
To the beat of pure love
That’s the sound of true love
Take it slow love
Take time to know love
Make my eyes glow love
Open your mouth
Stick out your tongue
Taste the sweet love
On my loving lips
That’s the taste of true love
Take it slow love
Take time to know love
Make my eyes glow love
Open your mouth
Speak to me about love
Give me the poetry
Of everlasting love
That’s the language of true love
Take it slow love
Take time to know love
Make my eyes glow love
Love can be a beautiful experience
Experience will let you know
That an experience lover
Will take it real slow
That’s the beauty of true love
Take it slow love
Take time to know love
My eyes glowing eternally
For your love
Michael Micmac Mccrory
poem by Michael Micmac Mccrory
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Music In The Heart
Music of the heart sounds in the orchestra
For others to judge according to taste;
The pumping of blood made you nearly ask
For the music to stop and make farewell.
O how the heart senses your happy tune!
The melody survives the laughter;
O how the harmonious smell of wooden instruments
Involves us with sound and the astonishment!
Music is a happiness, music is sound,
More than a thought, more than a word;
May wise musicians design the good noise
And turn it into a message of hope.
poem by Naveed Akram
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