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**poem with explicit themes and depressing as dead kittens on a barbecue**

15 Dec

To the man who broke me

To the man who broke me

That night alone on the bridge

When you stole my innocence away

To the man who held me

Down, pinned to the cold, wet ground

And stole a part of me, the heart of me away

To the man who heard me

Beg for mercy he wouldn’t give

And lie numb to the pain of my soul being leeched away

I hope one day you feel

The clenching in your stomach

The cold shivers, the sheer terror

The flashbacks that keep you up at night

I hope one day you’ll look

Out of your window and dread

Having to face the world

I hope one day I’ll meet you

And see in your eyes all of the pain

That you’ve put me through

Multiplied until all there is left

Of your already ruined humanity

Is horror

I hope one day you’ll feel regret

And beg for forgiveness

And I hope you see me

My crippled soul

And know you’ll never have it

You’ll never have my forgiveness

Like a dying man thirsting for redemption

Redemption you won’t receive

I hope you rot and burn

In your own personal hell

And feel all the pain you’ve caused

And I hope you suffer.

Happy World Poetry Day!!! (Part 1) :D

21 Mar

Happy World Poetry Day!!!!

I’ve debated what to do for today for a while. At first I was going to write a couple of poems about this and put them on here but then I decided I wouldn’t ruin the day by putting everyone off their poetry and so I’ve opted for the far better option of doing two posts. This one has a few (ok, a LOT! It’s just so hard to chose!) of my very favourite poems from famous poets. The second will be up just after!

The first two are by my favourite poet Edgar Allan Poe.

 

 

Annabel Lee

It was many and many a year ago,

In a kingdom by the sea,

That a maiden there lived whom you may know

By the name of ANNABEL LEE;

And this maiden she lived with no other thought

Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,

In this kingdom by the sea;

But we loved with a love that was more than love-

I and my Annabel Lee;

With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven

Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,

In this kingdom by the sea,

A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling

My beautiful Annabel Lee;

So that her highborn kinsman came

And bore her away from me,

To shut her up in a sepulchre

In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,

Went envying her and me-

Yes!- that was the reason (as all men know,

In this kingdom by the sea)

That the wind came out of the cloud by night,

Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love

Of those who were older than we-

Of many far wiser than we-

And neither the angels in heaven above,

Nor the demons down under the sea,

Can ever dissever my soul from the soul

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side

Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride,

In the sepulchre there by the sea,

In her tomb by the sounding sea.

 

Edgar Allan Poe

 

 

A Dream Within A Dream

Take this kiss upon the brow!

And, in parting from you now,

Thus much let me avow-

You are not wrong, who deem

That my days have been a dream;

Yet if hope has flown away

In a night, or in a day,

In a vision, or in none,

Is it therefore the less gone?

All that we see or seem

Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar

Of a surf-tormented shore,

And I hold within my hand

Grains of the golden sand-

How few! yet how they creep

Through my fingers to the deep,

While I weep- while I weep!

O God! can I not grasp

Them with a tighter clasp?

O God! can I not save

One from the pitiless wave?

Is all that we see or seem

But a dream within a dream?

 

Edgar Allan Poe

 

 

Phenomenal Woman

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.

I’m not cute or built to suit a fashion model’s size

But when I start to tell them,

They think I’m telling lies.

I say,

It’s in the reach of my arms

The span of my hips,

The stride of my step,

The curl of my lips.

I’m a woman

Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman,

That’s me.

I walk into a room

Just as cool as you please,

And to a man,

The fellows stand or

Fall down on their knees.

Then they swarm around me,

A hive of honey bees.

I say,

It’s the fire in my eyes,

And the flash of my teeth,

The swing in my waist,

And the joy in my feet.

I’m a woman

Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman,

That’s me.

Men themselves have wondered

What they see in me.

They try so much

But they can’t touch

My inner mystery.

When I try to show them

They say they still can’t see.

I say,

It’s in the arch of my back,

The sun of my smile,

The ride of my breasts,

The grace of my style.

I’m a woman

Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman,

That’s me.

Now you understand

Just why my head’s not bowed.

I don’t shout or jump about

Or have to talk real loud.

When you see me passing

It ought to make you proud.

I say,

It’s in the click of my heels,

The bend of my hair,

the palm of my hand,

The need of my care,

‘Cause I’m a woman

Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman,

That’s me.

 

Maya Angelou

 

 

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

Do not go gentle into that good night,

Old age should burn and rave at close of day;

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,

Because their words had forked no lightning they

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright

Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,

And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight

Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on that sad height,

Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

 

Dylan Thomas

 

 

Warning

When I am an old woman I shall wear purple

With a red hat which doesn’t go, and doesn’t suit me.

And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves

And satin sandals, and say we’ve no money for butter.

I shall sit down on the pavement when I’m tired

And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells

And run my stick along the public railings

And make up for the sobriety of my youth.

I shall go out in my slippers in the rain

And pick flowers in other people’s gardens

And learn to spit.

You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat

And eat three pounds of sausages at a go

Or only bread and pickle for a week

And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.

But now we must have clothes that keep us dry

And pay our rent and not swear in the street

And set a good example for the children.

We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.

But maybe I ought to practice a little now?

So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised

When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.

 

Jenny Joseph

 

 

On the Ning Nang Nong

On the Ning Nang Nong

Where the Cows go Bong!

and the monkeys all say BOO!

There’s a Nong Nang Ning

Where the trees go Ping!

And the tea pots jibber jabber joo.

On the Nong Ning Nang

All the mice go Clang

And you just can’t catch ’em when they do!

So its Ning Nang Nong

Cows go Bong!

Nong Nang Ning

Trees go ping

Nong Ning Nang

The mice go Clang

What a noisy place to belong

is the Ning Nang Ning Nang Nong!!

 

Spike Milligan

 

 

Daffodils

I wandered lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o’er vales and hills,

When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host, of golden daffodils;

Beside the lake, beneath the trees,

Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine

And twinkle on the milky way,

They stretched in never-ending line

Along the margin of a bay:

Ten thousand saw I at a glance,

Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they

Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:

A poet could not but be gay,

In such a jocund company:

I gazed–and gazed–but little thought

What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie

In vacant or in pensive mood,

They flash upon that inward eye

Which is the bliss of solitude;

And then my heart with pleasure fills,

And dances with the daffodils.

 

William Wordsworth

 

 

How Do I Love Thee?

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height

My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight

For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.

I love thee to the level of every day’s

Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.

I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;

I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.

I love with a passion put to use

In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.

I love thee with a love I seemed to lose

With my lost saints, — I love thee with the breath,

Smiles, tears, of all my life! — and, if God choose,

I shall but love thee better after death.

 

Elizabeth Barrett Browning

 

And for a little contrast to the last, because the sickly sweetness of some love poems make me want to vomit:

 

SONNET 130

My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun;

Coral is far more red than her lips’ red;

If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;

If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.

I have seen roses damask’d, red and white,

But no such roses see I in her cheeks;

And in some perfumes is there more delight

Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.

I love to hear her speak, yet well I know

That music hath a far more pleasing sound;

I grant I never saw a goddess go;

My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:

And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare

As any she belied with false compare.

 

William Shakespeare

 

 

A Silly Poem

Said Hamlet to Ophelia,

I’ll draw a sketch of thee,

What kind of pencil shall I use?

2B or not 2B?

 

Spike Milligan

Enough

20 Mar

Enough

 

In the library and they’re holding hands

Nobody can see but they are

And that’s enough.

 

A smile shared between friends

But under the surface, simmering,

There’s something more.

 

Something hidden behind those glances

Something you can’t see, or won’t see,

Locked in their eyes.

 

Everything so simple when it’s hidden.

It’s enough that it is there. Enough.

No wanting more.

My Nothing

7 Mar

 

I can think of absolutely nothing to write

The page is empty

White.

Not a damn thing comes to mind

Not a word

Not a rhyme

Not a single utterance of which

Any useful lines could find

Somewhere, something to start from.

Weary… Annoyed… Tired…

Still no thoughts come

Not a word

Not a sound

Impatient click of fingers on desk

Taunting tick of the clock

Forever teasing

Forever laughing at

What?

My Nothing.

My page after page of Nothing.

Doubt : On God

1 Mar

Image

I’m not sure about anything anymore.

I feel like someone’s come along

And replaced the floor

With Jelly.

I feel like I’ve lost all stability

I feel like I’ve lost all the pieces of reality.

I don’t know anymore.

I just don’t know.

Perhaps I should have just let it go?

Perhaps it would be better to forget,

Better to pretend.

Put to an end

This doubt.

Doubt

That’s changed

Everything.

Perhaps it would be best

To put an end to this quest

To find truth? Any truth at all?

Perhaps it’s better to just let you fall.

In the guise of you

8 Feb

In the guise of you  

 

I’m scared of what I can do

When, in the guise of you,

I speak your words, drag them through

My soul, a mirror image

Of you, of your cold hard rage

That never existed save

In my own fearful, bitter

Imagination, which stirs

Like the near dying embers

Of burning branches cut from

The tree of life, of love, some

Hateful thoughts of you, of your

Smile – a grimace, a sour

Dead, empty glance. Please, no more.

 

 

 

*normally I wouldn’t post this, I’m not happy with it (am I ever happy with my poems? /sigh/) but I’m just so happy to have something down on paper!!!!!! 😀

 

I Wonder

25 Jan

I wonder

I wonder if we’ll ever have the chance

To ride a rainbow, as we used to say

We’d do. I wonder if we’ll ever climb,

To the top of the world in just a day,

Or build a rocket ship and sail off to

The moon. I wonder, will we ever see

a unicorn, a fairy or an imp?

Or will we ever get the chance to be

A ballerina and an astronaut?

A Princess and a prince? Will we ever

get to swing higher than the sky? Will we

ever make a song and dance together,

And prance through a garden of leprechauns?

Skip through a shimmering ring of fairies?

Play in a pot of Gold, clasping tightly

Each other’s hands? Climb up the trees,

Fly through the air, be monkeys for a while?

Whisper our secrets of such importance?

I wonder, will we ever finish our

Dig to china through the sand? Or balance

All our hopes on a tower of cards and

Watch with delight as it all tumbles down?

I wonder, will we ever read stories

About magic frogs and forgetful clowns?

Will we ever catch ourselves a pocket

Full of posies, a tiger by the toe?

Or will we one day find ourselves alone

And wondering ‘just where did it all go?’ 


							

To cut out my heart

8 Jan

To cut out my heart

I had this odd desire

To cut out my heart

Grind it to a powder

And sprinkle it in your tea.

I wanted you to taste

This wealth of love

I’ve got growing in me

Like a butterfly in a coccoon

Or a cancer in a festering sore.

This desire grew more

And more until I

Just couldn’t stop it. I

Had to do it, make you see.

I grabbed the sharpest knife

That was to hand,

And carved, Deeper and Deeper.

At first a shallow hole, but soon

It grew. More and More and More.

I wanted to take it

Out and crush it, then

Sprinkle each little drop,

Dissolve it, you wouldn’t see.

But you would taste it,

On your tongue as

You sipped it into you,

All my love, devotion, worship.

And so I pulled, I ripped and I tore

And I dug in my fingers

Racked my nails through skin

And muscles, and as I felt

That first beating rhythm in me

I clenched hard and pulled

And in my hand

I held my heart and wondered

At its weight, its size, its nothingness.

My heart, a blood filled muscle, nothing more

Than an empty sack. How

Could this hold such depth

Of feelings, captured so?

One cut, I set them free.

Stay with me through the night. *edited.

8 Jan

Stay with me through the night.

I’ve never felt more comfortable than

I do, wrapped soundly in your arms. Held tight

Against the suffocating darkness. Can

You stay here and hold me through the long night?

Will you stay here and fight the ghosts and ghouls

And memories that haunt me? Stay here with me

My darling, comforting me as sleep pulls

Me to its depth and takes me through a sea

Of dreams. Will you wait through my dreams, my dear?

Will you comfort me, love me, rescue me?

Will you be there to fight away the fear?

Will you stay with me, through the long, dark night?

Say you will, my sweet, hold me as I sleep

Or I shall be alone, and I shall weep.


**Guys, I’m really sorry to keep bombarding you all with poems! They just keeping falling out of my brain!

I miss you.

6 Jan

I miss you.

I miss you. Three simple words I use,

Meant to capture what is in my heart.

How inadequate they seem to me,

In the face of this misery tearing me apart.

Yet, how else can I describe to you

This gaping hole pulsing in my chest,

Crushing my lungs, suffocating me,

Every time I think of you? A smothering weight pressed

On my heart from inside out. Empty,

Growing, strong enough to paralyse

The beat in my chest. How can I tell

You of the catch in my breath, each time I glimpse your eyes

In the face of a stranger? How can

I explain the quiver of my lip

As I steal traces of your smell in

Anonymous crowds? Or the painful hopes that grip

Me when I see your smile shine out from

A sea of cold faces? When I hear

Your laugh ring through the empty silence

Of my room, or the roaring noise, abusing my ears

Of faceless nobodies? How do I,

With these useless, empty words, describe

The longing, the disappointment and

Pain that I can’t even begin to contemplate, let alone scribe

In my simple pen? How do I tell

How my own imagination has

Turned against me, feeding the black hole

Crushing my heart with thoughts of you, of your face,

Your eyes, your lips, your smile, everything?

How even my own subconscious mind

Is torturing me with images

Like my deepest desires are on a loop behind

My eyes, a constant motion each time

I lay my head upon my pillow,

An assault on my senses, and as

I awake and reach for you, my hand closing through

Nothing, I feel the pressure in my

Chest get stronger, as the thought of you

Builds with no release, save desperate tears

And a lonely whisper in the darkness. I miss you.