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Best Poems Written by Timmy Burchard

Below are the all-time best Timmy Burchard poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Acceptation, Part 2

I'm filled with anticipation, in a new location of accomodation. There cannot always be acceleration or innovation, some times you just need relaxation and rotation. So take note of this notation, my medication; we don't need sedation or starvation of recreation, only exploration of rejuvenation. In this globalization we need only collaboration and integration for a happier population. Motivation, to strive for gratification without hesitation. Toleration, not discrimination or examination of immigration. No more disinformation. Only communication.

We gave each other affirmation, but also forced limitation on our own equalization. Now it's time for emancipation, conciliation, elimination of indoctrination. This experimentation of stabilization was just an illustration of civilization, a pronunciation of dehumanization. The world needs no subordination or victimization, only representation of unification. Diversification, to strive for participation and cooperation. Celebration, not procrastination or cancellation of harmonisation. No more deprivation. Only acceptation.

We live in a world of normalization, fabrication, calculation of improvisation. Now we need concentration and visualization, revaluation of imitation. So listen to this formulation, compilation, my elaboration and articulation; we need realization, imagination, not standardization of variation. This is my education. End of communication.

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Acceptation, Part 1

Life, love and communication, this is something for every nation. It started with temptation and verification, but ended in complication. So listen to this declaration.

We gave each other inspiration, but also forced confrontation with our own situation. You have my admiration, but also my exclamation of condemnation. I've been on probation, negation, suspended animation, holding back this accusation of flirtation. My automation, caused the stagnation in our relation. One last conversation, ventilation, would be my liberation of this infestation of indignation. 

But I'm not gonna ask for comfortation, an explanation, a reason for separation. A confirmation of expiration, information or explication. I have my own meditation, salvation, a new foundation of my own creation. My frustration, agitation, my never-ending contemplation, is under restoration. No more manipulation, exaggeration or expectation; I'm done with argumentation, suffocation and speculation, this implication of obligation. This is my adaptation, transformation and reparation, my graduation from irritation. No more hibernation. Only acceptation.

This proclamation needs clarification: it's not a profanation or defamation; you still have all of my adoration and appreciation. I'm just finally taking vacation, with a newfound determination. We don't need justification or vindication, a modification or translation. We only need commemoration, to remember our sensation of elation. It was not a simulation, just pure stimulation, accumulation of exhilaration.

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Conform

It's a constant battle with oneself and society,
with a ridiculous amount of severe anxiety.
Why is it such a big priority,
to live in this world of propriety?

To get through life, you have to pay a fee.
Conformity, it's the one and only key.
You need the paper, you need the degree.
But what use is it, when you're not free?

To blindly follow what society ask of thee,
is something of a mystery to me.
Without the need to fit in, to just be,
should always be the greatest quality.

In this world there is so much variety,
but still, people look down on sobriety.
Who says they have the authority,
to judge another's personality?

Sadly, this is the ugly reality,
a world without equality.
Why is it such a big priority,
to live in this world of conformity?

What use is it, when you're not free?

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Different Rain

It's raining again.

It's a different rain, leaving a different stain.
It has left the plain, finding a new place to remain.
A new place to regain, that strength it want to retain.
It will never be the same, it will never ever be tame.

It has found a new game, with no need for fame.
It doesn't need a name, nor someone to blame.
It only needs to rain, to wash away the pain.
It will never ever refrain, from trying to make the world more sane.

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Every Day I Wonder

Every morning I wake up and I wonder, is this going to be the day?

It's been so long I've almost forgotten the feel of it. The sensation. The touch on your fingertips.
It's been so long I've almost forgotten how to do it. Do you use your hands? Do you use your legs?

Every morning I wake up and wonder, is this going to be the day? I look outside to get a feel of the day.



Is this finally going to be the day I get to put on shorts instead of trousers?

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Himself

He is his own best friend.

Everything he does he shares with himself.
He laughs with himself.
He cries with himself.
He enjoys life with himself.
He is bored with himself.

He can say good things to himself.
He can do new things with himself.
He can talk with himself.
He can stay up all night with himself.
He can write to himself.

But he is bored with himself.

No man is an island.

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Presence

It's always the worst in the mornings. Waking up, not seeing you there. You used to sleep so peacefully. You were protecting me during the day, I was protecting you during the night. When you were having a bad dream I would embrace you in my arms and you'd calm down right away. Who's protecting you now?

I tried so hard to make you see, to make you realize, before it was too late. I did my best to find the right words, the words that would make you understand. But you never did, or didn't want to, you were too stubborn. Just like me. And in the end, it was too late. Why couldn't I find the right words, why didn't you understand sooner?

I go to school, I go to work, managing to keep my focus elsewhere. Trying to be firm in my decision. But sometimes I remember you visiting me, remembering how you looked at me while I worked. I remember your words, and how they made me feel. How you made me feel safe. Who's protecting me now?

You tried so hard to understand, to make me realize that you understood. You did your best to find the right words, the one sentence to make it all so clear. To make me understand how you really feel. But your hunt for clarity backfired, I didn't understand. I was too stubborn, just like you. Why couldn't you find the right words, why didn't I understand sooner?

It's always the worst in the evenings. Going to bed, not seeing you there.

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More Rain

"The rain in Spain stays mainly in the plain"
So why does the plain rain down on Spain? Instead of going to the desert, the desert came here.
They say it only rains three times a year. Either they can't count, or they have a different understanding of the word rain. But yesterday it rained.
It rained dirt. It rained sand.

It rained blood.

Blood from the deserts of Sahara.
It doesn't matter if the wound travels to another location, the effect will still be the same.
It will hurt.
It will bleed.

The world is one and we are one. Distances don't matter. When the world hurts, we hurt. When the world bleeds, we bleed.

What happens in the desert, happens here.

That means that you don't have to be plain like the desert.
You don't have to rain like the sky.
You don't have to bleed like yesterday.

The world does that for you.
You don't have to do it as well.

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Rain

I sit on the train
seeing different landscapes
I think of the rain
and the planet of the apes
I see your face
and miss the place
where I first learned
your name

There's nothing to gain
from when one just contemplates
because that brings pain
emotions that complicates
still hear your voice
above the noise
won't you please speak
your name


I hope it's intact
that strong impact
we made on each other
you made me react
and here's a fact
I don't want another

Your name
is Spain
and I miss your rain.

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Suspended

She's been suspended, put on hold.
For some reason, she decided to fold,
to disappear, to follow the mold.
That world, seemed slightly less cold.

But it wasn't her, it wasn't true.
That world, is much too askew.
Certain of this, she always knew,
in the future, she'd have to pull through.

Now she's back, the world hasn't changed.
there's much to be done, it's still deranged.
at least now, it's slightly less estranged,
because she hasn't remained unchanged.

So much to be done, in so little time,
to flee again, would be the greatest crime.
To rid the world, of all the grime,
she's doing it, through the use of rhyme.