Best Blurred Poems
I look forward,
I see the long road ahead,
I find myself walking on and on,
I have gone so far now,
Scared to turn back to my old life,
I have left my home,
I am on the long journey ahead,
Fortune teller give me my fortune,
Dont be scared to tell the truth,
Look closely now,
Look at this palm,
She cant quite see the long journey ahead,
She looks up with a smile,
She saw my future,
Just a glimps,
She see's happiness,hope,love,
I feel safe,
She also says be carefull for one man is evil,
One man is good,
Choose the right one,
Your path is joy,
Choose the wrong one....
There will be no future
I wake up but I can't see
Everything is blurry
Life is not what it used to be
Beyond the silence a little girl cries
As all faith is taken
Broken into piece's, never to be found
He taste's her innocence along the softness of his tongue
He smiles with delight
As his desire is pleased
This man is evil, his blackened soul hollow
He shows no sympathy upon his victim
Quiet he say's don't say a word
This is our little secret
Words of pure darkness, words of hurt, beyond such pain
I listen and obey with vision of hope & faith among the blurred
For I am only eight and feel I'm going insane
Can't anybody tell how much I have changed
His filth is all over me, can't you smell
My hands are bleeding with pleasing
Why
Why me
Is there really any hope as my faith fades
This monster won't let me be
Every night I am forced to touch and taste
Such a weapon of disgrace
My tears fall endlessly, I moan from sorrow
Shaking and freighted to my core, I don't want to do this anymore
But he is not leaving this house, nor am I
I am, stuck here, because my mother loves him
I want to tell her, scream at her
I want her to see
See I am no longer the little girl I used to be
Is it me who's vision is blurred
A question I'll never understand
I am a victim now, forever he will have his way
Will I ever grow up
What will become of me, can I ever heal the damage
Will I ever see clear again, I am afraid of all of thee
Though I am empty to the absolute abyss of my soul
I make a promise to myself, never to carry his load
For all I see through this blurred vision
A little girl all of eight holding onto the sight of hope & faith.
© Copyright kerry singleton
The lines between
imagination and reality
are blurred.
Focus -
and they join
to create a
harmonious view.
Love is neither blurred nor blind,
It only leaves the bad and bitter behind;
And focuses on fate and the future to find
That it was not a mistake you made up your mind.
Love is neither blurred nor blind,
A coat with curative colors… not in cash but kind;
Wielding wonderful words where woes wind,
So big, bold, bright and beautiful… beatitudes bind.
Love is neither blurred nor blind
Gathering goodies, galls and gross to grind;
Round and round with red roses… a romantic rind;
Under an unbiased umbrella, unshaken umpires unwind.
Love is neither blurred nor blind,
It only leaves the bad and bitter behind;
Wielding wonderful words where woes wind,
Under an unbiased umbrella, unshaken umpires unwind.
I have been through
mad different journeys
finding my way
I know happy days
are not faraway
if I'm strong enough
to see my kids
do something more constructive
with their time than me
I know
because I've been there
I'm sitting back
and looking of how I got here
first came the drama
with my estranged mother
so, I left and told myself
I'm going to be that seed
that don't need much to succeed
I'm a unique breed
I have a heart that doesn't bleed
already for the world that I thought I was
back in 2003 when I caught a bus
I was thinking about how short I was
going too fast
it wouldn't last
and I could not tell
I found love
in an institution
I wasn't fully prepared
for the task at and so I failed
putting me in a situation
forcing me to be a man
when I just understood
a little to be a helping hand
damn I wonder why
my father just left
when my grandmothers
chased him away
I wonder did he leave without a fight
without protest?
does he think about me at night
that isn't the half
stuff got worse as I got older
actions became bolder
my heart grew colder
I didn't need a clique
because I didn't trust people that much
I used to drink and have nice times
just to get by
I want to write a book
but I'm so messed up...
To wake up early, happily merged with morn,
while feeling pep rushes sun-energy surged,
was to feel my eager heart joys fully merge
with each new rising ray brightly incurred.
Early mornings held no unreasonable stress -
in fact, I danced right into my dress or pants.
When motherhood arrived, I was morn-cuffed to
unyielding, demanding and hectic schedules
that blurred morning glee out of sight from me.
My heart still holds fine love for early time zeal
and remembers their fueling, exciting strums.
(Apropos of Hughes’s Proverbial Question)
What happens when rotten strange fruit…
Hanging from trees of auction block wood
Become stinking pieces of black flesh…dried blood
Putrefying in murderous streets…?
When crystallized tears of remorse…Laden and loaded
With explosive grief…flow down weary faces
Wrinkled by time’s trials, tribulations…treacherousness—
And neglect of freedom, justice and equality
All become like inconsequential sunned raisins and festering sores…?
When visions of deferred dreams become blurred realities—
Fogged by the steam of volcanic anger—Pray tell…What happens?
Pray tell…What happens? And then what?—Pray tell!
"A malicious war carried out
on the innocent
in lies
that has disseminated their cities."
Quote_by Poet
Early dawn while people slept,
heavy missiles rocket launched
the violent attack came
in waves of mass artillery fire.
Homes and buildings up in smoke
destroyed in quick succession
leaving pile of rubble and
people fleeing yelling and in pain.
Families, young and old ran
or crawl for their lives weeping
in the streets, as some are struck
down, some help each other to safety.
Others killed in their last tracks.
Rescuers search for bodies
of the missing in the shards.
A fight that was not equal in strength.
3/20/2022
Is Truth The First Casualty Of War And Why Is That
Sponsored by: Sotto Poet
Lind30nr
7779 unrhyme
using How Many Syllables Counter
Ahh to let emotions
wash over me
Happened so fast
yet so far away
Being left to live
in my own reality
The price my fragile
heart had to pay
When touched by
the silvery moon
Allowing his beam
to caress my face
As he told me perhaps
it was too soon
Engulfing me in his
soft warm embrace
Colorful fireworks
burst in the skies
As all others watched
them in awe
When glistening tears
fell from my eyes
While a blurred beauty
was all that I saw
8/1/2020
The lines are blurred when blended
I know first hand that govenment grilled cheese sandwiches
are delicious as I shared them with Phillup my best friend,
black as night and true as time...he was my ace
His mother, my godmother Lucille, chased us out to play
in streets equal parts innocent and villainous
Street kids busted hydrants in blazing summer days
we ran through the water blasting sideways cooly
There was no race-hate-ignorant-violence
Black and White children playing with only the care
of our next adventure and the dread of a setting sun
All poor, all struggling, all trying to get by
lines were blurred and blended splendidly
playing a Guns N Roses tape for Lucille
as she laughed at the wailing voice
shaking her wise head saying "Here honey"
...."Listen" replaced with Otis Redding
the pain and passion in his voice
hung in the hot air adding to the summer soundtrack
I moved to a whiter and "higher" place
better schools and cleaner streets
the children echoed their parents ignorant
hate filled diatribe...Ni**er this and Ni**er that...
...I visited Phillup as he moved to a rougher hood
the children echoed their parents ignorant
hate filled diatribe...Honkey this and Honkey that...
Not one of those knowing the other...the lines
clear and defined. Seperate and scornful
...I miss that beautiful blurred time in my life
...I wish everyone knew such a place existed
I wrote this as a letter of encouragement to my nephew who loves to paint
but doubts his ability. He is quite good for such a young age.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
The young artist was painting down by the lake for hours.
and was very pleased with this work in water colors his favorite medium.
Just as he was adding the finishing brush strokes there was a sudden downpour
and he was unable to get himself or his work to shelter fast enough.
The canvas got wet now all he had to show for his time and effort was
a pretty colored blur on canvas that looked nothing like he intended at all.
Feeling a bit sad he let it dry but rather than paint over it he chose to
keep and display it prominently in his studio as a reminder for himself alone.
Now that painting which he had finally titled “Blurred Vision”
sat on the side table right next to the studio door.
A reminder that he could have gotten angry and let himself
feel that he had wasted all that time he had put into his art that day.
Or brood over the paint he may have felt he had wasted as well as
the framed canvas. You invest more than time in your art.
visitors to his studio would notice the painting as they turned to leave and
some would ask “what am I supposed to see here?”
“what ever you like, it’s art.” was his usual reply.
When asked “what is this?” He replied “That was my best art lesson.”
A good many years have passed since that wet day and every time he goes out of doors
to paint, perhaps by the lake as is his custom he is happy that he chose to keep that
little reminder sitting there on the side table by the studio door because it makes him
smile to remember a beautiful day along time ago of time well spent doing what he loves
to do and not to forget the umbrella
Just as we are, we were made to be
Straight ties, ironed shirt and no sense of
identity.
Who are they, they asked
Are they sooted white or just black as
snow.
They talk as would an aristocrat but yet
that hair betrays them.
Pitted deep in their heart was a sense of
longing but neither could they share their
earnest hope, to them it was a ragged
belief.
Faith was always an unspoken ethic of
their courage. They told them " In order to
grow you must cut at the base"
The thing they would fail to realise, bearer
than fiction, was their true voice. The voice
that told them the clothes they wore were
of alien decent. The Suit they prefer most
was of the barest cut.
Who decided against my choices? I left
bread for you and yet only the flour
mattered as if only you could eat the flour.
Must not the flour be moulded first to form
you bread. Why is it then that I have
become the leaven in my progression.
Until the concluding of my affairs I will not
find understanding of what They culture.
We missed Paramount Ave.
We go straight into a lane of downright bafflement
We meet again—on the wrong time
We arrived an hour late…great job…
We go straight into Studebaker—what a moment
We meet again—on the right time!
When Truth Is So Blurred (Didactic Poetry)
When Truth is so blurred and diluted
Stand strong, declare it, hold your head up high.
Though men may change and their minds polluted
Remain with Truth and never ever live a lie.
When those that rule negate what's true on earth,
And sway those governed with their falsehood as laws,
Resolve to fight for Truth for all that it's worth,
To stand for one's values is a righteous cause.
The silent will never speak out what is true,
In complacent comfort they prefer to bow.
Their nation soon falls, they know not what to do,
For truth tells us this - we reap what we sow.
Cynthia Buhain-Baello~~~~02.21.16
what now is truly possible in my life
after the impossible shows her true colours
to lose sight of you and your magic lens
so shortly after you have come into view
i cannot feel your aura anymore
my pain within has taken me to my knees
my eyes cannot see and i can barely breath
begging you please just turn around
i cannot feel my heart or soul
this wound cuts to deep to the marrow
your legacy is a scar that will never heal
the pain will never cease
i have tried to find the words
to be allowed a gentle surrender
to find a way beyond
the reach of the memory of you
an impossibility to be sure
lost footsteps searching to find
a mia culpa retreat sans honour
yearning to find a solitary empty space
far and away…out of focus
to let my broken soul
mend within the eye of the storm
IRISH