Best Drag Out Poems
Darling—
You strung together useless trinkets of imagination,
And pinned me up inside your head.
With dreams that stalked me across the night,
But were too big to drag out of bed.
You clung to the savior you rashly mistook in me,
Like a lover clings to her dead.
When I never meant a single word,
Of whatever I might have said.
Verily, I wasn’t rummaging for anything at all;
I certainly wouldn’t have begun in you.
The god you saw, I have seen, as well,
But only in the self I pursue.
And so I rose from shards of the mirror,
And snatched away from your fussy little hand.
For as I slept beside you, I slept nonetheless alone,
In a dream you could never understand.
I never used you because you were useless,
Never belonged to you because I don’t belong.
Couldn’t fulfill my emptiness with your own,
And could only pretend for so long.
But now I can’t gouge you out from within me,
From a place that never was there.
From a bottomless, unquenched solitude,
In which you simply could not fare.
What you wanted to see wasn’t in me;
I can’t give you what you think you need.
We’re ever alone, yet we try to outnumber our loneliness,
When in turning inward, we are freed.
We read about the slaughter in a place far overseas,
where the multicultural blending has been there for centuries.
Where church of all denominations have been standing side by side.
Where neighbours have been neighbourly; respect seemed to abide.
Seems that politics and power can infiltrate a settled mind;
dig up and open wounds of what is yours and what is mine,
take citizens back into time and drag out all their roots …
be wary of your ogre neighbour, they have a gun that shoots.
Begin to see those simple folk who lived their simple lives,
follow restlessly and blindly as belief or race revives,
those that helped them yesterday really had a cunning plan,
all they really wanted was, to find a way to cut you down.
Throw them all out on the streets; run them out of town.
Ethnic cleanse the country to make it pure and sound.
If they refuse to leave our home and opt to make a stand -
build a force of vigilantes, to roam and cut them down.
What started as a trickle soon turns into a flood.
The cup that fills with honey can also be filled with blood.
The taste that once was bitter now is the taste that's lusted for,
when seeking out the enclaves to go killing more and more.
A house, once a home of peace stands a shattered monument,
to let the remnants hanging on know what to expect.
Heads displayed on pikes are cheered; graves hold hundreds more.
Babes are sport for bayonets; forgot is what we're fighting for.
Can't live side by side now; there's too much terror going on.
Battle lines are clearer; the sane have taken leave and gone.
Cannons roaring day and night; lines must stand holding fast.
For anyone that's over-run, that day becomes their last.
When the dust has settled and the criminals are hung,
Hate subsides back to the memory; the clean-up has begun.
Do we realize as bloodstains fade; we have a deep rooted call …
needing one spark to set us off - there could be murder in us all.
Time has come
For me to put paper to pen,
Or is it pen to paper?
If I put paper to pen
Is it on top or down below?
If I put pen to paper
Which direction does it go?
I opt for the one
Where I sit down to write,
Not the one
Where I stand on my head all night.
If I can't figure this out real soon
I fear my poetic days are doomed.
Looks like there's only one way to win
I'll drag out my typewriter
And start over again.
Every time she sees him all she can see is pain.
Over something she would love to have,
but could never gain.
She could be happy,
but only for a short time.
It never takes long with her for someone to cross the line.
Between happiness and revenge,
between love and hate.
She will stay with him,
but only to **** up his fate.
She is so good at it,
trust me you will get hit.
She does everything perfect,
she pulls you in.
Every guy is the same to her,
I promise she will win.
The shattered promises,
the perfect lies.
She keeps going till everything in you dies.
She could lie to you and never miss a pace,
she could do it staring you directly in the face.
She will drag out the pain,
you better believe she will.
It's going to take some time for this one to heal.
She will make toy despise everything she has ever done.
You will second guess every woman after her,
now she has won.
Get a grip,
and get it fast.
Good luck,
I hope you last.
When I imagined what it would
be like to be a writer,
I saw myself hunched over a
typewriter with bourbon on the
rocks sweating a ring onto my desk.
I could smell the ink on my fingers
and feel the burn of alcohol in my gut
and hear the keys clapping, a standing ovation
for the poor sad boy who wrote wings onto
his back and flew away from the red mud county.
But it's quiet here.
I sit alone at my desk and I reach into my guts
and I grab fistfuls of blood and viscera
and the keys don't move
I choke up the rage my father left in me
and the keys don't move
I cut out the fear my mother so lovingly placed
and the keys don't move
I drag out every black eye, bloody nose, and split lip I ever earned, every fight I lost, every single argument I had, every sunset I was a brother beneath, every truck cab I ever fell in love in and
THE KEYS DO NOT MOVE
Rubbing boys shoulders with sunburn oil. The sun smiles at the pain, the brush of fingers against raw flesh. But like a war wound, those boys be proud. Offer them a salve and they scoff, don’t need that stuff. Head back to the beach. Nudge them with a board and a wave, and they take off, up to their knees, casting themselves into the sea. Cheeks and hairlines have enemies, but the boys will wait for the tan that turns them brown, puffed up, back to tell the tales to jealous schoolmates.
They won’t speak of palm trees, nor the hot sand; perhaps they will not even remember what to say, until a prompt. Perhaps they won’t shut up about the knock down, drag out fights with the ebb and flow of riptides.
They might not remember the food that filled their empty bellies, but they enjoyed each bite of burgers at Ford’s Garage in the oldest city in America. I heard from an eyewitness that it has ghosts, the city, not this particular haunt.
Packed like fish, we headed to Florida, having to use one of the back seats for the overflow of things. My oldest grandson had to endure his seat, likened to a ball turret gunner. But this pubescent heartbreaker, though cramped, loved the isolation.
Speed traps, speedy biker, ear-splitting emergency vehicles, pelicans;
and a swift breeze upon a chilly-sunburn covered up with a soft blanket and cozied up to grandma (of course this is the nine year old).
Trip back as the GPS constantly pushed us farther from home, not in miles but in minutes and hours. But the miles moved quicker than a remembered icestorm where I couldn’t get home (only 10 minutes away), so like all long travel, the kids got their first taste, and survived.
So much to say, but signing off…
There can be tossing and turning and a sleepless night...
Just mentally preparing for the next days fight.
But we love these kids what more can I say...
Life as a teacher provides an interesting day.
There is spitting and cursing and yelling too...
There is pure terror in the parking lot if you're new.
But we love these kids what more can I say...
And for our kids, our pain and suffering will pay off some day.
So we drag out of bed and put a smile on our face...
We want to make a good impression when we enter this place.
We cover our backs as we survive the day...
And we all know that we earn our pay.
Years from now when the movie is here...
We'll sit together and point and cheer.
I love you teachers and I'll miss you so...
And I'll cherish our memories wherever I go.
You'll always be in my thoughts and prayers until the day I die..
And when I stop to remember our experiences I'll pause and cry.
Years from now when these kids are grown...
Let us pray and believe, as a team, good positive seeds have been sown.
TK<
Each year when the summer is nigh
I drag out my planters and buy
Some flowers to plant
But somehow I can't
Make them grow, though I really do try.
I gently tamp down all the soil.
With watering, I am quite loyal.
While others' plants thrive
Mine are barely alive;
All my efforts Ma Nature does foil.
Still, just planted they look pretty good.
If they lasted, the way that they should,
I'd be shocked as they come
'Cause my never-green thumb
Would have done what I'd hoped that it would.
DRY THOUGHTS
blue mists drag out lakes
packs of past wolves
provide evidence
pointing to
double suicide
that never gets restored
entirely
ladders and paintpots
crawl through present
hardware
nailed to the edifice
of yesteryear
the termites
fail to notice
that I was their
flowerpot
© Kim van Breda—6 October 2015
one moment at a time
two seconds pass by
three thoughts in my head
four times I click my pen
five minuites drag out
six carpet panels
seven. sounds like heaven
eight, not hungry but thank you
nine, what is the time?
ten musles twitching
eleven beats pulsing in my head
twelve voices haunting me
thirteen the age it started
fouteen days untill I went mad
fifteen people to hold me down
sixteen, my age now
seventeen days of solitary
eighteen years would've been freedom
nineteen seconds changed me
twenty links in the chain holding me together
twenty-one ways to regret life
twenty-two reasons to give up
twenty-three celing squares
twenty- four hours a day,
~Now what can I say,
~so they think I'm okay
~I'll even follow their way.
twenty-five lines on a page
twenty-six doctors rushing around
twenty-seven pills failed
twenty-eight times restrained
twenty-nine days untill I give up.
Thirty seconds untill next shot
~How many have they caught?
~Whats the number of times I've fought?
~When rest is all I've saught.
Thrity-o...o...one more breaths
Thirtyy_Two, shiny lights
tHirty_thr3e, so sleepy
ThIrTy... flower... i mean four
~Can I take much more?
~let me out the door.
~I havent been bad.
~just some fun I had
_Sleep claims my eyes
_doctors scrible on their pads
_dream are welcomed in to haunt me
_I fight the screams
_more notes scribbled
I
loose
the
little
sanity
I
had
left
while
their
needles
never
stop
Count down, they say
I count again.
One more round of pain
Two more people helped
three times the effort
four more tests
five more pills
six new rooms
seven more lies
eight apologies roll out of my lips
nine more reasons to give in to the dark
ten shaky fingers of death wrap around my neck
~I breath in
~ I let it out
~~All of it
~~~All of it
-^--^v---^v----^v-----^v--^v_____________________________
~Freedom at last
What is Christmas about anyway?
What does it all mean this happy holiday?
Some guy up North is laughing at us,
Ho Ho Ho!
Oh by jingle, bring out old Chris Kringle,
To light up every lawn on the block.
Put aside those Christmas blues,
Instead lets decorate,
Keeping our spirits lite,
With decorations delights.
Don't you remember cold winter
Nights?
Hanging a hundred strains, of
Decorative multicolored lights.
After all your hard work,
One bulb, just flickers,
Then without warning,
It goes out completely.
Deck those halls, drag out the,
Holly, put up the mistletoe by golly.
Let us welcoming a new tradition,
Started by the baby boom generation.
Black Friday's shopping extravaganza,
Which begins at the crack of dawn.
Brave souls camping out, huddled together,
Just to save a dollar.
Frozen gnomes, with coffee cups held tightly,
Standing in a everlasting line,
Patiently, waiting for the doors to finally open.
After arriving home, grateful it's all over.
Then realizing it's time, to do all the
Joyous wrapping.
So open the eggnog, pour me a glass,
I'll drink it down in celebrations repast.
Bring on the turkey with sides galore,
Shall we not feast until theirs no room for more.
But really to me it's all about a time long ago,
In a manger far away, beneath a shinning star,
Here a tiny baby was born,
And he smiled at mankind's world.
Family, loved ones gathered near,
Hearts in hand.
Embracing each other with happiness,
Love and good cheer.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
THE LAW OF EVERYTHING & THE POWER OF INFLUENCE
Changing the world for a better ever more
A higher state of being, to become, to adore
Conscious awareness guides you to reality
A vision of truth, with harmonious clarity
Time speeding up
The next level of our evolution
Become the change you want to see in the world
In Mahatma Gandhi’s wise words, you’ll find the solution
The Law of everything and the Power of Influence
IS The Law of Attractions missing link
Who or what you’re influenced by
Blossoms the thoughts that you think
For as a man thinketh, so he becomes with out doubt
Ask yourself this, what are you thinking about?
You’re trying to live the Law of Attraction
You’re having the thoughts, then taking the action
But it just doesn’t work; you’re not getting the gist
Do you want to know why?
There’s something you’ve missed!
Who or what you’re influenced by, is no coincidence
It’s the law of everything, and the power of influence
Self influence, the missing link, for your dreams to come true
You’re creating your life, life does not create you
Be consciously aware, be love, always in the moment of NOW
Tunnel your vision with blinkers that’s how
Be your own greatest influence, for there lays your power
Drag out from your depths, your greatest desires
Any one or thing can influence you
It is your choice, yes your choice, of the thoughts you let through
You must lovingly act the part in your life’s play
Every hour every minute consciously, all day
You are the master of your mind
It is YOU, who is the answer to peace on earth for mankind
The End of an era, a new beginning in time
A conscious awareness that is so sublime
Our thoughts are vibrations
Attracting thought seeds that we sow
Do you get the gist now, let the negative go!
We are stuff made of stars, cosmic vibrations
Your thoughts are energy that vibrate your creations
Tap into the universal mind,
Love, peace, and joy you will find
Inspiration, let it shine through you
For as you shine, the world will too!
Influence yourself, a great decision
A united world
A beautiful Vision
I feel like I am bleeding on the inside.
I can’t drive down the highway without my thoughts replaying your words.
How dare you assume I would wander away,
So you wandered away in a preemptive strike.
You killed us
And dumped me into the ‘friend zone’.
“I miss you,” I say.
“There is nothing to miss,” you say.
I cannot battle indifference.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
More bleeding on the inside.
You were the one who first came to me
Begging me to take you into my life
Asking for my trust
Hanging out where I hang out.
Now I feel like I’m trying to hang on to a ghost.
And I bleed inside
Dying a little more each day
Bleeding in places no one can see
I’d rather have a drag out fight
With yelling and swearing rather than this
This insipid ghosting of emotions
I say I should leave you alone and stop torturing you
You tell me I am only torturing myself
I see I cannot torture a heart that is already dead to me.
in every serious human idea
presented to the world as an engagement with it
there is an unavoidable lacking in meaning
which becomes left behind in the womb
like a stillborn freak of words
sticking in the mire of that amorphous sludge
of unutterable intuitions and emotions,
the uniqueness of personality,
from which it originates.
ponder this:
yes, in every serious human idea
presented to the world as an engagement with it
something dire is lost,
even has to become lost:
drag out - isolate - the flash of genius from the complex electricity of personality;
define it with language; compromise as to make it as commonly understandable as possible,
and it too shall die;
every idea that is born out of the genuinety of individuality,
having been ouroborically fostered, nurtured by it,
but has shifted into depending essentially on the mechanisms of the outside
and its automation with the social machinery of communication
as a measure of involuntary and instinctual endurance in order to thrive in continuity,
shall wither with the systems of socialization on whose waves it floats,
for they can not be of eternal substance; they too
are aghast by the wraith of ominous impermanence
haunting and spooking like acoustic feedback all around,
bouncing, looping
in the rehearsal room of eschatorchestra, the final and ultimate end,
with which the idea in itself has become inseparable.
She lays in bed and wipes the tears
From her eyes
Her lips are raw and puffed up
She plays her music really loudly
So she can try and feel nothing.
Sad and lonely
She always seems so hollow and scared to
Sleep afraid that she
Won't wake up tomorrow.
And what do you do?
When no one listens to you
And bruises turn to scars
And you feel that hope is lost.
The world is closing in
And you're losing all your friends
Feel so helpless because the war
Inside is endless.
No matter what you say
How many times you proved
You'd go that extra mile
They never believed in you.
Never good enough
They wanna take away
What made you
And break you
Down.
And what do you do?
When no one listens to you
And bruises turn to scars
And you feel that hope is lost.
The world is closing in
And you're losing all your friends
Feel so helpless because the war
Inside is endless.
The dark and endless nights
The knockdown drag out fights
Countless screaming matches in
Between the singing of lullibies.
She has no more strength
Its been taken all away
She wants to run so far
But it always ends the same.
And what do you do?
When no one listens to you
And bruises turn to scars
And you feel all hope is lost.
Losing all your friends
Drowning feeling helpless
The war inside your mind
Is endless.
She puts her headphones in
She plays her music way to loud
So she can drown out the fighting
Of her parents
Going at it again now.
Its happened so many times before
She always ignored it until
She found her mother
Face down upon the floor.
And what do you do?