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Best Hermit Poems | Poetry

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The Best Hermit Poems

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Sand Dollar Dreams

It's quiet here - quiet in a way that catches me off guard. The tranquility is almost tangible, something I can touch and hold and wrap around myself. I can hear the pulse of faraway waves, the faint hum of the wind, the nonsensical call of distant seagulls. I can hear my own heartbeat, pounding along with the waves. 

As I kick off my sandals, my spirit steps out of my body, leaving behind the material baggage of city life. The sand is soggy beneath my feet and I know my footprints will disappear when the sea rises, as if I were never here at all. 

It's low tide, that magical time when the sea recedes to reveal the ocean floor. Grooves of sand catch pockets of water that are half-buried mirrors, reflecting pale blue sky and slices of violet sunlight that glitter like chipped diamond. 

a vocal seagull descends toward liquid skies – reflections ripple
At low tide, a second beach emerges, stretching all the way across the bay to the opposite shore. I walk slowly, tasting salt on the breeze as it runs invisible fingers through my hair. Strands sweep across my face, catching in my eyelashes before fluttering free once more. The beach is a dream catcher, snagging small treasures when the sea withdraws. And I am a child again, fascinated by the hermit crab retreating into his shell as I approach. I spot the dimpled surface of an urchin’s shell peeking out from wrinkled sand. Other shells are scattered across the beach, some upside down, exposing smooth, pearly souls.
a tiny starfish drifts beneath placid water – lost constellation
When I find a sand dollar, my breath catches. It’s perfectly whole, with smooth, rounded edges and clean, ivory skin. It’s heavy and light all at once, the flawless design at its center subtle and brilliant, like a delicate floral tattoo. How many hours had I spent here as a child, searching for this transitory coin? My eyes fill with unexpected tears as my vision wavers behind distorted pools of grief. I’m half-blind until I blink, releasing salty rivers down my cheeks. Even then, my sight is murky. My tears taste like the ocean and I think, suddenly: Whose tears fill the sea? Written: November 4, 2015 For Charlotte's "Creative Haibuns" Contest

Copyright © Heather Ober | Year Posted 2015

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Perhaps not the Mountain

Perhaps not the Mountain -

Perhaps even not the lone hermit, atop said mountain...
sitting as still as tea leaves, left in their jar.

Perhaps not the Mountain.
So unneedful of needs.
Of deeds.

Now moving as imperceptibly, as slowly, as wakefully
as the ‘still’ tea leaves, damp on the saucer;
unfolding like mornings in morning’s new light.

Perhaps not the Mountain.
So unmindful of mind.
Of mankind.

Perhaps not the birds, resting in nooks in rookeries
by snow lines and greenlines. 
Perhaps not the lizard or sheep,
one sharp-edged like the low-edges of shiftrock,
the other white-topped like lost-edge of the hightop.

Perhaps not the leopard, rare as the swear
from the hermit; still stretching...
out her morning.

Perhaps none know the mountain
is a slow wave
of Earth.

A Slow Wave

come crashing 
    so slowly into
shallower Earth.

A great primeval upheaval.

Copyright © Stephe Watson | Year Posted 2018

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Seat of kings

A stone round standing fortress crowns forever beauty
The name translated to english Grianan means sunny spot or sun temple
The land bows down inspirational the view 
seat of the high kings dating back to 1700 B.C
Overlooking Lough Swilly and Lough Foyle
Eogháin, after whom Inishowen is named
was baptised at Grianán by St. Patrick
where they imposed Patrick's rule 
Eoghan was a leader of the Ui Néill's 
the northern clan descended from Niall of the Nine Hostages 
Eoghan began a dynasty that brought forth the High Kings of Ireland 
for more than 500 years
our crowned jewel rings in the heart of Donegal

High up on a massive hilltop
it was a place of sun worship 
or the place of hibernation of Gráine
a Celtic sun-goddess

In Celtic mythology Grainne was the sister of Aine 
goddess of the sun, and though Grainne was known as goddess of corn 
or grain (springs from the earth after being nurtured by the sun)
both sisters are said to have been birthed by a sunbeam or “of the sun

There is also a tradition that the temple was built by Daghdha 
the good god or god of the earth 
He was known as the King of the Tuatha dé Danann
a race of supernatural beings descended from the Goddess Danu
They inhabited Ireland before the Celts
This tradition has Daghda building the fort to protect the grave of his son
A variation tells of giants building the hill and the Grianán on top a residence 
for the shining ones who gave birth to the children of the sídhe
All of these traditions link the hill and the fort on top with supernatural beings
to unseen energy and power and a link to the Otherworld

With one breathtaking scene 
overlooking spanning miles awestruck
sweeping below beautiful country side our forty shades 
of emerald green jewel of Ireland 

From inside outwards the pen flows golden precious
Here stands a kingdom 
dating back to a time of tuatha de danann
one dynasty sings over centuries
Legend states that the giants of Inishowen are lying sleeping 
but when the sacred sword is removed
they will spring to life reclaiming their ancient lands

Our ancient ring stone clad fort in Irish folklore sings
One such tale relates that Niall Frasach
he was born when these freasa or showers fell 
honey silver and blood
A high-king of Ireland 

Son of Fergal mac Maolduin 
Brother of Aodh Allan 
It is said that, when a famine occurred
they carried off by force the one cow 
that the solitary hermit of that church had 
the hermit cursed the king and his host
there was an earthquake 
people devoured one another there at this time

A great cow-plague existed
he prayed and the famine was lifted
with showers of food and silver falling from heaven. 
(High King of Ireland 743-770 AD)
to me it stands out one fort in a test of time 

On a clear day one can see five of the nine counties of Ulster 
from Grianán's parapets.
A truly magical wonder to behold
still standing in our midst 
sings enchanting sweet beautiful 
magical music to this heart

Copyright © liam mcdaid | Year Posted 2015

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Our Education's Who We Are

Our Education's Who We Are
By Franklin Price

Our education's who we are
And in what we do believe
How we deal with our emotions
How we give and we receive

Education shows the way
From the first breath to the last
Look to learning from the future
While remembering the past

When you're meeting someone new 
Choose carefully your words
Education may not be the same
May think your thoughts are for the birds

When in doubt just listen
Words work when moving either way
There are many lessons to be learned
When we hear what others have to  say

None of us knows everything
Please consider this next thought 
Sometimes we are the teacher
At other times we are the taught

The trick is in determining
Which we are and when
To use our mouths or use our ears
When to stop or to begin

When we no longer listen
Think ours is the only voice
It's time to be a hermit
So others may rejoice

Copyright © Franklin Price | Year Posted 2016

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The Broken Urn

Eyes flared in agitation
Damasked in utmost lament
The tyrants laughed in vanity
Remains of his mother lie still
As if the winds were holding their breath
The urn cracked and cold as night
Alone, the eyes softened
His heart a hermit of radiance 
Temples tingled as silence stayed
The unprofaned laughter now ash-shamed
Hot tears of fervor reduced their pig-headed ways
He kneeled to his mother as they gazed
In the urn she no longer cried
Even in the urn did she not abide

April 28, 2014

Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2014

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Swimming With Ava~

Sinking pearls of stone, in an obligatory skip
before the plunge
Haloing the horizon in silver riddles
and the earth is still.
No tides to bite the green watered breath.
No new moons eclipsed by the earth's turn to greatness.
And we laugh.
Laugh in salty brine and cosmos air.
Following the stone's tunnels in a dive into the blue.
Capturing smoothness of hair and palms.
Breaking the evening ocean floor in rhythm
as we catapult to surface calm.
Silver tipped fish wings scatter in water rings.
Algae backed hermit crabs skitter on crackling legs.
And we are the epitome of glee tonight with a fist full of ocean
and two thirds of a wish never ending.

Copyright © Tatyana Carney | Year Posted 2006

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Pour Anything Into My Jar But Your Love Song

I shall not fear of parching for your drop or two is enough
Even a tear would quench more than my lip, my soul
Cry me thrice, laugh me once
Leap more, tiptoe less
Break this earthen vessel if you wish
Just don’t leave a love song behind
For it will just maim a hollow tune
Like a broken violin in incandescent moon
Or a lone shell perpetually humming  
The melody of his unmet clam or hermit.

Copyright © Glenn Sentes | Year Posted 2012

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Greatest news ever

Just landed in my ears
just dazzled my mind 
my local political head 
I was talking to him today
Lord you send such a beautiful messages to me
the past couple of days 
I suggested a gift from God
that his great light shone over me
In reverence to Our Most Holy Spirit
telling him my great news 
Now he has said 
that he will do everything in his power
To get me published wow stunned 
I was hearing hearing his pride in me
Its like coming out of a cave 
alone as a hermit in the mountains
Now I have found peace
In love everything shines so bright
Thank you Lord and master 
for showing me and helping me see 
to draw in your light
I even mentioned getting my lonely prayer
for Christmas donated to the church of granite 
In the shape of a crucifix 
whom my grandfather help build
A cross pointing to Heaven
Golden guilded to the house off God

Copyright © liam mcdaid | Year Posted 2014

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he found his love in deep water

he found his love in deep water

there she was a roasted beauty queen lying on the beach
he moved towards her, inch by inch and then he met her reach
she came out of her shell
and that broke the spell
perfect, she was a hermit too living on rock bottom's breach

connie pachecho


Copyright © connie pachecho | Year Posted 2017

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Mrs. Brown You've Got A Lovely Jewel There!!

Mrs. Brown you've got a lovely jewel there,
Jewels like her are something rare...
She can't  disguise it,
Ruby's red eyes show "blues" in it,

Fred, you wanna add the refrain?
Don't worry about Herman & pals-
They're all hermit crabs now-a-days.

Copyright © tom bell | Year Posted 2007

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It has to be

Embrace this torso decaying in the wardrobe I wake up those skeletons laying in the warzone 
I make up the rules as I go along you all know so get ready ya better be set like a fresh jelly freshly baked cake on the go to the next deli its close Im fed up this medley of foes they provoke dramas and mental episodes like soap operas I cockpit the drones that home on ya 
I'm calm then I blow like the storm through Bahamas 
From the hard knock life where some hung from the rafters its not right bombing borders to prosper divide and conquer told to follow orders honourably die tomorrow morning say its all for the greater good fools fall for crazy words crazy world warnin signs all through this neighbourhood ya kept alert lookin for the torch light of guiders to walk you out escort you to the exit at the end of the haunted town 
Talkin out loud with the voices inside my head keeps my busy drives me crazy and spins me dizzy sugar rush crashing like kids drinking fizzy pop round for a quick minute visit with me pissy mood flippant dude tricky getting through to me I listen to you clearly thinkin this is nothing new to me 
What used to be has grown old and dearly loved sincerely still its moved on I stayed put clued up pick and choosin reason to presume these things looking like I'm used to being me between a rock n a hard place the human being cast to places too dark for you to see it shadowed before the light at the end of the gallows rope without faith man has no hope Im damn cold and I travel alone to where I'm welcome seldom the price is staying alive when you tell no lies worse than hell come high waters gale and tide walling my real eyes realise real lies our forming to rule our lifes maybe in life I aint taught ya be in formless be water dont let the past haunt life is a lesson remember what it taught ya turn corners look where stepping think before talking and walk ahead setting ya sight on what's forward forget what's behind in time soakin in sweat when adrenaline takes over totally intense Im dead sober going schizophrenic call me gomer profiled suicidal blowing my head apart like Im private pyle black and white everything new breaks in good time pained by my pride prior to this fire burning inside me where my fear and desire is
survivin the flames of fury of learned knowledge I turn gothic and worse wanting to first worship the godless and curse prophets who work homage hermit who deserted chronic I shirked college a clean conscience and my words honest

Copyright © Sam Perkins | Year Posted 2018

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She stands - wading through puddles

like small islands encircled in glass

The tide has long gone...

returned to tired hermit crabs...
and rested clams in the shallows...

Sal-try streams and rivers calm...
lay in wait for random raindrops...
to fall from clouds exiled...

She stands wading in puddles...
feet gently bathe her silky skin...

With arms outstretched she beckons the rains...
lifts her bright emerald eyes to the sea...

The tide has long gone...
She stands - wading in puddles...

like small islands encased in glass

Copyright © Eileen R. Kelly | Year Posted 2012

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Herald Hermit

                      Sometimes I watch the rhythm of the stars
to foretell things not present yet to come
like weather men predict rain, sleet, or snow
the skies send futurity through my thoughts
Im just a man; no more...
yawning dreams of yesterday...
before yesterday occurred
I sleep with time that tease thoughts of tomorrow
a pinch of fate sometimes is all it takes
to witness how the world will wield and break
with humble breath my heart conforms puzzles I preach
believe or not I write to you a theme
that came to me while yawning dreams of yesterday
before yesterday occurred
ill animals plague man to man
the floors of earth will shake beds as they sleep
our moon will tell the sun to low the fire
a scorching heat upon the heads of most...
to top it off the waters will devour souls that weep
without an arc the mystery cuts like a knife
untamed and innocent life
Doth thou light speakth more?
free countries greed with war!
believe or not I write to you a theme
with ink purchased in 1896.

                                   Inside a shallow space I said hello
to me, myself and I and loneliness
secluded see the day does not exist
without a social kiss
with isolation my shape forms a shadow
that darkness only see..
Hibernating inside walls I hide my hands
friends of none my life a shelf of books that bend
I speak again with silent echoes
inside of walls that hide my hands
my ears hear sounds of company
as even birds place feathers of concern atop my released roof
sincerely, Herald Hermit

Copyright © Johnny Sumler | Year Posted 2006

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Artist wannabe
I’d love to look the part
Feel and act the part
Feel it deep within
Imbued with inspiration
Exploding with creativity
Living the life of a hermit
Ploughing through it
Or dancing through it
Not bound by rules or confines
One day I know
I’ll shed this heavy cloak
And live the way I’ve dreamt
Abandon all possessions
Become the butterfly
I was always meant to be
Freed from shackles
Just create create create        

Submitted on December 31, 2018, for contest MY LOUDEST FEELINGS sponsored by CAREN KRUTSINGER  -  RANKED 2ND

Originally posted on December 12, 2018

Copyright © Line Gauthier | Year Posted 2018

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His Need to be Free

Brave needs to be the man 
who keeps up with him on feet
he’s a prophet, a hermit,
a wizard
a gypsy, and a thief  

He knows what they think 
they tell you he’s off 
a little bit strange
his working with spells and potions
and vacations to other planes 
could very easily make
others feel some type of way 

He only asks you have belief 
in him and the love you lead 
just don’t ask him to change
for he couldn’t even begin to think 
of a life without you
and his need to be free

Copyright © Sean Wolff | Year Posted 2018

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LAND of the LOST

Land of the Lost

Time in time out
What's it all about

Got no freedom
Drunk on rum

Russian roulette full of fun
Empty barrel, trigger gun

Bust a cop
Prison mob

Modern warfare
Lord's prayer

Life's a steal
Keep it real

Living will 
patients bill

File for divorce
Marriage course

False image
True discourage

Hating phase
Finger peace trace

Murder case

Where's my justice
Religion practice

Body full of lies 
the truth dies

Sex thrive

Driver licenses
Fatal expense

Public enemy
Hermit disease

Auspice unity
Combined greedy

Foot prints
Heart dent

Failure to communicate
Achieve to hallucinate

Judged by hypocrite
3 seconds, 3000 kilobits

Every minute matters
For jugglers and gamblers

Every life has a cost
Land of the lost

By: P.D...

Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2010

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A Truly Happy Soul

I look at the vagabond
Half lying against the wall.
He’s smiling with what he’s doing
As if he has a goal.
Sorting out the rubbish
He brought with him for long.
He lives within his own world
Humming an obscure song.

I ponder on a hermit
Why seclusion is his home;
He chose to make his abode
Where no people ever roam.
Waking up before sunrise,
He hoped to live a day;
In the coming of the twilight
Not a debt he has to pay.

I envy the singing blind man;
So skillful at his trade.
He holds instinctive talent;
Finger trekking from fret to fret.
He’s meek in conversation
But he takes pride of his roots;
And even in his blindness
He’d been able to see the truth.

I find joy in my pondering
With the lesson that it brings;
That in my introspection
I’ve learned a lot of things.
To be humble is to be happy
If one looks at life as a whole.
Behind the silence of the simple
Is a truly happy soul.

Date & Time of Writing:
April 13, 2012
12:13am - 1:22pm

Copyright © Jecon B. Nadela | Year Posted 2013

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.~69~. /Zodiac.Race/

~69~ /zodiac sign/

There once was a hermit crab named Nate
Who enjoyed the solitude of his hate
   Meeting a lovely lady
   A sexy Texan, name P.D.
Finding true hate, trying to online date 

(Zodiac Sign Contest)

Copyright © Nate D. | Year Posted 2010

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The Hermit Story poem

The Hermit There once was a young man- that fell deeply in love with a beautiful girl. she was too rich and not in his reach. They loved eachother, but their love could not be. her parents sent her away and their love vanished that day. He left and went far away. He isolated himself and a hermit he became. People knew about him, but they didn't know much. He had a brother that found out where he was. He would go to see him every now and then. The hermit lived in an old shack deep in the woods. his brother was very different from him. He smoke, drank, gambled and had many women. The hermit didn't think that was right, but his brother kepted on living his life. One day the hermit got very sick and couldn't go out to look for his food. An Angel came to see him and brought him some food. After that - the Angel would come everyday and fad him out of her hand. One day the brother came to see him and the hermit told him that he had to change his ways, or he would never go to heaven. He told him look at me - I have already won heaven. I don't have no sins. I eat out of an Angel's hand everyday. The brother said - that's good, but I have repented of my sins. That day the Angel left and never came back. The hermit died all alone. When he got to heaven - he was told, this is not where you belong. He asked - why not? You should never brag about yourself. The hermit was sent to hell. His brother repented and went to heaven. Life is not what it seems. Sometimes when we think we have gained something - in a minute - we can lose it all...
07/26/2013 Written by Lucilla M. Carrillo Note: Moral of the story is - no matter how good we think we are - we should never brag about it.

Copyright © Lucilla Carrillo | Year Posted 2013

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Old Jake the Critter Lover-A Parody

Old Jake lived a mile or so below the falls.
He wasn’t  a hermit, or any other sect or sort.
He was just an old man; though always alone.
Well, except for the critters.
They were not remarkable, just - - -many
and they all adored old Jake.
He didn’t even have to feed them.
Only gave them what they needed most---love.
Oh, the whole crowd needed companionship!
Or, so it seemed.
That one small cabin? 
A six hundred pound bear is a bit much!!
least in my humble opinion.
Then consider the raccoon !
The sucker fusses and complains 
all day, all night  twenty four-seven.
The covey of pigeons were good about cooing him to sleep
but  ‘twearnt worth NO dad gum roosting on the porch rail !!!!!!
Geez!! The hose is not long enough 
to drag around to the front steps; 
much less scour that whole rail “on and under it”,
the whole width of the  house--every day! 
That fox!! Slick as a whistle and he will lie
in a skinny minute--
And we have yet to find any sign 
of the gone gosling !
Who else would do such a thing?
I know every family has problems, but most can
be fixed with a little think through:
common sense and resolve.
Let’s all work on it----who knows?
One might find, that the powers which be, can take a hint from
the common man for a change.
‘stead of vice versa.       

Copyright © Charles Henderson | Year Posted 2016

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Sleepless in Whereis Part 1

I’m stealing through a twilit realm, the ancient pale of Whereis, passing chambers of an Heiress (though no need to feel embarrassed) through a magic mystic mirror hanging curtainless. A glimpse near naked alleyways (denuded by the moon) ex- poses Ghosts in gauzy tunics carving symbols, round and runic, in distended dingy dungeons of uncertainness. Down misty streets of cobblestone – ancestral avenues – patchwork paths consume my shoes (chasing foggy curlicues twisting, twirling by in twos, floating anywhere they choose), leaving footprints that confuse vagrant wispy retinues of the threaded wooden sticks that stalk a Puppet wandering. Condensed in drops of fantasy, distilled in evening dew, shifting Shadows I pursue (wearing faces I once knew, slipping slowly from my view) turn their backs to bid adieu leaving stars to tempt me through Awful Tower residues mocking treasures time outgrew in the birth of old from new framing pageants in review midst the visions of the painted past I can’t help pondering. Contorted candelabra claw the skyline’s walled suspension caught in twilight’s intervention – still unlit (in stark dissension), therefore seething with a tension in the quiet apprehension of the Watchman’s inattention to the night-time’s bold pretension to her power, not to mention, to her hyperspace extension (far beyond my comprehension of the sundown’s bleak dimension) – on exhausted beaten boulevards of foolish fretfulness. Oblivion depletes me, voiding haste and hurried hassles, me, a simple abject vassal, trailing moonlit floating castles, – fickle feet, but fingers facile grasping straws and pendant tassels – as I stumble through the rubble of forgetfulness. I think I must be dreaming as I seem to see these things, neath a sky alive with wings (hear the Nightingale, she sings), midst the whispered murmurings soughed by Phantoms clad as Kings pacing palaces in rings, while their hapless footfall clings to the sagging sinking sands of midnight’s splintered splattered ruins. Entangled in the swirling leaves that spin in dizzy flurries, (while the wind beside me scurries as an ermined hermit hurries) lurk my sleepy woes and worries (glowing faint’ but growing blurry) which, when plundered by the demon dusk, I’d left behind me strewn.
Continued in Part 2

Copyright © Terry O'Leary | Year Posted 2012

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My Paramour

There is always a light, sometimes a tiny glimmer expanding 
Amongst the darkest forest as a fiery wheel of hope and desire 
It measures the life of many years of tasting moments so far and few 
The first full bite filled with momentous prurience leaving a tender 
Taste reminiscent of briny afternoons and glistening bodies 
On a hot summer afternoon at the edge of a water hole 
Tender hands gliding up and down smooth skin dispersing 
Guiding rivulets amongst the valleys and dell a secret hollow 
Too far a reach; for the adventurer has love in his heart not lust 
And as moons and suns are born and reborn the water recedes 
Forests are felled, but one strong sapling a nexus between 
The moments to bring forth the final moment the momentous moment 
The nexus by no means a linear thing, time curving as if blown 
By a wind filled with sounds of ghosts and angels, gently abrading 
What seems like mountains into stones, into dust, into a gentle breeze 
Drying tears, reviving a hermit heart, filling lungs with perfumed air 
My paramour, no more a paramour but so much more, so much more

Copyright © Sandra Ramacher | Year Posted 2013

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Lost Souls

Lost souls deepen black holes…
Broken cries…muted forever lies back and forth on ya mind…
Tears of peroxide burns your polluted dilated eyes…
True hermit of life…no one by ya side…your alone and ya mind is gone…
Only thing you can think of is negative thoughts…cuz your always alone…
****in track star running from life…Olympic gold medalist…
First place with emptiness…ya eyes just black holes…no soul…
Knockin and no one home…darkness follows were you roam…
Mind in a chock hold…you weak…and barely can speak …
Grasping for ****…to froze stiff…coughing up mucus…
Bloody nose drips…white lips covered  wit thick white spit…
Getting butt naked…hallucination mind on a roller-coaster trip…
Life is slippin…time is missin…sacrificing people feelings…
****in up relastionships cuz of ya actions…
Losin ya looks, turns you into a crook…
Streets got you shook… 
Paranoid to every noise…
Peekin through windows…niggas on pins and needles…
Blistering up from da heat…
*****es lunch meat…
Got ya stomach in knots…hood niggas runnin up in ya spot…
Dressed in all black…hidin in basements to lay you to rest…
You lookin up to black face masks…
If you da boss…you die at wat eva cost…
Do you really feel da need to floss?...your no Rick Ross…
Dat nigga to fat to run…got otha niggas holden guns…
Life all ****ed up…
You just a piece of da puzzle…staring down a muzzle…
Dodging immortal bullets…you gonna embrace dis…
Chain reactions from ya bull ****…
Da streets you so devoted…
Soon to become a figment of imagination…remembering ya existence…
You’ll only be missed for a minute…
Life gonna move on wit or without you…
Lost souls is da path you choose…
Shits real…da world is cruel …
Life is 50…*****in Ja-rule…
Murder ink tatted on ya tomb…
Mistress wearin all black dresses crying ova ya casket…
Whispering *****in ya ear… wishin you can hear…
Fabricated dedications…
Just sayin wat eva dat comes to mind…
Wise niggas speak…dumb niggas sleep 6-feet…
Posturepedic dirt beds…where lost souls rest…
Gone but neva forgotten…
Biggie and Pac in heaven now talkin…
Once was beef don’t exist…
When ya no longer livin…
Lookin down now ****in laughin…
Lookin at da strong and da weak…
Only da strong survives and ***** *** niggas lay down and die…
Hostages to da hood…
Tied up and ducked taped…real niggas relate…
Knowledge penetrates…
Pimpin da ***** called life…
Wantin life to pay outta pocket twice…
Just another soulless sacrifice.

Copyright © twanna Irisha | Year Posted 2012

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All Alone

a lonesome hermit

scours the beach for a new shell

no longer homeless

Rual's 'Journey' Haiku

Copyright © Margaret Foster | Year Posted 2010

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From light to dark, I am filled with delusion
Of memories unknown, of emotional strain
Like a hermit to words in moments dismembered
When time became a  riddle, a crazed  labyrinth 
That each flashback becomes a nightmare
Documenting nothing , not even  a whimper.

A quiet wail rattles of stories, from where?
Her web of remembrance, disarranged,
Embalming vignettes from thoughts fading fast
When tremors besiege, yet I suppress the angst;
Till I ask, ‘Woman of fog, scream my name,’
Before fiction becomes a chained reality.

Contest: Mirror Of Memories 'Alzheimer's' 
Sponsor: Tammy Reams

Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2015