Best Imprisons Poems
Am I man or ghost?
Am I mortal or apparition?
Questions or choices
or entwined reality?
For a state of confusion
sleeps within my fiber, and
slowly rips asunder, the final
sliver of my contemporary humanity,
Sunrises and sunsets go unseen,
as I fully embrace my departure
from time, human contact, and connection,
with a creative conviction and devotion
to my only passion as an excuse, a deceitful
reason to shelter myself from the tender
moments that keep emotions empowered
and empathy evolved,
Yet truth is untied by introspection,
and as I analyze, I accept reality,
Seclusion has become to me, the
fruit that protects the emotional
body but imprisons the loving mind,
and by this bittersweet conundrum,
I am bound and devoted to this ambivalence,
by the mere comfort and promise of
being content,
And by such a promise, I have
personified my fear of emotional
agony, yet tamed its risk with the
fierce whip of isolation, thus the shame
and allure become as one, And as I
lose who I was, and tolerate who I am,
my disconnection from humanity
hurts those who care, yet keeps me
safe, with ink as my final outlet,
Still, as I sacrifice need for need,
I am not the one who still suffers,
Those with hearts that beat for me,
have become victims of my seclusion,
and I ache for them, but less and less
with each breath, For my isolation
continues to force its fee, and I notice
only after it is taken, and as I see their pain,
Only my thoughts are heard, my wishes
important, and my contentment decreed,
And despite visions of tears and sorrow
that were once my salvation, Now, I
only look away, and remain a willing
prisoner in the sweet self shelter, of
the nothingness I show, and will one day
feel, without rue...
Can anybody tell me how they get over that synonym,
Missing.
I am unable to regulate my soul,
It doomed my thoughts, defeated
my entity, dictated the pleasure's
off me, to feel the Moment.
Missing, is my unique enemy,
has haunted me since my
children left our home,
dominated my shadow,
conditioned my brain,
provoked my tears,
drowned my vitality,
created my vindictiveness,
refusing to be optimistic,
allowing it to torment my
darkness, dictated my pain,
captivated by this unique
synonym, I sense it's tantrum
everywhere, how can I omit it?
anyone can help me? it was always
there, but I was not helpless,
I am today. Now
I was born with a heart, I cannot find it,
I am a bought slave with my own purchases,
how weak have I gone down the ladder lately,
how desperate have I allowed to be taken
for granted by the word Missing, why?
is aging doing all that? have I become
so wounded by giving up my strength.
When I was younger, I had ways to accept,
to understand, to not allow it to take over
my few remaining years, I was healthy,
strong, had aims, was in love, made love,
I used to go out, now left alone.
Deserted.
I used to visit my children, I felt alive,
healthy, even old it did not affect me
the way it does those days, loosing hope
of wanting to survive, it engulfs all my
existence, become so much stronger than
I am.
Missing, I am its slave, worst, intentionally,
allowing it to stab me, it blocks all my doors,
it imprisons me. I am in prison. Now.
Can someone come and get me?
I am not drinking, cooking, put make up,
dress or go out, paralyzed, under its feet,
no life, I beg like a beggar, I get no answer,
it destroyed my brain, my thoughts, my surreal,
destroyed all my tissues,
negative thoughts are born nowadays,
weakened my system, my strength
is drained.
I am a mother, Oh universe, it leaves me
breathless, weak, make me strong, I am hungry,
feed me, I am judgmental, forgive me, no patience,
angry, I am destroying myself, carry me to the ocean,
drown me intentionally before I become selfish,
I stopped being there for my children, I am helpless,
I need help.
It destroyed who I was, made me despise who I am,
Now.
Therese Bacha
31/5/2013
(Another childhood poem.)
Filaments tightly woven,
a chrysalis cradles me,
deflects the dangers;
it is an armored womb,
bright and hard.
Loosely woven,
a web imprisons me;
struggles snare me firmly
in these threads.
What weaves this armor
and this trap?
It is I --
I am the spider,
and the potential
butterfly.
Here I swing inside my dark cocoon afraid
to become all that I know I can be... A
Black Butterfly too scared to emerge into my
full potential and spread my beautiful black
wings. I'm so afraid to spread my wings, to worried,
about what this world may think of me? I'm a Black
Butterfly that can't seem to set myself free from this
cocoon that imprisons me.
I do know how the world will ever see my real beauty
that hides within me? The love I hide and the pain that
does consumes me.
I know this world can sometimes be cruel and rude place to be . . .
but if I don't break out of this cocoon and set
myself free? How will the world ever see me for me?
But I must first set myself free, so that the world
can see all my true beauty... and when I do emerge from
cocoon? A beautiful Black Butterfly is what I shall be.
As I spread my wings and fly into the sky… Fly away fly,
fly beautiful Black Butterfly.
Jay Andrew Anderson-Taylor
Copyright ©2008 Jay Andrew Anderson-Taylor
Pigs with wings
Woman with no rights
Allah strikes
behead the servants
Who pray tell imprisons children?
King Abdullah, King of chauvinists
If a King sings his command
Women are dirt less than sand
The kingdom dances
Princesses dream and scream
Of days, where freedom rains
Washing away Saudi perversions
When you visit a Saudi king
I ask you, really, do not bow
Slap the old goat in the face
If dead spit on grave
Said the indigenous people of their land,
"Our Lord,
Since time started we lived here,
before prophets and their offsprings.
We built sanctuaries and prayer houses.
Our Lord,
today like never before,
we are under siege
as suffering invades our homes,
steal our sons,
silently rape our daughters,
and imprisons our men.
Our Lord,
when will you end this siege,
this carnage,
this destruction,
this inhumanity.
Stop the collective effort by mighty nations
to suppress our people.
Do we not show solitude in prayer to you?"
Do we not show humility,
to those who seek our brotherly feelings?
Yet these evil outbursts and suppressing efforts to batten us down
keep us enslaved within new walls in our lands,
of ancient times,
which we had never forsaken.
Our Lord,
Four thousand years back,
we took in their father Abraham,
treated him with love and kindness in our homes
and when he wandered off,
raised his children as ours.
Do you not see how they repay us?
With evil upon evil,
Our Lord,
We beseech thee,
free Palestine and the Palestinian people from this siege.
© Al. Juman The "said" Poet 6/29/2016
-'
-,
It is not my intention
to discriminate against anyone
by race, sex or religion
I write human err
Fall, she dresses down, while
winter prepares for its rest.
Summer wears her greenest gown,
but never, ever wears a frown.
Winter can get grumpy;
if awakened, he’ll spit ice;
for he is a tantrum thrower,
of quite the ugliest kind.
Fall, she is an artist;
her palette’s full of reds, browns
and golden pigments;
her work’s outdone only
by springs color wheel, so fast.
Fall is rarely grumpy
and spring so rarely frumpy.
Winter plays unfairly;
imprisons spring within its alley.
When spring escapes,
she celebrates,
with colors mighty bold;
her time is up when summer,
comes in from the biting cold.
The seasons live such finite lives;
they take their piece of life’s sweet pie.
When they’re done with all their fun,
they make way, for the next one.
You
I would never ever want to be a house to billet your soul.
I would never ever want to be a cage that imprisons your spirit.
I
only want to be an invited, a welcomed guest in the house of your soul.
only want to be the key that might unlock the gates, the cage to your spirit.
With you
I would love to walk, hand in hand with the pure essence of your soul.
I would love to dance across rainbow skies, feel a free, uninhibited spirit
I would
love to be the wind you soared upon, the fire that lights up your soul.
love to be the force with which lifted, set you free, to fly your taut spirit.
B. J. “A” 2
June 28th 2007
The sparkling goodness imprisons an autumn sun
And takes me back to the tender days when I was very young
When I'd help my Mama pluck them off the ground
Tart fallen pippin apples which the warm brisk winds had found
We'd stack them in her apron hammock bed
And when we'd gathered enough, into the house we'd head
Right to the kitchen sink to sort, and wash
And I would stand upon a chair to watch
Then gently laid on a towel, they'd shine till they were gleaming
We'd sit, and chat, she'd peel and we'd talk about every little thing
She would open the Crisco can, and the flour canister
And soon, before my very eyes, the pie dough would appear
She would roll the dough, and let me have a try
She would break off a piece for my miniature pie...
Side by side, she would show me how
Her patience was amazing....as I struggled to follow
The petals of peeled slices, layered out into rows
Sprinkled with her spices, added sugar and butter bows
Popped carefully into a piping oven, not quite an hour or so...
We'd watch them turn a golden brown...filling up my nose
With a cinnamon sweet fragrance, that would make my child's mouth drool
She would finally remove them, hot and gold, slightly letting them cool
Would top their goodness with heaping mounds of vanilla ice cream too!
Ahhh....sweet are the memories of those awesome pie ala modes...
Are you watching me Mom?...on those autumn days when I have shown
My grandchild how to peel, and slice, and roll, and bake her own??....
cute love, destiny, devotion, i love you, imagery, lust, word play
OH OUR CUPID! ©
Oh try to blight the course of this errand
It will only award an ‘undying’ sickness
Turning the disheartened into ‘love-sick’ fools
The deed is done and becomes a lost issue
Overtaking the love-struck minds rational
By Cupid’s spell-sent ‘riddled’ love arrows
The love (potion) ‘tip’ of Cupid’s arrow heads
Have been heavily laced with an ‘adoration-fix'
That finds these hearts by his direct hits!
Lack of focus and appetite is it’s after affects
Along with irrational behavior and lost time segments
That imprisons them both into well-matched couple hood
Their love shouts a nucleus lust force at the onset
Intoned to nurture these two beating hearts
Into only one true-heart beat
That sends out a poetic justice
Rich with romanticism and love play courting
While 'our' Cupid sits back and anticipates
These sweethearts’ current initiation
That his magic musical merry-go-round ride will bring!
It offers them a spice for life with every go around
Many ups and downs and starts with finishes and restarts again
For is it not that he sent his cupid’s arrow throw
Always sent with an unswerving true aim
He gets a strike that never falters
His arrows are forever pure and true
Drawn to enchant all time with a wicked love knotted spell
Their hearts will be now entwined for eternity
By Cupid’s ‘scent’ “LOVE POTION--NUMBER NINE!”
There is a certain pride in my heart,
Deep in the gut of my soul,
And in every moving cell working for the other
That preaches and presses in a padded jail
Where no other living soul can hear
Treasurable, valuable words being uttered
With conviction and every golden verdict
It is a silent pride, and a sad one at times,
Longing to be heard, though it cannot reveal
Longing to be shared with a parched mind
That can only reveal itself through the continual
Ritual of living each day
I want to share with utter integrity and light,
With a full heart, to activate the gentle expansion
Of freeing, outstretched wings
You cannot listen to these truths I scream
Because I am closed away by this pride,
My cognizance and cruel prudence imprisons me,
And at times I am happily bound
This pride, this opulent air of knowing
Restlessly deepens within
It seeps deeper inside,
Because I doubt any will quite understand
And appreciate
Through the lens of pure honesty
This pride is fearful and selfish
We do not want to be seen as a fool
I want these confessions to feel
Omnipotent, and apart from my emotions
Pure honesty reminds me
That without emotions, without feeling…
This knowledge, this enlightenment
Cannot be expressed
Unless fear, cramping the soul
Leaves this prison
If love eases breakage to flow into tender ears
To compassionate minds,
And perceptive hearts
Inverse Goddess of life,
You destroy what you refuse to love,
Love not, what your loins thirst for,
The smallest act of pleasure for you,
When you pee, when you poo,
Drives another nail into the weathered,
Worn planks of my life's final platform,
Imprisons my prayer for all that's merciful.
Oh where are you now Love?
I fear my tears fuel your smile,
A new kind of excrement, tears turned to blood,
My saliva is red with remorse,
I bite my own cheeks to mask
The pain of your absence,
My pores sweating blood too,
I contemplate eminent death on the cross.
For you live not for life itself
But in fear of life exceeding your imagination,
Poor pleasure indeed that cannot see
Beyond the Rift Valley that is your conscience,
Spirit cast out, no longer indwelling mortal flesh
Your finger still smoldering from the devil's ring
His gift to all the human race (you are not alone)….
Separation from all that's Holy.
But there is a power in renunciation,
Even if it is not yours, but your masters.
Through fear, through cowardice,
Stripped nude by his hand, modesty in tatters,
You snuggle into His arms, that cold embrace,
And smile, still parted by His quill, and whisper,
'Was it good for you sweetie?'
You settle at last for nothing.
Brian Johnston
April 11, 2015
Poet's Notes:
Originally I started this as a poem in which I intended to make fun of a suffering boyfriend who was using his pain to beat up his girlfriend. It still can be read that way. But it turned dark somewhere along the way and not funny, as in get a life guy! Too often we let strong feelings convince us that they must be true because we are feeling them. But really fellow, your girlfriend leaves you and that means she not only wishes to hurt you but is now having sex with the devil? Me thinks you protest to much and that I would probably like her more than you.
I live in a world where there is no flow and ebb
where flies are snared in the spiders web
Where anger is the clothing that spirits wear
hand me down garments soiled with fear
Where eyes fail from weeping incapable of emotions
and the heart bears the tsunami the bodies waves like the ocean's
In the winepress of the psyche I trample the virgin daughter of bliss
and beyond the landscape of sin and firmament of folly lies the serpents hiss
I live in a world where wisdom and knowledge collide similar to protons
Where innocence is slaughtered like Salem's pillars and scions
As the lion makes a kill its the jackel that profits
but before the jackel appears its the hyena that mocks it
And as the prey that is stalked is slain without pity
The herds of people represent stock roaming the cities
Women eat their offspring and they dont even know it
While the scheme of men cast shadows over truth not to show it
In my world my eyes flow unceasingly without mercy without ease
as vengeance owns depth, so deep it stalks the forrest beyond trees
In my world the mind constantly mocks the heart
While guilt is the warden whom imprisons the soul in the dark
Like the rain that suffocates the land with a constant pour
My inner child cries louder than thunder or a lion with a constant roar
In my world an infants tongue adheres to roof of its mouth
and food is as scarce to child as insects are to a grouse
Nurtured in purple but racked with hunger
It is better to die by the sword then to live with famine in numbers
Joy has dispersed from our hearts and dancing has moved to mourn
as brightness has merged with the dark the fabric of happiness is torn
He looks into her eyes
Twinkling stars above him
lift him upon a cloud
Tiny buds open up
to taste the breath of life
Milk and honey sugar and spice
Light, tender, fluttering
Love imprisons a little heart
as mommy's kiss lingers on his lips.
"Give Mommy Some Sugar."
Painting by Tom McKinny.
No I am not a famous poet,
being published everyday,
But I am a man of society,
And I have words to say,
How can I get these words out,
When Society imprisons me,
Society sticks these labels to me,
Calling me socialist and multiculturalist,
And the Right wing call me traitor,
Those haters want me dead,
Yet still the words build up inside me,
The words have no fear of death,
And they rush headlong from my mouth,
Like a Forlorn hope of old breaching a castle moat,
And you talk of shipping the immigrants home,
back home upon a boat,
Were we not all immigrants at one point,
And they label me again you're a liberal quote unquote,
If you read and take one thing from this,
Let it be that human beings are not the same,
But our differences enhance our lives,
Would it not be boring to be carbon copies,
Of the man at the bottom of the lane.