Best Injecting Poems
The Colours of Happy
I am the painter of happy
Traveling along life's dark streets
listening for the beat
Feeling hidden colors with my feet
I see the beauty
beyond the dark
I'm floating within this concrete park
leaving my mark
Playing tag with a can of paint
My art is vibrant
I won't settle for faint
What you see as ugly
it truly aint
I'm not afraid of dingy places
I let colours flow outside the lines
My choices are different kinds
Injecting a symphony between life's spaces
Color removing tear drop traces
Grey shades this paint erases
I see possibilities in others faces
Finger painting
or with a brush
I make the concrete blush
Beauty awakened with my touch
I love the power of yellow
If you are down
or feeling mellow
I just might be the right kinda fellow
My flavors are sweet like jello
Within these hands
I wield a rainbow
My tools, stardust and ultra glow
From my bowl
I pour happy on your soul
Until your own light begins to show
Watch me move quick
when others are slow
Wrapping amazing
with a platinum bow
Let me paint you
a different kinda blue
bright skied Technicolor
the perfect one for you
A bubblegum happy kinda chew
Grab life and dance
do what you want to do
Choices many
don't settle for so few
I can paint you
A penny for your thoughts
help you realize just what you've got
Be the dreamer
it will help a lot
Choose exciting
a life that's red hot
Forget Generic
there is more to be got
Let others choose boring
what I offer
can't be store bought
I'll hand you a brush
we can cover more ground
flower squirting
big footed clowns
Spreading happy around
that joyful sound
Multi colored
me and you
Unconventional freedom bound
our happy can astound!
What was lost
its been refound
Time to open these eyes
happy colors surround
You too can see
just have to look around!
This won't be a pretty picture, but I'm going to use this paper to put my art on
I'm not heartless, let me show you where my heart's gone
Should I be ashamed? Should I hide my scars?
Some were gave to me, others inflicted from self-harm
The weight of the world on my shoulders, is easy to carry compared to the pain in my heart
I fell so many times and had no one helping me up
How could I be alone when I have depression telling me I suck
I wanted to get close to you Chantal, but depression was right there
It made me push away my dream girl and continued to be my nightmare
Age 13 I lost my virginity to a girl called Meg
I grew up quicker than I should have
I wonder if she ever thinks of me? Do I pop into her head?
It wasn't her first time, so I doubt it was as special for her
If she reads this, I hope I can make her feel special with words
There I go, Putting out stuff about me the world doesn't need to know
I'm probably wrong for putting my heart on display when I write this
I just hope people who give this a read will grow
Even if they judge me, I don't think I can hide this
I battle suicidal thoughts daily, so a lot of people consider me weak
I can rhyme my pain perfectly, but I'm unable to deliver a speech
When my ex cheated, was the guy richer than me?
Was he bigger than me?
I don't need to know, tell the bartender it's a hard liquor for me
All of my mistakes came with a lesson attached
I've never touched drugs, even though my brother and sister are injecting smack
Who am I to judge, when I used to pick up blades and made myself start bleeding
Depression makes me tired, anxiety prevents me from sleeping
I was bullied at school and made to feel worthless
I can't be a good poet, because I don't know how to word it
Got told I shouldn't love hip hop cause I'm a white dude
You don't have the right to listen to Rakim, Nas, Big Pun and Ice Cube
I was confused as to why they cared so much about what's playing in my earphones
Dealing with my fears alone
Bipolar so a lot of people label me weird
Sometimes I wish I wasn't able to hear
I find it hard to open up to new people who come close
I hide my feelings to the best of my ability from people I know
I'm only human, I hope you can learn from my mistakes
This is my real life pain, but to you its just words on a page
If tormented truth is
the taste of her fire,
injecting her blood
with poisoned rain
in golden chalices,
what is the color of
eclipsed spheres
where there’s a
desolated darkness
that dwells through
devious spirits
to rise higher?
Maybe there’s no
heaven nor hell in
the onyx fields of
soulless stars,
where obsidian roses
bloom as signs of
the devil’s immortality,
crooning doomed
hymns to the
honeycomb hues
of raven's irises,
which reflect every
bitter dream painted
in strokes of thunder.
But when dusk
bleeds seas of deception,
sins stream through
sinister shadows,
slowly pulling innocence
to a chamber of pitiless
pins and heinous knives.
So watch her ascend
as the metaphorical mistress
of death and beyond,
she is no longer your
heretic queen
that serves you light,
that once breathed
and walked through
storms of toxic typhoons
cloaked in
summer serenades,
taming every hurricane
with her crystal wings
that never tethered
to an evil king of serpents.
Flaws
I sleep like a prisoner, in my own dreams.
I wake up to the flaws of reality.
I meditate to this world I hate.
I live a life no one will ever appreciate.
Everything changed since the day I took my first step.
Flaws in the pride I demonstrate.
Flaws is the only way we relate.
Flaws found in every open door.
My tears fall into the flaws of the cracked floor.
Flaws grow deeper when feelings are involved.
Watching the world as we flawlessly destroy it.
Accepting bad perception that nothing is forever.
Injecting chemicals that flow through my brain.
Spreading negative flaws that swim in my vain.
Love is a flaw that drives one insane.
Hate is the medicine that covers up pain.
Flaws! Flaws can only be covered up like a stain.
Flaws! Flaws!
Under Gods eyes.
Flaws! Flaws!
No need to cry.
Flaws! Flaws!
Mistakes and goodbyes.
Flaws! Flaws!
Lived out till the day we die
by;p.d.
You stung me with your waspish words
Injecting poison into my very soul
Again and again with those stinging syllables
Your words buzzed around my brain
Still you flew in and continued your scathing attack
It all came so easily to you
Viscous vitriol freely flows from your foul mouth
Deeper and deeper the venom seeps
You just stood there laughing at me
Continuing the little jibes and digs
Constantly belittling me
Criticising the way I look.
Mocking everything I say and do
Telling me I’m useless
The only thing you could never find fault with was my cooking -
I trained as a cordon bleu chef
My tears no longer flow
They have dried up like my self-confidence
Finally I can take no more
So I’ve cooked up a tasty little treat for you
Added my own special spice to your curry
I sprinkled flaked almonds on the top
They should mask the taste of the cyanide
Bon Appetite!
Dark and Twisted Contest Sponsored by Nathan D
09~21~15
All alone in a bush downstream
Where not a soul was likely to dwell
Pinned against the green grasses, a young girl
Injecting her ruthlessly, a cruel hunk
At my sight, off he fled
A rape victim an innocent soul
Her mind drifts into the abyss of sorrow
As red fluid streams down her thighs
Reaching out for a nearby leaf
Just to clear off the mess
Her heart,heavy in her ribs
Up I lifted and embraced her as the
torrent of her tears soaks through my shirt
I could hear her silent screams
As she tries to hold back the seething torrent
Holding on to her nerves,
She suffocates with each breath
For he had sucked out the life in her
Painfully, she groans 'Adieu my dignity'
Gone too soon, her virginity
Time and time again,
As the steady stream trickles down her face,
Her lower lip quivers
Her eyes, the colour of moss and dirt
Shoveled together
As if a black mist had settled upon her
The day bright, but the torrid sun she could not feel
The sonorous song of birds, less could she hear
Sadness, her nightingale
Tainting her joy
Inside her heart, a piercing thorn
As sharp and incisive
As the stroke of a fang
A visit to the great beyond,
Her last resort
Sharply, her pains I inhale
Sitting below my skin,
The depth of her piercing thorn
Round her thin dark hair, my hand hovers
Just to calm her intra-personal war
'Young girl', said I then to her
Brighter than the stars, the future
For the past can you change not'
Too dark, today's night
Too bright, tomorrow's sun
To wind back the hand of time
And save her day, my desire
To her, the world was lost
Off she sadly went!
Permanent joy, all but a task
The Tramp Persona
Who was this boy, a pauper born?
Existing in despair and continual forlorn
Scandalized, accused of communist sympathies
Encompassing both adulation, and social controversies
Charlie Chaplin how can I take you seriously?
Chucklesome slapstick injecting tragedy
Awkward, little mime tugging at the heartstrings
A cathodic empathy he brings
of all those around him, a famous clown
A wiggled walk, a cane, a grin, a frown
The Great Dictator, as plain as black and white
In the struggles against misfortune, the tramp persona typified
A virtuoso kid he found at a hall by chance
A four-year-old child, he saw him dance
A gift he gave to us, a sharing alliance
The Tramp who mastered the power of silence
I was hardly aware of a crisis because we lived in a continual crisis; and, being a boy, I dismissed our troubles with gracious forgetfulness. —Charlie Chaplin, on his childhood
Marylin Monroe “She was a tramp.”
Without her contracts at 20th Century Fox and Columbia (which had both been dropped) who were hungry for denial and headlines. Instead, Marilyn said this:
“I was broke and needed the money.
Why deny it? Tom Kelly’s racy nudes of me
You can get one [a calendar] anyplace.
Besides, I’m not ashamed of it, I’ve done nothing wrong
I was a week behind on the rent and it’s here where I belong
I’d never have done it if I’d known things would happen so fast in Hollywood for me.”
Her candor and honesty charmed everybody
You have this sense of having met a wounded little canary not a peacock. Only when you pick it up in your hand to comfort it … beneath the wounds, vulnerability, and innocence, you find raw strength, and a big heart—I Am Anaya
Lady And The Tramp
A warm and loving story
For dog lovers, in the sense of humor
A carefully nurtured cocker spaniel, Lady
Born in New York City a Baby boomer
Natural beauty overwhelming, a pedigree no vamp
And a rakish, debonair, freedom-loving wanderer
of a dog who wares no man's collar, Tramp
Whispered secrets and sorrowful sighs,
silently stoke creative embers
of inspiration; into full flame.
A murmuration of fledgling words
rise on poetic wings, capturing
the very essence of the moment.
And quickly morph into metaphors,
hyperbole and prose, injecting
order into rows of rambling lines.
Thoughts ricochet off of each other,
often landing in a jumbled heap;
until my muse assigns them a place.
Committing rhythm and rhyme to paper
the semblance of a poem takes shape;
adding flesh and sinew to bare bones.
And ink flows in and out of chaos;
salvaging verses, before they drown
within the backwaters of my mind.
O' cloned creations,
mirroring deceptive diction
scattered in liquified letters,
across android canvases,
here comes the plague of
fabricated foolery,
spiraling in figments of
black and white illusions,
injecting illusive veins
screaming for vanity,
with verses plagiarized
from villainous valleys.
There’s nothing poetic about
the way AI is pickpocketing
rhythmic runes from the
museum of dead poets ~
immortalized on the walls
of glass galleries.
Their sonnets, now imitated,
to adorn artless skies
with stolen synonyms,
weaving soulless symphonies,
to please the apocalyptic algorithm,
unaware of how filtered
procrastinators preying
on pencil-streaked pages
are lonely earthlings starving
for superficial accolades.
I care not for the futuristic
benefits of artificial lies,
yet I see no escape from
these alienated alliterations,
and personified
pathological hypocrisy,
typed behind silver screens,
multiplying metaphors
into robotic ruins,
flowing with
perfectly metered clichés,
coded in complex cadence.
So let me find the inked corpse
of silicon silhouettes,
lost in the labyrinth
of virtual vultures,
flaunting repetitive rhymes
for clueless readers.
Tonight the strawberry moon
frowns at the
neon frequencies
of digitalized fakery,
and my onyx heart aches
for the unknown realms,
where originality floats
as a forgotten fantasy,
fogged behind a fictional facade,
while in silence, stained stars
claim phrases snatched
from the
thesaurus of thieves.
So flee from this venom-less virus,
you and I know better than to
lean on spineless cyborgs,
created mindlessly
from financial felonies.
A poet with a pen that
lacks authentic pigment
is the victimized alter ego of
designed trickeries~
masked as midnight musings.
The day Wilma went for her injection
The doctor he made a suggestion
Please strip to you butt
And out it must jut
This will save you from getting an infection
So Wilma she sticks out her bottom
This will stop her from feeling so rotten
His injection he aims
But it's not quite the same
Injecting he seems to have forgotten
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/humour-3.php
Depression demons go away; joy has lost its way…
Depression demons; stop injecting your venom in my soul...
I can taste your pain in my veins
Feel your cold and bitter despair in my air!
I smell your stench; it’s wicked as an old wench
You make my mood move like a thunderous storm
Put my mind in a constant state of morn...
Depression demons go away; please send joy my way…
Depression demons, stop haunting me
Release your grip and set me free!
You are not welcome; please leave me be
There’s no place left; as you well see
No place for your misery...
Depression demons go away; for JOY today I pray…
Lay
When mocking a rival with mask
Prepare to be taken to task
For you may look dumb
When your test results come
And the public has questions to ask.
Is it simply, as you have made clear,
Like a flu that will just disappear
Or will you, like your speech,
Try injecting some bleach?
We’re on needles and pins just to hear.
All who claim that this virus is fake
Might get ready to see their mistake
For the ones who yell loud
Like the boys who stand proud
May be stuck with some germs they can’t shake.
Darkened eyes that pull you in
Fangs hidden under a grin
That are sharp pointy and long
They have powers that are strong
No escaping from their bite
They hunt in the darkest night
Once they find you it's all done
There's nowhere to hide or run
In their nest is where you'll stay
Your humanity will slip away
As your necks used as a treat
Just give in there's no defeat
From these creatures very scary
Making you so weak and weary
Injecting you with poison venom
Turning you into a demon
That invades your inner soul
You have just lost all control
Of the person you once were
Your past life is now a blur
As this poison starts to act
In the night you will attack
Searching for someone to be
Added to this family
Hungry fangs are coming out
Blood is dripping down your mouth
Your stronger with every drop
There is no way you can stop
Addictions starting to set in
Another victims claimed again
Breaking ground, well trodden path,
boiling cauldron of troubles past.
Injecting theories, humanities veins,
cryptic messages to dispatch.
Puzzling pieces, testing fit,
exploit emotions, effects are best.
Impel the masses, blind ignorance,
dismiss dissenters from public view,
construct the stories, elected few.
Orchestrate, a mind control,
obedient throngs, the unstated goal.
I feel so freaking, God-like good;
I feel My chest-expanding heart
and the mad frenzy in My blood,
which tear My mind and soul apart!
These urgent voices in My head
reverberate and echo loud
memories and regrets now dead
and buried in a forsaken shroud;
they scream at Me, "You're the Devil!"
They prophesy the Anti-Christ,
and accuse Me of all the evil
since mankind first became enticed.
I refuse their shrill, satanic call;
and find in the Apocalypse
that God's avenging Angel of all
is Me who is the world's eclipse.
"Not Anti-Christ!" I now reply.
"Not Devil!" I begin to shriek,
"for the Lamb of the world am I,
the Lord's Messiah for the meek!"
Sinners will know their final hour;
they will drown in their anguished cries
when I at last will know My power,
and expose all their wicked lies!
In this soft, padded cell of white
they watch and look at Me with dread;
they view Me as a monstrous blight,
and starve Me with unleavened bread.
How long is My imprisonment?
I cannot guess, divine, or tell;
but from the look of that filament,
they can keep Me for quite a spell;
"Dear God! I hate these lousy drugs,"
I howl, "that they shoot in My ass!"
They hold Me down those stupid thugs,
injecting Thorazine so fast!
They fail to grasp the true reasons
why I'm here: I wish they could see
that I can forgive their treasons,
if they would just believe in Me?
Once free again I'll be reborn,
lifted up in divine Image;
I'll end man's need for drugs and p*rn;
and prepare them for God's Marriage.
So hear My law and injunction,
the lost will burn without release
once they all know My dominion:
only then will My Rapture cease!