Best Same Exact Poems
A BILLION WAYS TO SAY THREE LITTLE WORDS
There must be so many ways to say the same exact thing
Like, take this offering I was commanded to deliver to you from the Spring
And in the summer I shall say “take these my sweet”
As daisies rise from the ground to bless the finesse of your feet
There must be thousands of adjectives and numerous nouns
More words than there are tidy and tiny towns
Now let me say this in a different way to you
you will never find words birthed anew
You will seek yet never find a new way of what to say
When it’s so loudly defined by a willingness to pray
Are you bold enough to promise vows that you will one day keep,
Or will they, such as a corpse, be buried six feet deep?
How shall I react when I HEAR three words so small yet so sacrosanct to me
Will each syllable BE SPOKEN clearly so that I might understand and let it be?
Well where is she already with her supposed proposal billions before have done and said?
Instead of my beloved the minister meandered closer and whispered the three wrong words, “your fiancé’s dead”
© 2011.….PHREEPOETREE ~!free cee!~
He squealed,
Like a pig in heat
Praising God for he believed
He sat, 2 years old
And he looked at the lord
Drew an angels breath
Swatted a toy
A bird that could not fly
Meant for another mans eye
Gramp's died
took a colorado bound plane
in the seat pocket in front
was a small toy ostrich
I shoved it deep into my pocket
I could not say why
When I got home
a sickness ensued
with pink cottage cheese chunks
Filled up the sink
and i withered in pain
He died
It came
on the window pane
it was white like a ghost
did not appear on french toast
it was like a laser etching
awoke to the bird symbol awakening
and i had that toy
same exact size
and this symbol on the window
with every feather perfectly detailed
could be traced from the toy to the window
difference was that the tail was composed many fine, white, smooth flowing, intermingling lines
translucent, and seen best by brightest daylight
I thought it was condensation
that it would fade away
but it remained
©
remember these rich kids
who moved from downtown
Manhattan,
after the towers fell,
out into the uncharted territories of
Bushwick & those regions of
Brooklyn, which had once been
lined with 3 story houses (or fewer)
& whose skyline one could
see over,
when stores, music venues &
cheeseball clubs were
closer to the exception than the rule,
when there were genuine poor people
who dressed the way that they could
afford,
when these mungo hipsters
didn’t plague the land like the
rats that come squealing out from
beneath the garbage bags piled up
outside their loft buildings,
remade factories, which now serve
as high income palaces
with the guise of low income &
the sprawl of fake-poor in the land of
the
cool.
these hipsters would bump from
thrift store to thrift store,
shopping with mommy & daddy’s money
(now safe from the downtown “terrorist
threats”)
in order to look like they were straight from
the 1970’s, like corduroy everything
was somehow a part of the 21st century,
like sideburns were the way of the
future---
parading with pocketbooks full of cash
which would allow them to frequent the
sushi bars that had sprung up or
pop from expensive café to expensive café
without a second thought
about the same exact dream that they all had
followed,
from the white picket fences in the suburbs of
bumble**** wherever,
to transplant themselves into the
dumpster diving
“soul” searching
snot nosed brats
that lit the fuse for gentrification
all over what used to be
Brooklyn.
I'm tired of writing love poems and trying to put spins on them;
So for inspiration and ideas i go brainstorming;
But each thought, each idea seems to be a duplicate of the last poem;
"The glimmer of her memory never seems to diminish" if i should quote one;
The most amazing part about all these poems is not that I wrote them;
its that they're all about you;
so a thought about you is always around the corner from my mind;
But loving you was always harder than putting thread through a needle if i was blind;
And i could never figure you out even if i was smarter than Einstein;
See pain and love reside in the same exact address of my heart either one would answer the door when you runged;
Like when you didn't say nothing when your brother called me out my name and we got the scrapping cause i ain't no punk;
Or when you finally said i love you who would've thunk;
In my hearts mind i know i have to free you from the prison that is deep inside my aorta, pass the pulmonary valve;
there you'll find all of our memories that were once upon a time;
before i unlock the doors with the keys of forgiveness and free the memories we once shared like wind to leaves;
I just want you to know a couple things to put my mind at ease;
You were my definition of love when problems arose we chose to be more discrete;
Who knew my heart would tremble, broken like a Haitian street;
They told me to be patient and that time heels all wounds;
But you leaving left a big whole in my heart the size of a balloon;
Ive been walking around these streets hoping nobody pops it so i wont end up a guy in a loveless casket
No one is permanent.
You wake up, get dressed and go to school,
you walk down the same hallway
and go to the same class at the same exact time everyday.
You go to lunch, talk to the same people and then go back to class.
You go to practice then go home and do homework.
Repeat.
Before you know it,
you’re graduating.
the people you called your best friends,
you no longer speak to,
or see them ever again.
Your boyfriend of 2 years is going to his dream school
5,000 miles away.
you thought you’d be “together forever”
but this isn’t some sappy love story,
this is reality.
You finally see him after 6 months,
nothings the same
you grew apart.
You never see him again.
He’s gone.
It’s your first year of college
and you made a few friends.
You go to parties and have a good time,
but then it happens.
there was an accident.
“It wouldn’t happen to me.” she said
“it only happens in the movies.”
You couldn’t believe it happened,
especially to your best friend.
There’s nothing you can do.
She’s gone.
You graduate from college
the friends you made feel like sisters by now
but you’re all going in different directions.
Your best friends becoming a teacher,
and you’re a nurse.
With the busy schedules there’s no time for each other.
you never talk to her again.
she’s gone.
You’re at work and you hear the phone ring.
“Oh my god” you hear your assistant say,
“are you sure?”
A million thoughts go through your mind at once.
Your heart races.
“Your mother just had a heart attack.”
Your heart drops to the floor and you become numb.
You couldn’t believe this could happen to the strongest woman you know.
You get on the first flight back home.
It’s too late
She’s gone.
No one is permanent.
Looks certainly have deceived me!
Without trying, you are who you are
Without doubt
A faint star only because of your place
In our place
Lands you so very far
Only because of distance
But
You are a star shining so brightly
Maybe even brighter than the rest
But
Our eyes tell us
You are so small
I may perceive a human to be the length of my fingernail
As I stand upon some rooftop
But
If I were to stand side by side with this human
I WILL
Realize truth!
My eyes have deceived me
I get a closer look -
or might I say
I place each object side by side
and witness truth
Yet
This is still open for interpretation
Because
Until I can place every single thing
In the same exact space
And
Observe every detail
Who am I to even ASSUME
The truth?
This object has its own interpretation
As we do as well
Until things appear the same
From afar
Or
Under our noses
There will be no total understanding
Of the truth
I see you star
You are who you are
Without doubt
And
I learn from you
You have the appeal so very appealing to me
I learn from you
As I have learned my eyes have deceived me
You inspire me
Not to mold into what I perceive others perceive me as
But
To only be me
Because
This foolish chase is an endless race
And
I end this by first accepting me
Look out for the men who claim murder
Look out for the politians who claim wrong
Because those are the men driving women into walls
Those are the men making women
Give themselves miscarriages
I was told to look out for the boogieman
Who will tickle my feet
But the real problem
Is the men forcing women on their knees
Who tell a 14 year old not to eat
The same exact man the grooms a girl in the classroom
The same men that chain a women up in their basement
The men who claim murder are fake
The men who claim murder are the same ing men
Who dedicated a day to raping us women
The damn men who claim murder
Are the same ing men who make me not safe
Because the men who claim murder
Hide under our nose
They are the ones
Under our bed
Around the corner
The who claim murder are the same men
Who go home and beat their wife
The men who claim murder
Are the same men cat calling a 19 year old girl
Trying to support the child
Of which she wanted to abort
The men who claim murder
Create abusive homes
The men who claim murder
Don’t deal with a child kicking the inside of his gut as for 9 months
The men who claim murder are oblivious
To the world around
They are more worried about the women
They just knocked out on the ground
They are more worried about what doesn’t affect them
Because the men who claim murder
Are the ones who ed the world
So don’t listen
To the men who claim murder
Don’t listen to a word
Some days I feel down
Then I remember the song
My father taught me when I was young
And I sing with a heart so free
Jesus tender shepherd hear me
Bless thy little lamb tonight
Through the darkness be Thou near me
Keep me safe till morning light.
Some days I feel sad
For the pain and sorrows of the world
Then I think that tomorrow
will bring joy and surprises untold.
Some days I feel so upset
By the ill treatment of elderly folks
And then I think that in future days
The elderly could be me.
Some days as I watch a child at play
And witness the joy on his face
I wonder if there was ever a day
elderly folks were in that same exact place
And as I wander through time
I look up at the sky
To see clouds scudding by
Across the bluest skies
And I get a special feeling, a knowing
A feeling of having come home
And I know that even sorrow and pain shall pass
As quickly as clouds scud across the skies.
I sit there on that wooden bench, simply sitting. I am not waiting for someone, not for anything. Sunlight peeks through the leaves of the two oak trees whose branches are mingling above my head. It is pleasant to feel its warmth. There is no reason for me to be outside other than the cigarette resting between my middle and index fingers. I walked down three flights of stairs to simply sit and smoke and be judged by the occasional passersby. I lift the cigarette to my lips and place it there gently. It sort of dangles there as I light the lighter in one hand and cup the other around the flame to protect it from a nonexistent breeze in the dry Southern heat. I suck in, trying to puff, which is hard to do without a hand to steady the cigarette, but it is lit and that is what matters. I take a deep drag, deep into my lungs, deep into my soul, and I can feel the calm wash over me. The nicotine is my oxygen; I can’t breathe without it sometimes. I blow the smoke out, admiring its delicious taste and scent. I like to hold the slowly smoldering cigarette in my right hand and then smoke out of the left side of my mouth. The way I hold it makes me look like a nineteen-forties gangster. I like that. Sitting there, on my wooden bench, I react. I don’t moan in ecstasy and I don’t close my eyes in pleasure. I don’t take it for granted and I don’t have a habit. I just enjoy my cigarette, no more and no less than it ever should have been. As it slowly converts itself into smoke and ashes I think to myself that most people probably wonder why an eighteen year old in this day and age would choose to take up smoking. At least I assume that is what the occasional passerby must be thinking when they see me sitting here on this wooden bench, for no other reason than to smoke the cigarette in my hand right now. I wonder what I would say if any one of them ever bothered to ask me. Because I want to, I would reply before standing, putting out my cigarette, and walking away. I look down and see that if I took another drag I would be smoking the filter. So I stand, put out my cigarette, and walk away. I walk away from the sunlight, from the two oak trees, and that wooden bench. I walk away with my fingers smelling like nicotine and that makes me smile because I know that I will sit at that wooden bench tomorrow to do the same exact thing. I know because that is what I did yesterday.
Perfectly observant,
We share the same exact struggle.
Perfectly normal,
A conversation with all but one subject.
Eyes that refer to the category
Of deep need.
Apologies do no justice.
Unpeeled oranges that sit in wait.
Guilty at first glance, suppressing true desire without a word.
Wanting to unravel- peel away at things kept from view.
Mistaking ears for a heart.
Just what are we observant of,
Have we become profound.
A perception seen but not heard
Are we that oblivious.
Selective, inconsistent.
Following our hearts through unspoken lips.
Soiled in the thought of need.
Was I ever ready to speak,
Needing, urging.-
What is it that you are trying to say,
I feel that this is us.
The priority of a first thought,
Overcoming all else.
Every day, a basket of oranges
In arms reach- woven together
In deep thought.
Beauty is only skin deep.
Spoiled by the nectar of lips
What Will Be,Will Come to Be...!
Kill Three Birds With One Stone,to Be Free...!
Sacred Fire Upon My Chest......
Do Thy Will...And Do It Best...!
Let That Pain Go Forth And Be....
Unto Those Who've Caused Thy Misery...!
The Names I Won't Say....
For You Know Them Very Well....
Go Forth Unto Them,Time Three.....
And Make Them Suffer The Same Exact Hell.....!
What Will Be....Will Come To Be.....!
Make Them All Suffer Three Times The Pain That They've Done Unto Me....!
Whether By Natural GOD'S GIVEN GRACE.....
Put These Vipers In Their Place...!
Whether TEMPEST,TSUNAMI, or....Even TORNADO......
Fulfill Thy Will With Such Powerful Bravado....!
Just Like Shakespeare's DUKE OF MILAN...PROSPERO....
Though I'm Not A Man....
Upon This Enchanted Island.....
I Be.....
A CONJURER'S DAUGHTER....A MAMBO....Is ME!
All I want Is Justice,But...More Than For Me.....!
But,FOR THE OTHERS WHO WERE WRONGED....NOW...As Well As Years,Decades,Besides....THE CENTURIES....!
Whether...TEMPEST,TSUNAMI,TORNADO,...EVEN EARTH QUAKE......
All We Want Is Justice Fulfilled To The Greatest By GOD'S Powerful Grace!
As MOSES DONE DID OVER THREE THOUSAND YEARS PAST.....
As QUEEN ESTER DONE,ALSO....
IT'S ALL THAT I ASK...!
To Prevent A MUCH BIGGER MESS WORSE THAN WORLD WAR TWO....
I PRAY TO THE ALMIGHTY....YOU KNOW WHAT TO DO....!
EVEN IF YOU GOTTA DO AFTER NOAH BUILT THE ARK....
EVEN IF YOU HAVE TO TEAR THE WHOLE EARTH APART...!
IF THAT WHAT IT TAKES FOR ABSOLUTE PEACE....
THAN DO IT SOON...TO CAUSE WAR TO BE PERMANENTLY TO CEASE...!
IN ORDER TAKE US ALL TO THE PROMISED LAND....
THAT HIGHER DIMENSION,AWAY FROM THE EVILS OF MAN...!
WHAT EVER IT TAKES IN THE GREAT MOTHER'S NAME.....
GAIA TERRA...SO PEACE WILL FINALLY REIGN...!
WHAT EVER IT TAKES....!
FOR ALL OF OUR SAKES...!
PLEASE MAKE A WAY...!
That's All That I Have To Say...!
I Have Said My Say......
Torn from your life
Like a weed from a garden,
Not caring of my feelings
Or even asking my pardon.
Mindlessly dislodged
And left to wither and die,
Not even given the chance
To tell you goodbye.
My love no longer worthy,
My caring no longer wanted,
And the pain that I feel
I will forever be haunted.
But I hold tight to my resolve
And hold my head high
As I choke down the tears
And refuse now to cry.
I know in my heart
Even after I’m gone,
My love for you still
Forever lives on.
It lives in the soil
Where my roots still remain,
Tattered and torn
But alive just the same.
So like a weed in a garden
It will grow once again,
In the same exact spot
Where once I had been.
It will grow strong and proud
Replenished and new,
With kindness and caring
To give only to you.
To watch over and protect you
And give you its love,
As I painfully watch you
From the heavens above.
If only I were a flower
Succulent and ornate,
Maybe I would not have had
To suffer this fate.
Perfectly observant,
We share the same exact struggle.
Perfectly normal,
A conversation with all but one subject.
Eyes that refer to the category
Of deep need.
Apologies do no justice.
Unpeeled oranges that sit in wait.
Guilty at first glance, suppressing true desire without a word.
Wanting to unravel- peel away at things kept from view.
Mistaking ears for a heart.
Just what are we observant of,
Have we become profound.
A perception seen but not heard
Are we that oblivious.
Selective, inconsistent.
Following our hearts through unspoken lips.
Soiled in the thought of need.
Was I ever ready to speak,
Needing, urging.-
What is it that you are trying to say,
I feel that this is us.
The priority of a first thought,
Overcoming all else.
Every day, a basket of oranges
In arms reach- woven together
In deep thought.
Beauty is only skin deep.
Spoiled by the nectar of lips
Your son was a lowlife hooligan.
Last year he murdered my son.
When it came to having the ability to show mercy, your son sure did lack it.
He shot my son right between the eyes because of his expensive jacket.
My boy gave him the jacket but he killed him anyway.
When I identified my son's body, your son had to pay.
Your son wanted to prove to his gang members that he was big and bad.
He shot my son in cold blood and returning the favor made me feel glad.
Your son was arrested but a bleeding heart judge let him out on bail.
A few hours later your son became the victim of a 44 Magnum Shell.
I killed him the same exact way that he killed my son, a bullet right between the eyes.
I didn't realize that a man could get so much pleasure by seeing another person die.
It was an eye for an eye, I pulled my gun on him and it felt so good to shoot.
But your son's death isn't good enough for me, I hope he fries in Hell to boot.
(This is a fictional poem)
I get a severe case of ghetto epilepsy
when it goes skin dark at night
Get a bad reaction ... very violently,
to any rearview flashing lights
Hear the loud siren behind,
see the shiny badges moving towards me
Fear gets cuffed to my mind —
Being black at night ain’t the color to be
Always ready to recite the blue uniform mantra
from the “Black Survivor Guide” handbook
Smiley face attitude, too often just ain’t enough ...
Racial profile consider this a suspicious look
Flashlight come tapping on the window,
it’s time for a minstrel rehearsal
Give an automatic lip involuntary flow,
just be calm ~ no mood reversal
Keep the eyes down,
keep the voice low
Raise the hands high ...
do it very, very slow
Speak to the officers respectfully,
say: Sirs, did I do something that was wrong?
If so, I didn’t know ... believe me
Hope their trigger finger ain’t an itchy bone
If sweaty hands get fidgety on the gun
don’t give ‘em any nervous firing notions
Still in doubt about the final outcome ...
politely repeat those same exact motions
Keep your eyes down,
keep your voice low
Raise your hands high ...
do it very, very slow
Suddenmovements will get you shot
by the brave, “Serve and protect”
Resist pleas will buy you a burial plot,
from a coroner’s morgue inquest
I hope you don’t suffer from a bad case
of ghetto epilepsy, my night time skin affliction
Or have a dark mood like my black face
If so, then you can expect a code blue condition