Best Wear Thin Poems
Life is a lesson you learn it as you live
a schools education is given to a kid
getting Grade A papers, isn’t that splendid
but you’re a human being and that means you are stupid
Understanding logic and the patterns in the brain
but some people are toxic in these ways we can’t explain
knowing educated logic and behaviours aren’t the same
you can’t predict the people who are out to cause you pain
you’ll never know what rules are used when forced to play their game
things are unexpected in such ways we cannot train
at school you might be clever but this life drives you insane
people do what people do when desperate for a win
the unanticipated move you perceive to be a sin
it will cause frustration and your patience will wear thin
when these people go at you they’ll get right under your skin
when there’s no one you can tell then it is down to you
don’t think your education tells you what you need to do
wisdom comes with age learning what you never knew
things the young have never done as they’ve not needed too
so take in what your elders say the things they have been through
because they’ve been where you are right now, yes they were young like you
trust me they’ve seen this before and know just what to do
they will point you in a way that you just never knew
one day you will be older and will help somebody too
But while you’re young trust me you’re dumb and haven’t got a clue
because true education is from life you’ve not been through
there is no test nor text book there’s no way you can prepare
for what you’ll know when you are old when you have lost your hair
Many a poet I know a fool
acting like they know-it-all
many a poet I know a tool
acting like "Mr Poet-all"
unknowingly showing me
their knowledge of poetry
has boundaries surrounding
ideas rebounding around
their impounded grounds
only seeing the same repeatedly
nothing new unfortunately
forever under lock and key
belittling anything new they see.
As a poet I'm not especially traditional
more so "special" writing additional
my raw and new to poetry style
unlike those into poetry awhile
so can I now pick the thoughts
of a traditional poet know-it-all
I believe to be caught in restriction walls
appearing to parrot what taught in schools
see if I perceive conviction in their cause
or robotic perspective their memory stores
too Inspect credentials for signs set in stone
content or unambitious toward the unknown
should I see respect or a moody moan
for new styles outside their own zone
Seemingly their priority is to teach all to try to be
writing unoriginally prevent the mind think free
in a strictly stricken view I see crippling you
never trying new or seeking something else to do
you have regulations on how creativity is written
preventing inspiration thus so negatively driven
speculating with unchallenged repetition
as though been tutored to a limit
you're now failing to ascend merited
having starved all but within it.
So please respect my detected inclination at play
but poetry is a creative artform not set in its ways
and those paved paths you pace and wear thin
were once unpaved before their now adored placing
so shouldn't a creative artform progress and not stay there
wouldn't it go on new quests paving unpaved or
invent realise and find in amaze ways new spaces
not be assigned a confined station like railways
instead seek to new roads or train to fly the skies
cus a closed off mind concealed in a cocoon
denies the butterfly wings the room
like a inverted narrow mind blinds clues
let's preserve and branch from the lay of the track
if poetry stays then poetry slacks but if adapts
poetry won't wear weak crumble and crack
recycling the same will only sink in to the black
I don't want to conform to the common or normal
because I see it as a creative short fall.
So why refuse new styles when you could embrace all poetry?
are you a poet or are you a phoney?
You Sang The Song I Sang To You
I heard a tapping on my heart
it woke me from my sleep.
I lay there quietly in the night
and then I heard you weep.
Rising from my body
my spirit then took flight.
To come and be beside you
in the middle of the night.
Carried by the wind it seems
I followed all your fears.
Until at last I'm close enough
I see tracks of your tears.
Standing just outside your room
I am no longer flying.
On the other side is you,
I hear you softly crying.
I whisper to the shadows
as I feel your hope wear thin.
And tell them I can't enter
unless you let me in.
I heard the message echo
and then I heard you rise.
You opened up your bedroom door
with teardrops in your eyes.
I felt virtue leaving me
I somehow lost control.
My heart sang a song of love
and etched it in your soul.
Your eyes no longer crying
I listened and I heard.
You sang the song I sang to you
and you knew every word.
I searched for an answer
I knew not what to say.
The sun would soon be shining,
time for me to go away.
I turned to look into your eyes
one moment left to share.
I saw your smile and I was gone
you never knew that I was there.
Edwin C Hofert
The house on the hill stood forsaken by time.
The gutters were hanging and covered in grime.
The windows were warped and the siding was peeling,
And spider webs spanned from the floor to the ceiling
The moon overhead had now reached its full height.
It was only a crescent and scarcely gave light.
As my heart quickened, I rose from my chair
For this was the hour when the ‘others’ appear.
When walls wear thin between this and the next,
And ghosts can cross over with eerie effects.
The room became cold as so often it would,
And I wanted to hide but then before I could
A spectral window appeared from the gloom
And soon it enveloped the entire room.
Through it was a vision that ransomed my breath:
A young girl in her bed lying quiet as death.
“Why are you here?” I yelled with surprise
To which she arose and looked deep in my eyes.
Through the veil that divided I thought she looked scared,
But she said nothing and just sat and stared.
Breaking the silence I repeated my query
To which she erupted in violent fury.
She told me to leave, that this wasn’t my place
With an anger and fear that contorted her face.
I reached out to calm her, from my own habit mostly,
But realized with panic that my own arm was ghostly.
Ethereal body, I was spectral and wrong.
She was right; I was the one who didn’t belong.
For all of my wisdom, I had to admit
Dying wasn’t something I thought I’d forget.
But I was the ghoul that was lost out of time.
I looked at the moon as it slipped from its prime.
The girl whispered something I couldn’t hear what,
But the window was fading, my time was soon up.
And as it shut closed like each night it does
I forgot everything and became who I was.
8.21.18
Sponsor- Dear Heart
Contest- The Haunted House
Quote: "There are people in the world so hungry, that God cannot appear to them except in the form of bread.” – Mahatma Gandhi
In wars, innocent lives are the cost,
Their homes, their dreams, forever lost.
Starvation strikes, food laid to waste,
Leaving many hungry in its haste.
In silent shadows where hunger hides,
Aching emptiness, sorrow abides.
Whispers in the dark seek a ray of light,
A glimmer of hope to end the night.
In bellies hollow, echoes resound,
Souls wear thin, despair is found.
Streets echo with desperation's cries,
As hunger's grip tightens, hope tries.
Yet within hearts, resilience blooms,
Defying hunger's relentless gloom.
Let's extend our hands, open wide,
To those in need, nowhere to hide.
In acts of kindness, flames are fed,
Bringing warmth to the hungry, unfed.
Slam entry for contest
Being british through and through, what the hell!
Even here in England I smell the crude slick smell.
British Petroleum, BP, yes I said it!
Feeling to blame for the fat cats messed up S##t!
I’m sure that the story here is only half told
News dies off fast when all the papers are sold!
£13 billion pounds to “compensate” the damage
That’s ok then?! Let’s relax and have a cheese sandwich!
How sad, Mr BP losing his job, he’ll have to sell his Rolls Royce
Lets be honest, he’s not gonna line up for a job through choice!
13 million barrels leaked, no wonder a gallon is £6
At that price it amazes me how they afford to get a plane off the ground!
Lets go on holiday…not to America though, why though?
Embarrassed to be fair. I shouldn’t be that much I know.
‘The dead sea’, full of oil, not the one that replenishes skin!
‘Sea of death’, full of hurt,…oh, hello Mr BP, your money is gonna wear thin!
Today I learned that all is naught, and naught is all..
I have been seeking, unconsciously, unaware,
Only to learn that all that I ever wanted to be was a seeker,
Out ward lies but a pale reflection of the magnificent kingdoms that reside within,
And here I was seeking scraps amongst the ruins that the fake outside threw at me,
While the bounty lies untouched, getting duskier, murkier, and fading to be lost forever, without a trace,
With millions of padlocks of ignorant births vying to seal it shut, before my very eyes while I watched impassively mesmerized by the play,
how miserably blind have I been and how deaf,
To the truth hidden in plain sight, and the song of truth hidden in the silence.
How badly I have missed the pacific embrace of my maker, the liberating, exhilarating, peaceful.
Yes I have always had a feeling of being watched by a million eyes, which is spied through the corners of my own, and heard hushed muffled cries felt warm tears being shed every time I fell.
How many bewildering disguises exclusively designed to fool me?
What a fool I have been to think I was a nobody, when there is somebody as badly in need of me, as badly as I am in need of he.
He who cast me out of my perfectitude, into the microcosm of infinitesimallity .
Only to quietly but surely blow me back the way from whence I came,
Like a dry leaf moves so mildly in a breeze as though on its own accord.
His disguises fast wear thin as I see him in all, I shall catch him soon..
For him, I have long sought, he who taught me,
Naught is all and all is naught.
The days on earth wear thin
Like my hair
And where girdles pull in a
Sagging mass
And memory is washed by a
Lunar pull-
Like the tide that washes over
Footprints in the sand
Soon memories are gone
like a dying star grows dim
And I return recycled to
The worms
But my heart knows a better
Place-
Where reserved for me
I know so well-
I will glow in -The eternal day
That is- my permanent home
Brenda V Northeast
A voice that’s been lost to time,
Yet still ever-present in this mind of mine.
Its resonance seems fresh to my ears,
Merely this ushers forth a multitude of tears.
How can such a plenty of years not lessen
Or wear thin the fabric of recollection
To make this old loss seem more tolerable,
This all seems so inexorable.
May, June, July, new Presidents and Prime
Ministers elected world-wide,
Politicians, crossing the floor, patronizing
The other side,
Finally striving for what we all hope,
Peace and unity,
But the yellow canary haired man has for
Years acted with impunity.
Could a Utopia exist in these
Chaotic times.
Kamala is hot on his heels for in two months
All will be said and done,
Will democracy hear the bells chime,
As the poll numbers rise which would
Be first prize,
As Humpty Dumpty loses his
Landslide win,
And Democracy walks away with
A grin,
As the aged wann-a-be President’s
Predictions wear thin.
OR
Will this man actually come to pass,
Destiny is in the making,
Winner takes and will have a worldwide
Platform for the taking,
The East it seems have with him
Become somewhat chummy,
Quite a risk don’t you think, but all will
Soon be revealed honey.
I’m near my end, I feel it close
My patience does wear thin
Some pills! Some pills! I need a dose
“fore they see my evil twin
This job! This job! It makes me ill!
Their snot and germs spread so fast
I come to school with much good will
Quickly spoiled with the first blast
Of glares and cursing galore
They look so sweet, but are so rude
I want to run out the door
My wish to help dashed to the rocks
By those kids who think they know
More than the most cunning smart fox
They don’t need me so I’ll go
Mother's inner-lining of strength,
lightning wit and enveloping love
tucked stitch by stitch
in diamonds, swirls or tidy rows.
Her voice sings to me,
her stories sewn in layers
of fabric, appliquéd patchwork,
blazing colors and clever patterns.
May the syntax of my poems
bequeath so rich a legacy,
bleed thru the filmy fabric of life
and speak with fluent tongue
of who I am.
May my written words
not wear thin and splinter
into scrap snippets but suture
with grit, thread with humor
and embroider with comfort.
It was the end of the day when McGee walked in
to his favorite neighborhood pub
Gave a last puff on a stogie
that he smoked right down to the stub
Then made his way up to the bar
Where he said with a troubling grin
Serve me a beer and put it right here
Before all the trouble begins
After the first, he had another
as his patients appeared to wear thin
And saying He wanted a beer
Before all the trouble begins
So this went on 'til the barman
produced McGee's bill, and that's when
McGee scratched his head, and then calmly said
"Now Here's where the trouble begins"
food isn’t seen as fuel and nourishment, food is seen as guilt and shame
your bones wear thin and your hair falls out in clumps
you see your ribs when you lift up your shirt and you feel your hipbones stick out whenever your boney fingers are placed on them.
your throat is sore from the acid and the vomit flowing through you
your family know they should hide away the knifes and the blades
but what’s worse is that they’re scared you’re hurting so badly you might even harm yourself with a fork
but isn’t that what you’ve been doing all along?
you put down the fork... and haven’t picked it up since
-unKnown Person
Words are predictable,
body language is revealing.
Saying it like a fool,
who are you deceiving?
Spend your life doing nothing,
telling it like it's something.
Lazy, lonely, miserable,
Who are you this evening?
Some people need to fit,
they latch on to your words,
once in opinions flip,
seeing you for your worth.
First impressions,
you've mastered it,
not the second or the third,
when shallow waters show you are but a turd.
Even when you epic fail
you tell yourself you haven't
tell yourself you pulled it off,
the life you live you haven't.
Lies wear thin but they don't reveal the lie,
they reveal the gal or guy who lives a tragic life,
once you've seen it say goodbye however harsh or sly,
they'll set you up to save themselves somewhere down the line.
A picture worth a thousand words,
body language makes words redundant,
saying good, showing worst,
sounds don't mean anything when I can see they front.