Deferred Poems - Poems about Deferred

Dreams Deferred My Dreams have always been to travel around the globe. Dreams Deferred? Perhaps My dream is to possibly become an author, second-guessing and duped. Dreams Deferred? Perhaps Unguarded decisions, false evidence appears real. Dreams Deferred? Perhaps Guilty by association, recognized toxic faces, unaccustomed places, I'm at a crossroads. Dreams Deferred? Perhaps Trust shattered...

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I … loved you all in my way … obviously starkly different as pertaining to our particular bonds (covalent, in most respects) each, a glyph to form words in the phrase of Us … only one left to my indifferences (regret requires as much) the rest … critical elements, idiosyncratic shaping this ‘who’ - weaving his fabric as needed to be the creation that was required or that his modes assumed...

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It is night's first light — evening The world thinks through my mind The echoes of a bittersweet day whisper My ears twitch, my heart pricks A pressed edge leans forward Shouldering the offices of the earth A desire to just surmount the hurdles Like an infant falls yet learns to walk The one weary of deferred hope The other elated 'bout a filled...

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He is the son, of the storm, and from bone and blood he is reborn, a dancing ghost-god matador, spinning in the sea. Though he appears, calm as stone, he is lost amid the ocean foam, unable to reclaim his throne, of human dignity....

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Muffled dialogue ennui sequestered intimacy so distant, ...

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I am not living I am epitaph writing The deferred reward...

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Possess the land of your heart For cares of the world can cause Our hearts to become compact! Don't let hope be deferred It's time to plow our hearts And let the dormant seeds Grow and flourish once again! This is a precious time Time is cyclic, take a step back Look at the situation, see your part Walk circumspectly and align with time Let time...

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How will my household chores get done? They're just no fun. I'd rather write about this plight. Great piles of clothes and dishes hope for cleansing soap. Another time, I'll banish grime. Today a "Minute" calls my name. This prompt's to blame for undone work I had to shirk! received NA in an open-choice contest on April 10, 2022 September 17, 2022 entered in the Your Second Chance...

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I want to know joy, But I am afraid This is not how I am made Grief is a constant friend My heart is warm, Eyes are keen, I see others, Still,I feel unseen I play too small Do not know why Insightful, sensitive, reluctant to cry Need time alone To hear my heart, Answers are there, Painful to start My body is wise, it does not lie Must...

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All Dreams Deferred By Sy Roth Bilious, they lay there in a somnolent heap Dreams imprisoned. Langston toed them, and lethargically they wiggled But could not rise from the ashes of their sadness. The dreams that once took residence Wallow now in unfilled, charmless trifles Like an uncapped bottle of cheap champagne Its bubbles let loose into the ether-- A flat, unquenching...

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What happens when rotten strange fruit… Hanging from trees of auction block wood Become stinking pieces of black flesh… Dried blood putrefying in murderous streets…? When crystallized tears of remorse…Laden and Loaded with explosive grief…Flow down weary Faces wrinkled by time’s trials, tribulations and Treacherousness and neglect of freedom, justice And equality, all become like inconsequential Sunned raisins and festering sores…? When visions of deferred...

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*with due apologies to the late, great Langston Hughes* What happens to a dream deferred? Me? Defer a dream? Nah, I ain't that mighty a fool! Does it dry up Like a raisin in the sun? Raisins! Mmm, I love me some raisins... on oatmeal, on cookies, the works! Or fester like a sore? Yikes! the imagery on human skin! And then run? If dreams run,...

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Beauty Aesthetic grace Is muted for a time Weary eyes searching the darkness New dawn.. Absence makes these eyes grow fonder Beethoven's sonata Comes to a close Sunrise ...

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(Apropos of Hughes’s Proverbial Question) What happens when rotten strange fruit… Hanging from trees of auction block wood Become stinking pieces of black flesh…dried blood Putrefying in murderous streets…? When crystallized tears of remorse…Laden and loaded With explosive grief…flow down weary faces Wrinkled by time’s trials, tribulations…treacherousness— And neglect of freedom, justice and equality All become like inconsequential sunned raisins and festering sores…? When visions...

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MY HEART IS A WOUNDED BIRD WINGS QUIVERING IN SILENT PAIN WITH STIFLED BREATH UNABLE TO FLY PALED FROM BATTLE MY HEART IS AN ICEBERG WEIGHED HEAVY IN MY CHEST FOGGING MY THOUGHT WITH COLD MIST RAINING DOWN MY SKIN, INSIDE. AUGUST 2000...

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