Raw Poems - Poems about Raw

-In the dead of night, when the world is silent, her whispers haunt the shadows of my mind. “Daddy, I’m so tired… I don’t want to be here anymore.” Her small voice, trembling like a ghost, echoes in my heart — a chilling reminder of the fragile life we’re trying to hold together. Late at night, when silence drapes...

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Raw? Depends on what you saw. Disaster? From jaw. Who's the master? Real or raw? Melee, mighty, maw... Peoples of the ocean blue? Vehicles to ride? What exactly do we do? Heaven and Hell, hide? Tide of all tomorrows! I requite you each! Surcease of our sorrows? It must be in our reach! Peaches grow in gardens? An orchard is the place. Wolverines dwell deep in dens! Rage lurks on...

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Recently my nutritionist – a health freak if ever there was one – suggested I eat raw vegetables like cabbage, kale, asparagus, brussel sprouts, cauliflower and broccoli, all of the cruciferous family, all packed with vital antioxidants, vitamins, minerals, phytochemicals and fibre, (relieving weekly straining bouts of constipation.) As for results he assured me with an assured smile I’d be stronger...

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My wife likes eggs fried medium, then all mashed up and mangled. Until they are mixed together, but not actually scrambled. Me, I want the yolks still runny, so I can sop it up with my toast. But any way you want to cook them, is the way I like them the most....

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For let me be remebered Not cherished, loved, adored God let me be remebered Despite all of my flaws Let me not be an angle In the eyes of the world Let me not be diluted By the demise that was hurled From exaggeration set me free Let my wit travel beyond me How my soul bleeds in...

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The penchant of a national leader. can show malignancy in things he says; things for which his mind needs a proof-reader. Some tempers malign as rivals start to quiz Views have drawn the cancer, cacoethes. A writer’s mania – cacoethes scribendi - appears when terrorists write a manifesto. Do over-engaged minds stage what’s trendy? obsessive was the groove of the fluent...

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The caterpillar never prayed— it coiled around the bark, turned aside the whimpers of wings a-flutter, and created a moat of silence. Promises? It made none— to itself or to the universe. Transformation was not a melody or a plea, just the still rebellion of survival. As the chrysalis cracked open, it wasn’t a triumph. It bore no grace. It was escape—raw, fierce, and unapologetically its...

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Bird saw he was in the raw ~ composed ‘Turkey in the Straw’ ...

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Beneath the moon's pale gleam, I sit alone, The sea's cool breath weaving through my robes. Upon my lips, the ocean's secrets flow— Each oyster a pearl of the world untold. Their brine whispers of the tides' long song, Of ships lost, of lovers waiting in vain. A sip of wine softens the sea's harsh kiss, Its fire dancing where salt once...

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A haunting comes unexpected, perhaps that’s the delicious draw; Strolling the woods with a guffaw, nature’s buzz leaves you elated; Every sense may seem upended, red bared skin on your wrist is raw; A haunting comes; Your pulse has become upgraded put into pace by a chainsaw; The blood curdling scream’s first law: ‘Leave all their calm devastated.’ A haunting comes....

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Intense desires felt heart yearns for your safe return wanting to be touched...

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I lay cold all night Until my head ached with it A feverish dream existed in the chill Deregulated extremes occupy the same spaces Only in raw madness are glimmers of truth Settled crowd types watching reruns aren't noticing Let us no longer yearn for the sedation But perhaps we always will I write this at three minutes before morning Unsure what I...

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A professional mind In a role of calm duty A position of expert In assessment of risk At home much less structure Mayhem abounding The colours are vibrant In calming the mind The memories of childhood Arranged on display To share the enjoyment Of a time full of love...

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Raw is the madness bathing me in crimson dreams - those dreams surreal in which I battle all of the unholy beasts I cannot fight against when I am sane . . . for sanity binds me to the ground so that in my wakened state I can’t manage to rise up as mighty as a warrior against the many dragrons spewing their demonic fire across...

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It amuses me when people ask “How are you?” Fortunately for us both They never ask “Who are you?” For that answer relies upon a deep dive Into the hollows of a heart The scorched remains of a soul A lonely walk Through the darkness of youth The crumbled “joy” of innocence The malingering residue of defeat. Do not ask who I am Just leave me to further...

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