They want to become one with the breeze
Society's needs are a real burden we see
Maybe it is best to just let them all seethe
And to let them do whatever they please
Note: This poem is about people who hate the spotlight. I understand them.
It feels muted.
Like a bubbling ache, miming the mince of my patronising murk.
The peevish petulance of my prejudice prompts an abandoned frugality so thinned to a destined demise.
Unlaced.
Untied.
Undone.
A portal so honed to the residual refine of my extinction.
The sterling silver glints off the ashen sheds of my abandoned flesh; she looks like a platter.
Each serving an amortisation to the segments of my pestilent seethe.
Every atom of her making nurtures a barbaric famine to the fester of her feud.
Each larceny a sacrificial suckle for the prosperity of her condemn.
I feel my ruins spewing in a sovereign decay of a cataclysm so heinous in its destruction.
So sinister in its devaluation.
So predatory in its death.
It feels muted; all my days blending one.
All my days blending into the countdown to my censure.
My day of reckoning.
they chanted for one-but not the other
after all-they are both the worlds brother
the world virtue signalled for one-but not the other
what the world needs is care like that of a mother
when it was one rule for one and another rule for the others
arent we all meant to be the same-arent we are all the worlds brothers
slogans we written for one and not the other
suppose they just wanted to appease big-brother
they chanted for one and not for the other-hypocrites
we have fallen into the deep-dark pits
they both cried they couldnt breathe
and both ended with a community in seethe
both communities had enough and were at a boiling point
peoples rage and anger did take over from the disappoint
we have all had enough of watching societies corrode
and now we are standing at humanities crossroad
It's never finished—
endless need for dab or daub
with ink, paint, still wet
pen and brush, quiver and quake
aching for last touché touch.
Mind waits, contemplates—
sees the flaws, fizz, flaunt, and seethe,
edges come undone,
making more space to be filled,
with more touché there instilled.
Smooth will not lie smooth,
each move runs against the grain
tremors spill lava,
each correction answers back—
it's never enough—touché.
Obsession obstructs
the path towards completion,
becomes a minefield
of bits missing in action,
cowardly in dissension.
There's fingerprint smears
on every surface, shined clean
to show perfection—
obsession won't rest until
each shine shows more hidden rust.
At last, the step back—
but the work clings on, and on,
it won't—can't let go
obsessed with never-ending
contraire touché affair.
Kranz cramps heat—sheath seals, seeds seethe
Turgor swells, culms quake
Veins pulse, bundle hums
Carbon snaps, stomata whisper
Drought yields, husks harden
Grains glitter, spine bends
Kranz folds, sheath tightens
Seeds bristle, stomata sigh
Dormancy waits, Kranz cramps heat—sheath seals, seeds seethe
Both aired, but unalike
Processed of minds.
Anarchic; sane.
Harmful. Healthful.
Both aired, but unalike.
First, last, seethe. Lull.
As devils, as angels
Enfolded by.
Street and track-walked.
City; parkland.
As devils, as angels.
Morn, eve, expand.
A continent we haven't yet worked out,
it may be barren, may contain high worth.
The more we learn, the greater grows our doubt.
A place of poison spiders, clot-red earth,
it's huge. Marseilles to Moscow isn't quite
the space which separates Penrith from Perth.
When first we meet it, promise glitters bright.
Its sun is strong, its vegetation lush ...
Harsh truth defeats analysis so trite.
This beauty is skin-deep. Sweet waters gush,
but only on its gaily-colored fringe.
Interiors are ominously hushed.
Just scratch the surface, there's an ocher tinge
which speaks of life extinguished. Dead rocks seethe
beneath cruel radiation. Reptiles cringe
in crevices. There's nothing here to breathe.
(from the French of Paul Verlaine)
Sobs long and thin
of violins
hurt my heart
as the weary part
begins.
I cannot breathe
emotions seethe.
When silver chimes
waft other times,
I grieve.
Borne through the trees
on an evil breeze,
I ride the air
now here, now there.
Dead leaves.
For the second time, to foresee everything that love commits
It is hard to see, where wrong and boundary correlate.
So burden would not be love; somber is just hard to translate
Unfortunately, it's hard to designate, that it may never be delicate
The first time, thought love transcends mortality and duration
Giving up is the hardest-- to fulfill the adjudication
I am foretold that love is a sacrificial lamb existence, more on
Moron that i could be the way I am treating the situation
Now it is the fourth time; I never heard of the third.
I skipped it, made of traumas like a herd
Shepherd-- me convincing every pieces, even it is blurred
Though, it is hard to find, my glasses broke, everything scattered
Now, I realized, the pattern is so specific
It looks like mentally challenging;horrific.
That, what I just remembered-- munific
What RIvermaya just performed is honorific
Though even I see that, love eats me out
Every love I fought just made my feet seethe with gout
It is for Rivermaya with no doubt
That narrative of genuine love, still works out
Qualms seethe as
Heart agonizes
Battling against guilt
To choose between life and death
Sans blest peace...
Triumphant
My will does succeed
Conquering with hope
As I strive for wellness bliss
Midst prayer*.
*1 Thessalonians 5:16-18 Rejoice evermore. Pray without ceasing. In every thing give thanks: for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you.
October 29, 2025
3rd place, "PENTASTITCH IT" Verse Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Nette Onclaud; judged on 10/31/2025
Unmet expectations damage your demanding mind,
your senses become the fast spreading wild fire.
Uncontrolled, it boils the blood of your intrinsic pride,
and as it flares up, it burns my gentle demeanor.
Its ferocity blazes the bonhomie of bonding chords,
my life turns into an urn filled with your ill feeling.
Your flashing eyes can’t conceal you seethe inside,
generate an inferno of malice for me in your heart .
The twisted tongue spills out your sentiments so sadistic,
smeared with the vicious venom of your malicious mind.
The scorched petals of my floral essence are dislodged
to feel the dreams turn into debris, suffering in silent pain.
I pray to God to give me the strength of tolerant psyche
and the acuity of empathetic acumen to sense that
“the only way out of the labyrinth of suffering is to forgive.”
So, the spontaneous spurt of imbibed divine forgiveness
emanates from the fountain of my benign soul,
and I perceive my genial mind evade the pangs of agony.
Paris isn’t some wondrous far country.
We have noisy trash pickup and there are no Dairy Queens.
Ok, It may be far away but that’s your fault - let’s not dwell on it.
Don’t get me wrong, we’re wondrous enough - we have we have running water - some of it hot, and the other bare necessities of earthly happiness, like wi-fi and pizza.
Paris is like a melon - here’s where you get involved and picture a melon.
If you pictured bananas, those aren’t melons - they’re tropical fruits - try again.
Oranges? GEE-zus, those are Citrus fruits - you are really slowing things down.
Forget it - let’s do some poetry…
When he kisses,
he leaves his impress
and makes me writhe and twist.
We revel and carouse tirelessly,
appetites roar and seethe like lions,
until we lie prone like the dead.
I should have saved that for Halloween.
.
.
Songs for this:
Back to friends by Sobr
DAISIES by Justin Bieber
KISS by Demi Lovato
Kiss me with a song make me scream,
dismiss it throw wood on the fire.
Promise me you’ll haunt me forever,
this is my most deeply hidden desire.
I catch myself caught in such longing,
try but with a lyric I barely breathe.
My words should be lit with a match.
Fly with the angels? All I do is seethe.
Your Forlorn
At some point, I’ll know the pass
So abhorrent I cannot surpass
The cruel and twisted of the mind
I have to keep my mind sublimed
The weeping mind
The mindless soul
The love that was never told
The shame that broke my heart in two
Of forever wanting you
That tiny child, so long ago
The one that never knew a foe
The one that held the cries inside
And now it bleeds out deep you know
That sickening that doth does spew
Because that sickening, that was you
Forgiveness now tis in my mind
I’ve passed a way it is now kind
I hope you get the passage through
Your mind
Release
Don’t feel it blue
One day you’ll seethe in your mind
A fruitful magic of cries inside
Of understanding that you’ll know
No more broken hearts
No more antagonising foe
The weeping mind it is no more
Unfortunately for you
Forlorn
Poetry soupris
Soupris being French for sighs
And we all breathe them
At different times in our lives
We breathe them in relief
And maybe in our sleep
Exhaled after we've railed
Against the nightly thief
Poetry soupris
Potato soupris served cold
Alphabet soupris
Spelled out in the bowl
Sighs of relief
Sighs that matter
Sighs of release
In thoughts that scatter
(Carole Landis
"The sigh heard round the world"
Only Twenty-nine
When we lost "your baby" girl)
Sorrowed soupris
During suffering endured
Godly suffering
Soupris when your cured
Soupris relenting
Served during your sentence
The sighs, the soupris
As we seethe through repentance
Now that the war is over
And you have traveled home
Awaiting and waiting
To breathe out this soupris poem
Let the soupris fly away
And all things al dente (to the tooth)
If this were the Seventies
I’d hope your needle finds its groove
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