Theirs Poems - Poems about Theirs

The salt of their skin has its flayed geometry, sharp crevices beneath the classroom where my dark teeth tried the savoury chalk and failed. I have been a teacher for the sum of my disjointed life; never knew otherwise, never learnt, as I grew, how to study the breadcrumb where the heights have gathered. My students, ants in my breath, state they are builders of...

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I have these things Wrong with me And I want to Get them out But I don't want To bother or get In the way of Someone else's Happiness I want to deal With it all By myself But I just can't Yet I don't want To burden someone With my own problems It seems so selfish To dump my problems On somebody else Because it is not Theirs to deal with They are...

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some abstract men that rule this smart world with dire obstructions and extractions...

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Villanelle: No lives are theirs those who embody rule of law No lives are theirs those who embody rule of law Inhabit the corridors of authority Must of needs lay lives down their peoples to succour Makes no difference whether tyrant emperor Or those who sneak in barely in democracy No lives are theirs those who embody rule of law Falter even...

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Not Mine but Theirs I would like to start a poetry trend But am not sure where it should end With a challenge could we all compete Even after hearing pattering of little feet. If my poems were to become problematic Should they always create much static How can I use my poems for ammunition? So they can compete in the competition. Maybe I'm...

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As our habitat grows Is it our selfishness Do we think of the wildlife In our world of bliss The cougar will encroach On our habitat grounds And because he is there Will we take him down And the Duskey Seaside Sparrow What of she We have blanked her existence From all living tree's As all creatures will hear From the words below As we encroach...

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Because of need, I toil, I sweat, I bear the burden of others’ ills. Despite the efforts, nothing’s gained. Again and again, my blood is spilled. Middle class man in a dead end job Doing the best for the family, the home. Stabbed again, by the men with no eyes Gives my mind the intention to roam. More money to gain or is...

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May darkness reign them cold and black and their ways be made their own attack. Cold winds rip them turn and turn and harsh winds fires burn and burn. Their bones of kin ache and break troubles double their forsake....

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Because of need, I toil, I sweat, I bear the burden of others’ ills. Despite the efforts, nothing’s gained. Again and again, my blood is spilled. Middle class man in a dead end job Doing the best for the family, the home. Stabbed again, by the men with no eyes Gives my mind the intention to roam. More money to gain or is...

Continue reading...