Submissions by Bomberro
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
23rd Jan 2013 5:04pm
23rd Jan 2013 5:04pm
Kinder Teaching
Our forfront is overload by misscomunications.
Treading on our self's in moderation.
Am a bulbus or sore from my loss of pride?
Have I become what society doesnt hide?
The others have history and pride outfront.
We hide in shallow holes in our hunt.
Why don't you envy them, I do.
They have more self respect than me or you.
This is America and our current population.
Makes me wonder where I fit in.
Where do i fit in?
Where do I fit in?
Treading on our self's in moderation.
Am a bulbus or sore from my loss of pride?
Have I become what society doesnt hide?
The others have history and pride outfront.
We hide in shallow holes in our hunt.
Why don't you envy them, I do.
They have more self respect than me or you.
This is America and our current population.
Makes me wonder where I fit in.
Where do i fit in?
Where do I fit in?
518 reads
2 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
19th Nov 2012 4:37pm
19th Nov 2012 4:37pm
My Little Flower
My Little Flower
Today I met something detatched from me, for you and all to never be.
From little to nothing I find in comfort a little sting from lusty wonder.
What happen to that final hour where lust is gone now rain and shower.
My pleasure was taken my bed remain I cannot sleep without the rain.
To whom it bee but my flower is it raining at the hour?
Wonderwise it makes me smurk a sicken man is low as dirt.
A beam of light my floer saw two hands and nails are to be gone.
My little flower of guilt and pain I water down with my rain.
...
Today I met something detatched from me, for you and all to never be.
From little to nothing I find in comfort a little sting from lusty wonder.
What happen to that final hour where lust is gone now rain and shower.
My pleasure was taken my bed remain I cannot sleep without the rain.
To whom it bee but my flower is it raining at the hour?
Wonderwise it makes me smurk a sicken man is low as dirt.
A beam of light my floer saw two hands and nails are to be gone.
My little flower of guilt and pain I water down with my rain.
...
695 reads
0 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
18th Nov 2012 7:40am
18th Nov 2012 7:40am
The Black
The Black
The back of my eye sees no end to the solution I try to give.
Why you were once so bright and uncovered my jelious friend.
Now do you hide from me or him?
Big heart my concious mind but never notice.
You ruffle my feathers with nerviousness in sight.
Never seeing the black behind my eyes.
Been through so much.
Should I take off what gave me power?
The black is all ive lost in all my awe and wonder.
The back of my eye sees no end to the solution I try to give.
Why you were once so bright and uncovered my jelious friend.
Now do you hide from me or him?
Big heart my concious mind but never notice.
You ruffle my feathers with nerviousness in sight.
Never seeing the black behind my eyes.
Been through so much.
Should I take off what gave me power?
The black is all ive lost in all my awe and wonder.
633 reads
1 Comment
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
18th Nov 2012 7:09am
18th Nov 2012 7:09am
Swallow
Swallow
The blackness swallows.
I was never meant to float here.
Why is it shallow?
Is it me as I swallow.
Salt winds with the swallow.
Deep earth as I swallow.
I never knew myself as I swallow.
Peck Peck.
Knock knock, as I swallow.
Too late as I swallow.
To late as I lay.
The blackness swallows.
I was never meant to float here.
Why is it shallow?
Is it me as I swallow.
Salt winds with the swallow.
Deep earth as I swallow.
I never knew myself as I swallow.
Peck Peck.
Knock knock, as I swallow.
Too late as I swallow.
To late as I lay.
654 reads
1 Comment
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
14th Nov 2012 5:48pm
14th Nov 2012 5:48pm
Things Old Things
Things Old Things
They were young.
Now they are our history.
In nursing homes they are forgotten.
Rubbish and Rotten.
They were are past and now pickle.
Sour the air when you enter the town.
All of the old gather round.
When you enter they offer a hand but they are nobody and not your clan.
We fear the old because of imprisonment mortality.
We read of them for our current reality.
We always fight to resist our doom.
But next to you is your impending doom.
"Have you reached your verdict?" Yells your father....
They were young.
Now they are our history.
In nursing homes they are forgotten.
Rubbish and Rotten.
They were are past and now pickle.
Sour the air when you enter the town.
All of the old gather round.
When you enter they offer a hand but they are nobody and not your clan.
We fear the old because of imprisonment mortality.
We read of them for our current reality.
We always fight to resist our doom.
But next to you is your impending doom.
"Have you reached your verdict?" Yells your father....
529 reads
0 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
14th Nov 2012 5:22pm
14th Nov 2012 5:22pm
Daze Change
Daze Change
Today I decided to not have a baby.
Boy or Girl I would never know.
Without snot noses or pink beanies or ailments I would never know.
No interruption to my daily life to buy strange cloths.
Nor would I know pure trust for mommy when I get home.
No not me in that I am alone.
No man to help me grow.
No roots to call my own.
No baseball or ballerina or princesses will I know.
No I am alone.
Now I am withered.
My hair is thin and complements my face and covered by my hat.
My rose cheeks are gone and my womb dried up....
Today I decided to not have a baby.
Boy or Girl I would never know.
Without snot noses or pink beanies or ailments I would never know.
No interruption to my daily life to buy strange cloths.
Nor would I know pure trust for mommy when I get home.
No not me in that I am alone.
No man to help me grow.
No roots to call my own.
No baseball or ballerina or princesses will I know.
No I am alone.
Now I am withered.
My hair is thin and complements my face and covered by my hat.
My rose cheeks are gone and my womb dried up....
638 reads
0 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by Bomberro
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