Just to Vent

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Senior Member
Aug 15, 2012

Stocked, locked, inside a barrel.
And knocked down?

The pushover
is rolled over,
feeling terrible!

The rattled thuds and tears within are something horrible.
The hate from watching-eyes are unfathomable-- unmentionable.

they are not ingnorable.

Made of wood, the cylinder chest holds nothing considered keeping.
All cost is kept inside the unrest of a sad soul, shaken, weeping.

Swept like trash,
and stared at,
this coffin's kicked away.

Into a river,
to the side of town,
to sink or be swept away.

The bouncing is replaced by bobbing.
And all laughing, by lapping waves.
The context is completely different,
'cept the sense of a certain pain.

The motion creates a sickness,
the rapids are picking up,
the commotion around the closed crate... hints
at another.

("Did I make it?" is wondered.
"Did a miracle stop the fall?
Did someone decide to save me?
Did an angel answer my call?")

The container is off (of) the victim.
The restraining covers are no longer a cage.
The fast plunge is remembered.
So... "Where is 'here' at this stage?"

With movement obviously missing,
aside from the questions rising,
Eyes open to check the location.

A light is seen: it's blinding.


Senior Member
Aug 15, 2012
About "Suspense"

I know that the beginning of a post may be seen, so I have added this to protect the previous entry:
Read "Suspense," the previous post, before the reading below.

(The first line of this poem was on my mind as I woke up. After doing some chores, I tried my hand at recording it, so I would have it somewhere for later. This poem is a draft. Also, the way you see it and the way I wrote it are NOT the same.

I tried to utilize sentence structure to depict a waterfall, like the "..." and the subsequent ".d r o p" were to create a real picture of what was happening. Unfortunately, the draft mode and published results do not use the same space. Therefore, what is shown above may not, will not, capture the essence intended.

All that said, I am crateful for either result. Pun intended!)


Senior Member
Aug 15, 2012
"Not my type"

I wrote a poem and I've erased.
The words are gone. I've replaced.
I meant to say something deep.
But what I said, you did not need.
I took a shot at what was made.
I've gotten rid of the masquerade.
The feeling's there, I cannot lie.
Again, I erase. Again, I'll write.
Dec 22, 2016
"Facing it"

The learning, the tests, the trying to impress.
I detest.
I cannot do my best, with all of this unrest.

You jab me with your watching eyes, your counting my mistakes.
You twist my arm while I work anxiously, hoping to not be late.

But it is nothing too hard for me, I've been hindered here before.
Only, it was my self-pity that kept me from the door.

So here I am, still facing you you.
Your stare cuts my every breath.

You're annoyed,
because I've ignored...
the pain inside my chest.

Likes this exhausting poem


Senior Member
Aug 15, 2012
"In without the old"

The paint is chipping, the bed is ripping,
the ceiling is peeling, the wear's revealing.
Cracks keep threading, wrinkles are spreading.
Nails keep failing, pictures are paling.
The stress is mounting; the toll(,) I'm counting.
Damage is showing, the threat is growing.
Patience is thinning in an unending inning.
Time for an outing, to avoid the pouting.
I'm weak and tripping. My walk's like slipping.
I need more than repair work. Please pray it will work.
The mail just came in, thanks for prayin'.
Its the answer I'm keeping. Its the reply I was seeking.
The message is telling, the property is selling.
A chance for me to move on. Down, fallen, another pawn.
This game, I keep losing, but at least I'm still moving.
What's broken is gone, its time to carry on.
And so we hope to, but what's old was once new.
Therefore, instead of trying to replace a rotting past.
Perhaps we'll do well to build a Life that actually Lasts.


(Lord, you see the broken parts of our pasts. And you see the unknown futures of us all.
Instead of making 2017 resolutions only, help us to maintain the time provided.
Mend or replace what you will; regardless, help us to move on, forgiving, forgiven, and refreshed.
In Jesus' name, your will be done, amen.)
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Senior Member
Aug 15, 2012
Christmas equals more than I can multiply in my mind.
It is exponentially more than a cartoon conveys.
It was not born from the human heart.
And it will not die if forgotten.
Christmas is not snow-saturating time for giving.
It is not a day set-aside to sit down with family.
It is not an evening of caroling or spending more than one can afford.
Not even the culmination of human compassion is enough, or comes close to matching the Person of Christmas.
You see, it began with God... with us. That's Christmas! Immanuel, not men who do well. Jesus is not the reason in the eyes of many this season. But that does not hinder the Truth, doubters don't determine Christ. Praise the Lord!

Merry Christmas! :)

(Christmas may include wonderful experiences-- or not-- with others. But what makes Christmas so special is remembering that God is with us. That God entered this sinful world through a little child, to not only bring light but to bring us out of eternal darkness.)


Senior Member
Aug 15, 2012
Pretzels create a thirst, if you eat enough.
Similarly, if we are the salt of the earth, then others will desire Water, given time.
But if a pretzel loses its thirst-inducing properties, then one will be filled with the illusion of fullness.
Never wanting more.


Senior Member
Mar 13, 2014
Pretzels create a thirst, if you eat enough.
Similarly, if we are the salt of the earth, then others will desire Water, given time.
But if a pretzel loses its thirst-inducing properties, then one will be filled with the illusion of fullness.
Never wanting more.
I'm not a big pretzel eater myself but I do agree that they are salty. I read somewhere that the shiny coating on pretzels is due to being processed with lye which is highly toxic. The soft pretzels taste good with mustard though. When I experience thirst inducing properties I imbibe Gatorade.


Senior Member
Aug 15, 2012
Just to vent... no rhyming

The anthem of carolers, with Purpose and innocent cheer intact, it pervades the block of curious over-hearing neighbors.
Even the Grinch watches, waiting for their approaching tunes of merriment. The selfish child, normally wrapped up in herself, she peaks to see what's so special about the songs sung. And the downhearted lonelies of Holidays Present are themselves beginning to add hope to the hodgepodge-of-a-choir's voice. Yes, a community of constant distraction joins together for a night. And somehow, while it may be misunderstood as an excuse for getting rest, real pain is felt as they share in compassion toward the town's aching. There are tears of joy, like water within a faithful well, and the good-natured lyrics draws them out. To be noticed, or to be felt, the excitement that comes during healthy exercise is made evident. In fact, the combined results of each soul's contribution begs the question: Why not more often?


Senior Member
Aug 15, 2012
I see typos, but I leave them to keep the unedited nature as stated.


Senior Member
Aug 15, 2012
The icy wind thaws on impact,
for the warmth of contact is
better than the blast of no touch of any kind.

The numbing bites of hated loneliness
are worse than slashing hordes.

Yes, the embittering light of unwanted solitude
is viler than unwelcome company.

Yet why settle for any of these evils,
when there is Greater Love?

The Truth is, Someone is For you (even if not With you)
during each and every agonizing thought.
Now, you can fight this Fact, disagreeing forever,
but nothing good will come from such a horrid Error.
Rather, contrary to such Fallen logic, there is God's Fully Informed, Holy Intention.

His choice to include you is nothing to fear.
Quite the opposite,
it is reason to Rejoice.
no matter your plight,
Flourish today.


Your Everlasting Hope

(written by IDEA)


Senior Member
Aug 15, 2012
"Naming it"

A slope that's slated for a dynamite blast.
A caving ceiling that will not last.
A dropping posture of a strong-willed back.
That is my past.

A war-torn land with a beat-up man.
A belittled person with no battle plan.
A time of error in sinkhole-sands.
That is my past.

A fighting stray in the cornered night.
A desperate ocean's revealing tide.
A last-resort attempt to hide.
That is my past.

A buried test that haunts at will.
A sunken piece of what I feel.
A dormant part that stirs me still.
That is my past.

A strain of threat to the tired mind,
A disease in remission that isn't kind.
When it taunts, Glory Chides.
That is my past.

A cloud that may return with rain.
A storm that can cause more pain.
It is Nothing, in Jesus' Name!
That was my Past.

--IDEA January 3, 2017
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Senior Member
Aug 15, 2012
Note: Just venting, unedited.

"The Real Deal"

The smile only sticks while there's payment,
but withhold the funds and you should expect payback.
The eyes that danced will stomp you.
The heart that loved will forget you.
And the relationship you thought existed...
Well, you'll learn that it never did.

(Inspired by an article on Kevin Garnett; not according to his words.)


Senior Member
Aug 15, 2012
"The offset of snow days"
The snow falling causes the motion detector to turn on
The wind howling causes the snow to pack on
The stillness following causes onlookers to go out
The children playing inside are really adults, when stepping outside.
The new-fallen needs to be removed,
So the adults present can do what they mean to.
That adult wants work.
The child wants to play.
So they make a deal,
the energy of the youths will work
for the logic of the adults.
The ice is now slidden to the sides of
their opposite-ways.
A path is made.
But the wind still howls,
and so does the neighbor's dog.


Senior Member
Nov 14, 2016
He probably wants a bacon treat...


Senior Member
Nov 24, 2013
I think the dog is cold. Howling to go in the house. Where the bacon is.


Senior Member
Aug 15, 2012
"A Slot of Light"

I wake up counting the books of the bible,
looking at an opening with light entering,
and spot the hung sweater that could be used as a pillow.
--the perfect place to pray.
Then I sit up, so motivated, so drawn,
and I tilt myself into a time of thanksgiving.
Especially as I consider the sacrifices made.
For country, community, church, or family,
but most of all-- the world.
I remember the ones who gave their tempting last breaths,
so other may continue breathing.
Moreover, that people may continue to Live.
Jesus is the Way,
but many have been imperfect signposts,
messages of Peace.
And so, now up, moved on from one room...
I make sure I leave room for others.

(Note: The "slot" refers to an opening between the blinds, which let light in this morning.
I woke up in a guest room dedicated to the memory of service in the military. There is a Navy quilt that reminds me to be grateful.)
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Senior Member
Aug 15, 2012
Two are better than one,
when we work together,
to accomplish a task given,
or to help one another through a rough spot in the day.
When one slows down, the other encourages-- or picks up the slack.
When the other is angered, the one can listen-- but will not give in.
They lean on each other, so they stand longer.
When the arms are wear they support one another, so as to stay strong.
Yes, two are better than one.
If the tactic is used for good.

Therefore, God, let me help someone today,
so his or her day may be better.

In Jesus' name, amen.


Senior Member
Aug 15, 2012
"Car beams on glass"

Washed the back window,
thought I did good,
but then it dried,
and weather happened,
and so did debris.
So the once-cleaned,
or so-I-thought,
was ruined.
I tried to ignore the faint-yet-visible,
I tried to look over the fact that it was unclean.
Certainly, it is better than before.
But the widow is streaky, spotted-- however small the dots.
And it leaves me wondering,
"Did I ever?"
Did I ever truly clean (you know) correctly?
What happened, that the once-cleaned vexes me?
I mean, if it were not cleaned properly, then it stands to reason that better is possible.
And if the most thorough and accurate measure of making the mudded glass like new,
if it really happened,
then why fuss over premier treatment done right?
And why doubt it is possible, still, to be cleaned again?
Perhaps it is not the cleanliness that bothers me,
but the watching eyes...
of those who observe my own imperfections...
through an equally shrouded window.
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