Poems about weekend


№ 1200896


The words you say to me bring me back to the happiest dreams I've had of you, and it's then that I realize they've come true.


Author: Tree
Date: 29/03/2020

№ 1174545

Weekend solace

Weekend solace nears
Tears of grapes, oak fermented,
Tastes of summers past.

solace,  weekend.

Author: Urban
Date: 05/03/2020

№ 1168877

Tuesday nights and every other weekend

Marsha Lenihan once wrote, "People with BPD are like people with third degree burns all over their body, lacking emotional skin, they feel agony at the slightest touch or movement. "

I used to cry when I said goodbye to my father after our weekly Tuesday night dinners
I'd play out games of Go fish and Rummy like there was no winner, but I was victorious next
To my daddy.
His eyes still crinkle in the corners and his smell will always be long car rides with blankets, books on tape, and a wide range of conversations even though he was always late
But I'd weep like he actually just dropped dead every Tuesday night because I was petrified

My small but portly frame would crumple and I would mumble the worries I was too scared to say
I was afraid I'd see my daddy for the last time that day
I thought I had asthma because I was always fat and sometimes choked on the air in my lungs as if it was strangling me but I had my first panic attack in grade three

I was sitting in Mrs. Arlotta's classroom ladida
Just like any other story about a schoolday when I was punched in the stomach
With a fist of "I miss my fucking dad"
There was this bully beating the shit out of me with no prologues warning
Just to remind me Despair
Is not some abandoned pit people place their pity into
Despair, can be like an earwig, you use hope like tissues to squash out intrusion
But earwigs are smart, experts at delusion
Earwigs know where to hide until you go to sleep

Every other weekend I used to sleep at my dads house with his british girlfriend
And his lovely cats and soothing hot tub
And his british girlfriend
And the fireplaces and the tribal music
And the british girlfriend
And the beautiful homemade pond and the greenhouse
And the british girlfriend

I liked roasting marshamallows until their crisp outer layer began to bubble but not for too long for if they fell in the fire there was trouble
Bort are you seriously letting the girl eat sweets tonight, god knows she doesn't need them

I liked riding my bike through Elizabeth park their flower garden was absolutley breathtaking
"you know Haley if you got off your ass more often moving your legs wouldn't be such a chore"

And I loved dinners with freshly picked herbs and seasonal tablecloths tucked in the curbs
"go ahead, have another helping, you're just like your mother, disgusting"

Well Karen I hope I'm like her and I hope she's disgusting
I hope she tasted disgusting on the leftover edges of my fathers lips
When you two were thrusting, could you also taste the hasty goodbyes he tossed like
Rubber ducks to a family
Waiting in line for him to come home
And waiting and waiting for him to never fucking come home

I loved my dad.
Yes despair was everywhere but seeing my dad was like finding religion
If a child could comprehend the task of going to church

Christine Ann Lawson once wrote, " The borderling queen expreiances what therapists call oral greediness. the desperate hunger of the borderline queen is a kin to the behavior of an infant who had gone too long between feedings. Starved, frustrated, and beyond the ability to calm or sooth herself, she grabs, flails, wails until the last nipple is planted securely and perhaps too deeply in her mouth. She coughs, gags, chokes, spits eyeing the elusive breast like a wolf guarding her food. Similarily, the queen holds onto what is hers taking more than she could use, in case it might be taken away prematurely. "

Did my eyes taste sour when you few times you kissed my lids goodnight maybe that's why there wasn't one fucking hour without a glass of wine, another beet, hide your shots of tequila behind the birthday cards I made you.

There was an ache of despair that you wouldn't always be there that when you decided you wanted to participate it was way past the expiration date
I said goodbye to my dad after dinner last night without a second look back, I forgot he could be dead when I was blowing lines to stay alive

Experts say a key symptom of borderling is chronic emptiness
Maybe if things had been different dad, I wouldn't be such a fucking mess
And you would have to pay Connecticutcare less.

nights,  tuesday,  weekend.

Author: illuminated-atmosphere
Date: 29/02/2020

№ 1165363

Dignified Sparrow Looking for Weekend Love

A White-Rumped Snowfinch
(Montifringilla Taczanowskii to be precise)
From a fat mother,
From the peak of Beaver Lake's juniper tree,
Where seeds arrive each night at supper
(the depression never struck our nest! )
And from a fine education--
I've learned my ways around this town,
I've learned the hedges where the crows cackle
By the school, on the mountain roads.

I seek a regular, weekend fling,
No titles, just feelings.
Preferably females two years or older,
Fellow finches or bluebirds will do.

Let us dine on seasoned larva,
Sunflowers from the Biltmore fields.
I will peck your cheek,
You shall return the favor gratefully.
Let us seize breeding season
Before the flocks flock southward.

You know where to find me.

dignified,  love,  sparrow,  weekend.

Author: Mel Holmes
Date: 26/02/2020

№ 1153689

That Weekend 1975

He drew the drab curtains
In that cheap hotel room,
Shutting out the street

Lamps and nosey people
Across the street. Come
To bed, you said, I'm all

Ready for you, and he looked
At you laying on the bed
Older than he was, yet still
Quite young, at least you

Were still up for it. You need
To undress, you said, you
Aren't shy are you? No, just

Getting ready, he said, and
Began to take off his jumper
(ex-army), then the blue jeans,

And you lay there expectantly,
Hands linked behind your head.
The lady said the bath taps

Work opposite, you said, the hot
Is cold and the cold is hot.
He was down to his underwear
And stood there gazing at you.

What would your husband say
If he could see us now? he said.
He would say: never thought

You'd find a fool to take you
To bed instead of me, you said.
He slipped off the undewear

And climbed into the bed. You
Switched off the light and you
Hugged close. Don't worry your

Sweet head about him, you said.
But it seemed kind of odd, as if
He was being spied on by God.


Author: Terry Collett
Date: 15/02/2020

№ 1150367

Waiting for the Weekend

In the dusk of war
Of my own personal battles
That seethed and wailed,
Uprooted from the ground
Like weeds beneath the shallow mulch
Did my own fears come to fruition,
Seeds nestled between memories
Suckling on life as soon as it enters me.
Though rare and bleeding
Did spill into my life
At the same moment more people arrived -
Those who would do the cleaning
"Oh, come now, " they said
For I'd been mulling about in
My own person,
Not as much as I'd been swimming in
A glass of Merlot and cherry wine;
For I'd drowned in a solution so pure before -
All besides the sting and reverberating warmth of
The lord in my glass
Would be toxic for me.

waiting,  weekend.

Author: Jas
Date: 12/02/2020

№ 1149393

The Weekend

Though weekdays are quite busy here
Quiet weekends are what I fear
I'm always putting on my shoes
And going out for rendevous

Windermere is a busy place
Lots of visitors set the pace
The splendid scenery is free
So very much to see

Kendal Town boasting progression
With the yearly 'Torchlight Procession'
Places to see, places to play
A wonderful way to pass your day

For all the tourist towns the race is on
This weekend Kendal has won


Author: Katy Souse
Date: 12/02/2020

№ 1149373

Weekend warrior

One more Saturday night.
Gone, long gone are his nights
Of wild and reckless
Mischief and

Fear not for our hero.
Fret not for he has fared well
Through these centuries.

Now, much wiser
And with more
Than a little
Under his belt,
He plans his
Mischief and debauchery.

It is best that way.

warrior,  weekend.

Author: JM
Date: 12/02/2020