A Baha'i Poet

Grid View
List View
  • benhurbedford 8w


    I am empty.
    A clay pot, filled with soup.
    The heat aggravates my agitated mind.
    Ungrateful, unlawful,
    And a sheep following the lions path.

  • benhurbedford 8w

    When I write..

    When I write, it is crucifixion.
    I bleed from my nails.
    I cry with opaque black ink,
    and I die on a poem.

  • benhurbedford 8w

    What do you know about what you know?

    What do you know about what you know?
    Degraded in grade school
    Belittled with the beasts.
    I swung with a neck tie.
    It was a formal death.
    Don't tell me..
    That your pain was real.

  • benhurbedford 8w

    Not of its Length

    Life is short.
    Not of its length,
    But of its nature.
    Crippling fractures, that shadows.
    What the core of a rotten apple is.

    Life is short.
    Not of its length.
    But of my arm.
    Slipping away like a seed.
    Sucking the juice from a succulent, addiciting and life absorbing orange fruit.

  • benhurbedford 15w

    The Troubles.

    The fear that fumbles and troubles at night.
    A year of tears and rumblings of a tummy.
    I'm here though I plough the ground for sound.
    Ready to march and arch my back all round.

    The night and day of mesmerizing plays.
    Of little brittle liars that chew the cud and stay.
    I remember December cold in my heart.
    And throw the blown up forbidden art.

    I cannot think nor write a song,
    the words are long and worthless assets.
    The rubble underneath my defeated feet.
    I remember the cold as I whisper and eat.

  • benhurbedford 15w


    I feel like a weakling.
    Shadowing the past of others.
    Leave my path undiscovered, and unbothered.
    But mere thunder that my heart sings at night.

    I flee but I'm a wee bit awful,
    When I shadow the past of others,
    Leaving my path undiscovered, and it's bothering,
    the tune in my head that lights a fume as the night slumbers.

  • benhurbedford 15w

    The Glam and Pressure.

    I still couldn't write
    I ought to do it.
    I dont want to,
    look stupid.

    The billboards shine,
    like splendid wine.
    I don't want to,
    look stupid.

    Writers and editors,
    magazines and books,
    I don't want to,
    look stupid.

    I'm an easy man.
    Lazy and pacing,
    both cross,
    to hit the fan.

  • benhurbedford 15w


    The bruises, the burns, the joy, the turns.
    Awaiting your fate, is the scatter of light.
    Leaves all the men left behind.
    But the fight of a mother, is our only sight.

    The fall, the fall, the fall of spring.
    The rise again of the slot machine.
    The luck becomes a weary scene.
    The source, the glam, the force of man.

    Laying behold, is the majestic sight.
    Impressive light intending no soul left behind.
    The song, that sings, for all shiny things.
    Let Thee spree its words, and the Bible as She.

    The mellowed down may rise within.
    Like all, the fall, shall never defeat.
    I will remember the December cold.
    When I hear your story, in the Book unfold.

  • benhurbedford 15w

    As I Draw For You.

    The Nature that I Draw for you,
    crumbles in my hands while i ought to do,
    the painting of my picture vast and mesmerizing.
    The poetic form and acceptance of their criticizing.

    I unveil a cloud and extinguish the smoke.
    Drawing the stars in my eyes, I would hope.
    I swim in your pain, the flooding of blood in your lie.
    Looking across the river I stumble on a puddle of mud but I fly.

    Where have I been? I stay foolishly centered.
    In a vivid dialect to speak like a wizard .
    I am the Nature I Draw for you.
    And develop the craft, although it is the colour of blue.

  • benhurbedford 15w

    Addicts laying by the Road Side.

    Young lad, swam in a bottle of whiskey.
    Made his descision like the bitterness in me.
    How long can you run when the cops storm you down.
    Will the rain pour in silence, or echo aloud.

    Judging by the crack on his thick skull,
    The options lay beneath the sheets that dull.
    His proficiency and attitude on a comet than came
    The world lit on fire, and he just flew with his pain

    Where did he go? I had not seen.
    For the grass has forever wore is bright coloured green.
    I wore my drenched coat like a reminiscing witness
    As I strolled out the judge's court, with a sudden and urging quickness.

    I begged on my bleeding wounded knees to stay
    So that I would not be in a dreamy stage to play.
    I can now barely see that driven out king.
    Whose body used to be hung over, that mellow scene.