Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
The Napkin Poet Mar 2019
Find me
Cold in a corner
Scribbling over my tears
Exposed toes and clammy hands
Scribbling my inner demands

Find me
Lost in my own home
Head towards the ground
Making a cowering sound

Find me
Holding my head between my palms
Two elbows on the countertop
Lee May 2018
Serene love of one but for all,
Light of sacred thoughts enroute to places unknown,
Winds unleashing sweet memories in winter,
Like trees mind may appear,
Mountains we may call our imagination,
Words are random and so do our thoughts,
Nothing is permanent, love of all seasons is different like these lines,
Complete yet not eternal.
oft times as a child crayola crayons
   occupied concentration
   to color, with a hue and a cry
would erupt if the merest and faintest mark
   trespassed violating
   some shade dee rule, i'd decry

cuz even as a boy,
   a peaceful nonconformist/
   nonestablishmentarian streak
   now finds this guy
proud to be among
   the minority removed
   from the madding crowd,
   though blurt out a friendly "hi"

when within of the vast lines of humanity
   entropy vies to get
   the upper hand until ban ky
moon: secretary - (at time of this writing)
   general of the United Nations
   doth raise an hand gesticulating with lie

sense to subdue
   the crowded housed planet fitness
   even if his magic doth manage to ply
a temporary truce among
   scrabbling mobs of hoodlums,
   some regurgitating spoon fed
   pablum patois bred from an era quois

wanton vengeful retaliation,
   whence faux recapitulation
   initially evidenced
   from hooligans who try
to wrest control

   with mortal kombat full commando
   from elected officials,
   who abhorring violence must vie
trump petting for state military
   don protective gear
   bound by parochial training
   to counteract mutiny why

hill chaos runs amuck law man
   dating rubric with force of arms
   and crack of firearms,
   which forced quiet riot doth aim

to don the mantle of government control,
   whereby foot soldiers
   i.e. boots on the ground -
   operate asia single blame

less force to be reckoned with,
   cuz the supreme arbiter of power -
   who thru a coup d'etat did claim
sear of power forces opposition

   to sing condescending swan song
   toward ruler de jure,
   which includes a price tag i.e.
   at least one vestal ****** dame
Pauline Morris May 2016
Poets are the watchers in the tower
Scribbling, watching, waiting, hour after hour

They watch the depravity of man
They see their sinful plans
They watch the planet breath
They mourn as it bleeds
They watch the changing of the seasons
Connect the dots, make it all rhyme with reason
They watch the winged things fly
Shot down, plummet from the sky
They watch the good and the bad play out
From the paper the poets scream out and shout

They write about beauty and about what makes one cower
For they have endless combinations of words, endless power
They can drain you of hope, or make you flower
They are the watchers in the tower
Pauline Morris May 2016
Poets are the watchers in the tower
Scribbling, watching, waiting, hour after hour

They watch the depravity of man
They see their sinful plans
They watch the plant breath
They mourn as it bleeds
They watch the changing of the seasons
Connect the dots, make it all rhyme with reason
They watch the winged things fly
Shot down, plummet from the sky
They watch the good and the bad play out
From the paper the poets scream out and shout

They write about beauty and about what makes one cower
For the have endless combinations of words, endless power
They can drain you of hope, or make you flower
They are the watchers in the tower
Trying to make me miserable
      fails as it fails to make my
fellow poets feeling sorry for me;

Few other poets are splendid at that: they whine a bit
and you can see immediately
           almost everybody swiftly offering some stupid silken handkerchiefs
         and golden particles floating at the edges of every teardrop they spill for the aching poor poet. How strange!

It's like an unatempted deer hunt with the accompany
           of the invisible fast running grey hound dog, barking aloud through the void of the woods. Noone hears! The heroes...
                                      
                         ­                            Sycamore seeds°

                        I am no poet. Noone feels with me;
I'm the impeccable warrior! Writing for the benefit of Humanness, Human~heartkindness
              Scribbling on the high Sparkling ideals - on Humanity's behalf!
Imagined by
Impeccable Space Poetess
Poetic idealist
Raghu Menon Oct 2015
Random scribblings
Sometimes
Makes much more sense
Than
Well thought out,
Planned & refined writings.
Because,
Randomness is
What our nature is,
What occurs to us  ...
What we normally are,
What we do by instinct,
and
How we react
.
..
...
*naturally...
Daniela Jul 2014
I can finally recall the exact moment I lost myself*.
It all began when I started placing your opinion higher on the scale than what I believed of myself.

All this time I've been a deer caught in the headlights,
it's funny how you can grow used to pretty much anything.

Everything has changed now,
You no longer make me feel proud about myself, but ashamed.
I feel like my own self is starting to fade away into this new type of girls you're hitting on day by day.

You've changed your standards and so you changed me as well.
You replaced my vans and mess, with a girl in a pink dress.

And though you are the one, who left me behind,
the shock of my evolving has got you judging me all over.

Forgive me for I'm not the girl you put your faith on last summer,
a broken promise and a stare of disappointment is all thats left of us.
Scribbling as listening to Mumford and Sons.
Back on track!!
Next page