Someone said I'm a so so writer and I'm not that good.
The words didn't offend me and I'm working at improving.
Here's the short list of what I'd like to do with and for you.
I embrace words most need to look up and love when you use them.
Sit back and read this poem that I wrote and hope you like.
I'd like to take you for a long walk on a long pier.
I know you have difficulties walking without pain
so we take it slow and stop as much as you required.
I'd like to talk to you for hours using intelligent words.
I'd like to gift you long love poetry written on parchment paper.
I'd like you to write poetry for me using a King's English.
I LOVE it when you use words found in a thesaurus!
I like the way you make poetry writing easy breezy.
I'd like to get to know you better face to face and use our words.
I've heard speak and I love hearing the sound of your voice.
I would love it if you called me and said you want to hear me breath.
I'd like you to write and sing a song just for me one day.
I'd like to know your favorite perfume and gift it to you.
I'd like you to paint a portrait of me and I'd hang it on my wall.
I'd like to know what you do when you're off net.
I wont follow you around town to discover where you go.
I'd like to know your secrets if you wanted to share them.
I'd like to know your favorite foods and prepare them for you.
I read words and know you like being read to and would like to
read works by your favorite authors to you under a shade tree.
I'd like to build a time machine for you to go back in time
to before you lost trust and faith in all men not to hurt you.
I like your long poems and we like we share a love of big and small words.
pretium est princeps unde redderent, quia munera(1)
τραγική, η τιμή
Σας έκανε να πληρώσετε
tragikí̱ , i̱ timí̱
Sas ékane na pli̱ró̱sete
nu ligga död
botten av gropen(3)
nocht, ach le haghaidh an salachar
Chaith mé a chuirtear air(4)
Take your largesse and squeeze it where the sun never sees(5)
We all laid down
just as well
The master cut
the puppet strings
and we all
(2) Greek ~ grievous price We did pay this
(3) Swedish ~ now lying dead bottom of the pit
(4) Irsh ~ naked, but for the dirt I spent upon it
(5) No translation required
I just read a poem by a young person who says she's eighteen.
I don't like sadness and her words made me not want to be on this site.
How can you criticize anyone who using words you personally don't like?
I've read poem I don't like but I keep negative comments to myself
and never write comments that make people feel bad about what they write.
There's something twisted in writing poems about hating what people write.
There's only a few types of people in the world and I wont be one who puts
others down for expressing feelings using big or small words.
when a gin and tonic turns jinn and lost it
chronic, clown face coined comic
yeah, my life is fine
but my blood is toxic
sailed the seas
I rocked the ship
Ironic, iron crosses
aren't half the decoration you'd be
insert m.a.a.d. city catch phrase
catch the connotations to decode what I say
even so, it's pretty personal
you could place all the pieces and still not see the picture shown
how many times do I have to tell you, don't hold me
if you don't want to own me
how do I return to my right now
and explain that my scent is such because of a subscription to a series of you weren't my first choice
sorry, you just don't make the same dent in my bed sheets
or pillow, among other sentimental things
simply put, you got stuck with the short end of the stick
getting lovestruck by someone who's lovesick & starstruck
a patron to the trading block throwing tantrums about daft shit
and aspiring alchemist all because he missed his first draft pick
The footsteps echoed on cobblestones
When a chime rang ten of the clock,
As a sailor making his way back home
Was walking up from the dock,
It was cold and dark for the lights were out
And the street was wet with the rain,
When he came to an old red telephone box
At the side of a narrow lane.
The clouds were black and they opened up
So he stepped in out of the wet,
Dropped his swag as it turned to hail
And lit up a cigarette,
The box was ancient, was George the Fifth
And hadn’t been used for years,
But stood in a lane that time forgot
When the rot set in, and worse.
For most of the houses were boarded up
And the weeds had grown outside,
Some had embarked for a tree-lined park
And some of the others died,
It was lonely there in the dark of night
As the sailor waited, he sang,
But stubbed his cigarette out in fright
When the telephone next to him rang.
He stared at it for a while before
He raised it, stopping the bell,
It had an echoing, ghostly sound
Like you hear in a deep sea shell,
The sound of sobbing came to his ear
And he cried, ‘Who’s there, what’s wrong?’
‘Oh God, I’ve waited forever my dear,
I’m locked in the basement, Tom!’
The sailor said that he wasn’t Tom
But she didn’t appear to hear,
‘He’s got an axe, attacking the door,
Be quick or he’ll kill me, dear!’
The sailor didn’t know what to say
But a chill ran up his spine,
‘Tell me, what’s your address,’ he said
‘Before you run out of time!’
‘I’m straight across from the telephone box,
You usually meet me here,
He’s found us out, and he screams and shouts
That he’ll kill you as well, my dear!
He just came home from a spell at sea
And called me a cheating whore,
If you don’t come over and rescue me
He’ll have smashed his way through the door.’
The sailor wanted to say, ‘Enough!
It’s nothing to do with me,’
But flew on out of the telephone box,
Leapt over a fallen tree,
He raced right in through the open door
And he called, ‘I’m here, just wait!’
Then made his way to the cellar door
But all he could feel was hate.
The door was shattered, he walked right in
It was dark, there wasn’t a light,
He felt around for a candle, lit
And stared at the terrible sight.
A man lay dead on the basement floor
Where an axe had taken his life,
And there with her throat like an open sore
Was the body of his dear wife.
He staggered, stopped, and fell to his knees
And sobbed like a man insane,
‘Oh God, it’s true, I did this to you,
But my mind’s been playing games.
I thought if I went away to sea
I’d return to find they were dreams…’
As he sliced a razor across his throat
He thought, ‘Life’s not what it seems!’
David Lewis Paget
I'm sick of chasing shadows up and down these halls,
and watching headlights dance across the cold and pale white walls.
This empty home is where love once grew from hearts lined with gold
but now the only thing left is an attic full of mold.
I'm tired of the silence but for the whisping trees,
Their aching hearts moaning as they're nearly brought to knee.
The cold cotton on my bed where optimism used to lay.
The resounding echo of dying parts of me and the booming shades of grey.
Depression seeps in nightly and has its own safe place
It comes in when not welcomed and shows its ugly face.
Thursday brings an ugly night, or morning I should say
The day I feel too much just happens to be today.
5:30 am and still awake from the night before
A hazy tired feeling and every muscle sore.
But having seen your smile before you turned to bed
Has brought some life back to this sad life I have led.
The shadows they still linger, the headlights stay and play
But even through this long, dark night you've got me seizing the day.
Puts on her heavy kinky boots.
Flicks her hair back over her shoulders.
Slap on her face.
She's out on the pull.
Wants to snatch another fool.
This girl she looks so flaming cool.
Her fingers smart.
Red hair then falls over her face.
Out on the hunt has no disgrace.
She cares not who she snares.
Cares not who she hurts.
Just out to catch the jack of hearts.
Like the jacks caught her before.
It's ladies night.
She's out to even the score.
Physically will not destroy them all.
Use abuse him like a toy.
Mentally she will make him.
Every little tiny bit.
Make him want her all.
Her turn to even up the score.
Want her with power.
He will want to send her flowers.
Will want to feed her chocolate dreams.
To try to make her melt.
This iron lady.
When death meets in a furnace.
Only will her heart melt again.
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Like a simile to start a poem
I can say I did but never tried.
Took a jump but never a dive.
Just Flittering around
The same ripped up page.
Lights did they dance or sing?
Maybe a lockstep and a drum beat.
Tomorrow is become a prison.
There's no crime in being lonely.
daisies hum hymns in flutter-eyes
weeping willow leans down to whistle
a medley of fifteen-odd tunes you used to know
but never quite did grasp
the axis merry-tilts just a bit and
you try to grab hold of a patch of sullen-sky
but the clouds shift once more
and you're unexpectedly holding rain in your joints
running steady-rivulets in the morrow's wrinkles
you step onto the pavement
avoiding the lines
a knack acquired over years of practice
on the sidelines of others' lives
kerb jumps up like a whore with no chapeau
its inordinate-syllogism bites your ankle
like a swarm of ants in dread-ire
in disorderly tornado-twirls
step.. step.. step..
S T - 4 decked / on / double
I'll be watching :)
Pick a number,
pick a moment,
pick a memory,
pick a thought.
These are all the same.
There are just as many of each of them.
They are just as close to each other
and just as far apart