asha-nicole
American
I myself can speak only so loudly, say only so much and feel only so deeply. My poetry does the rest. Everything within me eventually rips out and embeds itself into a poem. Even the deepest of secrets, squeeze themselves out through my fingers. I find it to be beautiful and sometimes frightening, that I can never hide from myself in art.
It must be the music talking,
but i think I'm falling in love with you
I think its the way the falsettos got me swinging
the way the altos got me singing
I cant help but fall in love with you
The soprano told me about you
With it's sweet scandalous tune
Then the bass caught wind
hummed a few bars ,and told me your name
And I guess the band heard too,
Must've whispered to you
Because the harmonies playing my head
trying to convince me, your falling in love with me too.
Jul 11, 2012
Jul 11, 2012 at 1:50 AM UTC
Never trust trigger happy love birds. There’s nothing worse then those quick bullet, one shot lovers.
They never shoot straight, always tilted slightly to the left, and each shot is fired with just as little precaution as the next. These wayward birds take to every successful hit with big star-ward eyes. Eyes so wide it breaks your heart. Eyes filled with such pride, they’re as sinful as innocence herself.
These birds fly rather high in the silver-lined sky, letting romance blur their vision. Undisturbed by whispered warnings and signs that follow them so close. They’ll twitter and tweet that their love knows no such repose. Then those very same star-lit eyes watch the ground comes crashing, knocking them from the clouds. Leaving bullet holes where wings should be and shards of stars in once bright eyes.
Then they’ll look at you in such a way that you can’t help but clean their wounds. These poor birds will tell you, like they mean it every time, they really thought that was their last shot. They really thought they had found their bird of a feather, their one in a million in where millions fly. However all is well, you’ll soon see. As soon as their healed, they’ll fly straight back to where they’ll always be. Eyes wayward, star-ward and set on that sky. With the trigger and bullet, perfectly aligned.
You just have to hope that this time, they won’t hit you.
Jun 25, 2012
Jun 25, 2012 at 9:46 PM UTC
What shame Goliath's family must have felt.
Imagine the honor that shame chased away.
Just that morning, a kiss was left on his mother's cheek
Sealed with his promise, of an easy victory
"So small," He thought, as he looked down to David's face
"I will defeat him!" he boasted while bloated with a wide grin
But little man, with little rocks fostered no doubt.
And with that little chance, and one shot, he released his rocks
And down came the prideful giant, befallen to death on impact
Down came his power, his stature, and his fight
His corpse, marked forever, with the bruising of David's hands
It was said it will glow defiantly even in the darkness of hell
The news would soon return to his Mother's table
She will hear that her son, Powerful and feared
Her beloved, once so mighty and superior
Had been defeated by a child with little rocks, and too much faith.
Jun 13, 2012
Jun 13, 2012 at 2:10 PM UTC
Ginger twine wrapped tightly round his finger.
A slight smile across his even tighter lips.
Wound around his liquid thoughts
His twiney figers grasp the drinking glass
filled to the brim with sweet, sweet ice tea
Its rich brown shade mocking the color of the sky
It is here, in this place, where lemon lovers meet
You easily pinpoint the kind of souls they carry,
Simply by the shade of their sweet iced tea
And they carry that ginger twine, tightly wound
They carry that coil everywhere they go
Many ask if it is a symbol, or subliminally literal?
A invitation, or a silent and quiet warning?
But its just that ginger twine and sweet ice tea
I too, carry them everywhere with me
Golden in the sun, red in the mid-light
Circular and quite rough with deep rouge ridges
they're placebos of purpose simply right, simply true
If you wish to comprehend,shutdown all distraction
Then you will be here now and here you will stay
Humbly accept your ginger twine and ice tea
for that, my friend, is exactly happened to be me
and the way every sip slides down my thought
It tastes of determination, solitude, and hope
Oh how I love that ginger twine and sweet ice tea
Ginger twine wrapped tightly round her finger.
A slight smile across her even tighter lips.
Wound around her liquid thoughts
Her twiney figers grasp the drinking glass
filled to the brim with sweet, sweet ice tea
her rich brown shade mocking the color of the sky
Ginger Twine and Sweet Ice Tea
Wrapped tightly around me
Jun 13, 2012
Jun 13, 2012 at 1:47 PM UTC
Some like their poetry with ten percent less
Compressed
Into small, easy to swallow portions
Contortioned
Into short, sweet sugar-coated contents
Condensed
Into watered down soups for those emotionally constipated
Concentrated
Into thoughtless juice for the self-conflicted
Constricted
To the mind of the starving poet, cosmetically redesigned
Continuously Confined
Jun 8, 2012
Jun 8, 2012 at 6:47 PM UTC
I hear many emotions disguised as words
These spoken feeling are dried then stuffed
all their glorious masculinity, now compacted
and their complexity is now rather compressed
emotions grinded into flat and blank thoughts
Sometimes i don't believe in words,
The way force themselves in and out .
For they falter when trying to explain colors,
Shades and tones always lack proper description.
Rarely do words capture that exact bend in light.
Nor that exact bend of your long neck,
foreign sensations my fingers once knew.
Words lack terms for the roughness of your face,
lack measurements for the smoothness of your lips.
And paragraphs won’t explain the feeling in my chest.
Nor can they explain the hollowness within my heart
When I could tell no one the secrets of my grief.
Only so many words can be used in a dying breath,
And Last words are usually much later said.
what did she wish to tell us on her death bed?
Nor can words covey those underlying emotions,
who tend to not speak too well for themselves
See, feelings tend to simply mumble and stumble
By sending mixed signals and double meaning
They ramble until the phrase is finally complete
But it is said that words are like a dusty window
They are like a man’s beloved yet cracked spyglass
Although words appear to be not quite clear,
And often find themselves fumbling desperately to be heard
They offer a outlet for our souls, otherwise left unspoken.
Jun 6, 2012
Jun 6, 2012 at 12:16 PM UTC
Imagine my surprise, when I learned you were deeply in love with your own brown eyes,
Watching your reflection as they gleamed in mine
You are beautiful truly, even a wayward fool could see. If not a soul could resist your beauty,
How is the mirror to disagree?
Kept busy by your radiant reflection, you had little affection to spare.
So ensnared, you often mistook your vanity for angelity .
So I sit back, once again invisible to your selfish eyes I mournfully realize,
A narcissist is to never to love me.
May 22, 2012
May 22, 2012 at 11:09 PM UTC
I loved the narcissist
The object of selfish beauty
Engulfed so deeply in herself
No suitors did she see.
I loved the narcissist
But no lovers did she meet
Engulfed so deeply in herself
through the mirror could she see?
I loved the narcissist
The way her beauty gleams
Engulfed so deeply in herself
she was too blinded to see.
I loved the narcissist
her eyes so vague and deep
Engulfed so deeply in herself
The narcissist was me.
May 22, 2012
May 22, 2012 at 8:47 PM UTC
Stupidity is a virus infecting and injecting large amounts of people at a time. He moves through minds with impeccable speed. Some people, no matter the treatments they receive will never recover. For is an Exodus with has the power to ****** masses. He is a force with the ability abolish revolutions and silence movements. Stupidity is chronic, never truly going away, always lurking in shadows waiting to attack. He is a survivor against all odds. Stupidity is perpetually kicking and screaming, fighting to remain the echo of humanity. Refusing to be ignored and never promising to stay quiet. Stupidity lives on amongst Gods and Kings, continuing to rule with an iron fist.
Apr 22, 2012
Apr 22, 2012 at 3:14 AM UTC
So far from you a true broken heart sings,
But never sang for you.
Yet you can’t help but listen to the music,
Each note pulled into you.
Broken tones hearts strings must reconstruct,
All played back to you.
Oh how you wish such a bold and cruel melody,
Was truly meant for you.
Each chord loudly echoes your ever quiet desires,
The harmony floats around you.
Each note stretched till a breath must be taken,
One always resonates through you.
You shamefully horde each cold, sorrowful note,
The coldest rest freezes you.
Carefully collecting each burning, charcoal chorus,
The warmest key scalds you.
And then you secretly preserve fragile decrescendos,
They softly fall upon you.
It seems you have built this elaborate humanity,
Of notes beautiful to you.
Please sleep with a thousand chord progressions,
Creating lovely dreams for you.
Serenity has began to fill your very heart and soul,
Quickly the music becomes you.
What will you do when the song comes to its end?
Perhaps it will destroy you.
And what happens when the melody finally dies?
The silence might end you.
But I do hope the song continues to play in your heart,
Until another love finds you.
Apr 19, 2012
Apr 19, 2012 at 2:16 AM UTC