2AM
Bedroom door
Dim lights
Squeaky stairs
White noise
Television
Silhouette
Tick-tock clock
Kitchen knife
Red blood stains
Sweaty palms
Strawberry jam
Wheat grain sandwich
Midnight snack
Aug 31, 2015
Aug 31, 2015 at 12:14 PM UTC
Hello, I'm trying to write a poetic composition about my/an elbow, can someone please contribute or suggest something to this I need help, I know that it still sound half-assed and this poem badly needs surgery.
Your elbow is a canvas of a Van Gogh painting
Ocean currents, circling and weaving
stretching out as far as your arm would permit
you to hold such unrecognized beauty
Your elbow is a sheet of brilliant bronze laced
in layers of velveteen gold
stitched to shame the easy maze of your fingerprints
Aug 30, 2015
Aug 30, 2015 at 2:23 PM UTC
inching pace
battered salmon temples
wrinkled
in slight touch
your white wet noise plagues the
hollow
domes of my
entrance to judgement and
gossip
to forget
and knowing and promise --
music,
it is not,
invented subtle expression
meant
not for black
flying creatures that ****
life
out of the
sound of quiet
May 11, 2015
May 11, 2015 at 12:26 PM UTC
Give me a minute
To read the stars
Lamenting in their stories
Their laboured twinkling far and sparse
Give me this moment
To stumble and swoon
My branches reaching for
The faraway moon
Give me a while
To be one with the universe
Hear the colliding planets
As they spill their mournful verse
Give me some time
To plot my rightful place
Within my uncharted galaxy
And collapsing space...
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 7:33 AM UTC
Throw away thy rod,
Throw away thy wrath:
O my God,
Take the gentle path.
For my heart’s desire
Unto thine is bent:
I aspire
To a full consent.
Not a word or look
I affect to own,
But by book,
And thy book alone.
Though I fail, I weep:
Though I halt in pace,
Yet I creep
To the throne of grace.
Then let wrath remove:
Love will do the deed;
For with love
Stony hearts will bleed.
Love is swift of foot;
Love’s a man of war,
And can shoot,
And can hit from far.
Who can ’scape his bow?
That which wrought on thee,
Brought thee low,
Needs must work on me.
Throw away they rod;
Though man frailties hath,
Thou art God:
Throw away thy wrath.
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 7:55 PM UTC
Thee shall bleed
and seep through
the endless pitch black blanket
that will tuck in
the human race
in their beds tonight
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 9:16 AM UTC
Why is it, when I am in Rome,
I'd give an eye to be at home,
But when on native earth I be,
My soul is sick for Italy?
And why with you, my love, my lord,
Am I spectacularly bored,
Yet do you up and leave me--then
I scream to have you back again?
Aug 21, 2014
Aug 21, 2014 at 7:52 PM UTC
A flux of whiteness
A skin forms on the surface
I drink my warm milk
Aug 21, 2014
Aug 21, 2014 at 10:47 AM UTC
Here is a memory from 14 years ago
I was sheltering meself from
Mommy's 3 o'clock shadow
Peeping through her long floral skirt
It smelled of flowers too
I pursed my lips and gave her a pout
"Hush now, little girl...everything's okay"
I doubt
as her 3 o'clock shadow
continues to tick-tock
4 then 5
tick-tock
then it striked 6
I followed her shoes
as it steps on crunching
autumn leaves
I am no longer shaded
by her long silhouette
Aug 17, 2014
Aug 17, 2014 at 6:10 AM UTC