Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Nov 2016 · 649
her jumble 2am
Sam Nov 2016
wondering
why's the vice president always so senior
is that a permanent feature
like how 2+2 is always equal to 4
and I'm lying on the floor
wondering if these words have been said before

like
what makes the beauty of the sea
are you beautiful
or is it just to me
does it matter
do we matter
what's beauty's main factor
why does the mad hatter
drink tea
a clock carrying bunny
is more mad than a tea party
bon soir mon amie
that's all from me
Nov 2016 · 1.6k
Her
Sam Nov 2016
Her
The freckled girl screams 'out **** spot'
thinking they're part of some Higher plot.

They are. They are. They are.
For this sky would be nothing without the stars
Imagine Orion's belt without each datum
(and I say this without sarcasm)
Think of the ocean that'd be a chasm.
Without the drops - nothing happens

poetry would be nothing without the atom
Nov 2016 · 736
10W Her Eyes
Sam Nov 2016
summer is gone but I get starburned by your eyes
Oct 2016 · 390
her poetry
Sam Oct 2016
It's a new Her this week
an emma from a building up the street
met in the line of a bar
caught eyes from afar
felt my knees arms and heart go weak

the rest of the night was a haze
we left the bar in a craze
carried through the door
undergarments on the floor
before moving onto the next phase

one more drink from the bottle
and she brought out her novel
she read with such probity
I ripped up my poetry
and turned from a lover to apostle
thanks for reading 'til the end x
Oct 2016 · 1.1k
log eyes
Sam Oct 2016
He yelled
Out **** spot
to the freckled boy from next door

and
out **** spot
to his own black labrador

he wolf whistled and cawed
to all the lambs on the moor

yet
he had never seen or thought
of the blindspot in his own eye before
Oct 2016 · 841
bear picnic
Sam Oct 2016
three knocks at three O'clock
three bears out of shop
an Aesop goldilocks
(small frock and yellow socks)
ad hoc broken locks

Three cold porridge bowls
one poor girl with the hair of gold
should have done what she'd been told
to find in that horrid household
three bears dead and cold
nursery rhyme? unsure. halloween themed maybe
Oct 2016 · 802
Her; Halloween Queen
Sam Oct 2016
Pumpkin faced, fang toothed witch
plump chin, fake tan, broomstick

nose with warts, chosen devils cohort
courting the goat, a shoat cutthroat
cavorting devote to the angel turncoat

tilted head back with the eerie cry 'halloween is nigh'
why she's dressed up 10 days early i'll never know why
#mypumpkin
Oct 2016 · 423
10W her
Sam Oct 2016
her: hi!
Me:
her: hello?
lightning can definitely strike twice
Oct 2016 · 942
her
Sam Oct 2016
her
the door was barely opened before
I caught her like a 2am yawn (once seen unstoppable)
she caught my smile but expressed it better than I ever could
and like I would for the queen I quickly stood
she must have seen my eyes through the hazy night
and she moved closer like poetry I cannot write

ok I can't help myself
she walked like an 'um' itself
an um for the wordless times
when something more important is on your mind
when you're asked for the truth but are filled with lies
when in pause, time it buys

gliding like a miyazaki dragon spiriting me away
anywhere but here, the now, the day
struck dumb
the response to her hello?
- 'um'
Aug 2016 · 593
her
Sam Aug 2016
her
100m;
Flowing down the street like a 2.30am moonlit beam
on still waters, I mistook her for the sky.
The way the dress caressed her body
like the clouds that hold the moon

50m;
a falling meteor
a dawning sun in the red radiance of her lips
as its rose blush rushing across her cheeks

1m;
Everything.
A supernova girl engulfing its solar system - its light to be seen a thousand years later in another galaxy before continuing on past, universe to universe, till the end of time or the edge of existence (whichever comes first)

The edge of existence;
A cool breeze
A burn on my retina
The sky was gone
Aug 2016 · 745
Blue
Sam Aug 2016
A four line poem for my 8th grade teacher
an A for my efforts and a weekly pamphlet feature
'Blue' by Sam a tale of: spilled ink
of an endless ocean; the whole blue kitchen sink

19. 4 stanzas for a professor of mine
a little splotch of blood or maybe red wine
an A for the reference to Bukowski at the end
but I guess he didn't know the bluebird too, was my friend

Blue was it's name, it was almost the same
as the one hanging in my lounge in a frame
this time it talked of the ocean of endlessness
and was penned like the spill it referenced

A mark for my friendless existence
with lark he congratulated my sedulous recklessness
an Aeschylus with a reflective tragic fecklessness
driven to or destined for the precipice

so I hoped when
I hung beside my poem
the professor did know then
not all doors should be opened
A little dark; but it's hard to be criticised over something personal
Jul 2016 · 4.2k
too hot to candle
Sam Jul 2016
a candle sat in an open field
with nothing but darkness up and round
a thousand cubic miles of night
and nothing weighs that candle down

the darkness chokes with all its might
yet the candle still endures
and if all the darkness in the world couldn't put out the candle's light
then what could put out yours
Jul 2016 · 636
ichor
Sam Jul 2016
drop dead gorgeous, a girl to die for
hot headed taurus anthropomorphic ichor
Jul 2016 · 244
blanket
Sam Jul 2016
hello HP
today what may be
in store for me
oh - death. i see
heartbreak it seems
darkness it breeds
lines breaking at the seams
and not one single beam
hashtag love broken | hashtag lonely
backlashed love tokens | backstab poetry
walk through this fire
we're blanketing the embers
but leave your ex in the mire
and be welcomed by the members
Jul 2016 · 768
baa baa
Sam Jul 2016
He said grown men don't weep
but I did last week
last night as I lay on my bed in a heap
bar height - i've lived a life on the sweet
(bar -marmite a little bitter on the teeth
(bar -barfights i guess I thrive on the street
baabaa type if I'm a meat I'm a sheep
ha ha at light but only weep in my sleep
far far right from when I started this speech
au revoir mon amie this be the end of my suite
Jul 2016 · 450
to write a poem
Sam Jul 2016
stricken by love or bitten by pain
it can be written by blood or written by rain
leave the pen on the ground if its ink's lined with lies
put the paper under your wrists or under your eyes
and drop drop your life blood
don't stop let the lot flood
so when the well's dry you'll know then
that you've written a poem
no. I'm still drawing water
Jul 2016 · 506
Hello
Sam Jul 2016
we're here and we're reading
you lost souls, you bleeding
the poets collective dead poets connected
with a near perfected objective
of hearing your prayers when no one else will
while dissecting the layers in your soul or your quill
we're here and we're reading
please keep writing i'm pleading
for whether I'm screaming or weeping
believe that you're the reason I'm breathing
sorry for the 'you' 'you' 'you's
Jun 2016 · 927
oh hemingway had style
Sam Jun 2016
and it was only after van Gogh realised that  
the bullet could paint the brain better than the brush,
that he became immortal
Jun 2016 · 981
raining outside
Sam Jun 2016
here's a barter to the gardner who made Eve then marred her
who fathered the carpenter then martyred man's armour
I spit at the sky but He spits back harder
one roar and a flash and i'm a blurred charred marker
and while I know I'm a carper to start a rant over rain,
I'm cold and I'm tired and a little bit vain

so to the almighty all awful
why when you reign does it pour?
naught but rain until dawn
is this the law of the poor and lore for those born with a luckier draw?
I cry to the alpha to compromise his plan
and just for tomorrow, clear the skies for Sam
for any raincloud
Jun 2016 · 311
bukowski
Sam Jun 2016
me?
it was bukowski
who helped me tear through life loudly
who helped my mind settle soundly
profoundly through his profundity
and, quietly, in his subtlety,
i found me
Jun 2016 · 237
her
Sam Jun 2016
her
couldn't sense her sin
couldn't tell a thing
even as the choir sung,
the bells were rung
and flowers flung
for i was strung, roped, hung
by the misdirection of her perfection
a different her
Jun 2016 · 458
We weep for you
Sam Jun 2016
don't listen to mozart;
lacrimosa
lack any dosage:
lacrimosa
tea; no coaster:
lacrimosa
broken toaster:
lacrimosa
Jun 2016 · 218
a warm smile
Sam Jun 2016
wined and dined till i wound up dead
drowned and cold, alone in bed
i hid in bottles and bottled smiles
i fought to forget and wasted my whiles

it took a year but i woke up
swapped the pint for the coffee cup
There's certainly less ache
in this life i will not forsake
but the smile is still fake
Jun 2016 · 374
10W; Mr. Dumpty
Sam Jun 2016
all of god's angels couldn't put me back together again
May 2016 · 830
her
Sam May 2016
her
you're not my pen
you're my paper
you're not my heart
you'll be its breaker

i'm not sorry for drawing
i'm sorry for scrawling
i'm not sorry for calling
but i'm sorry for falling
May 2016 · 246
her
Sam May 2016
her
she                     like           poem
          walked                a
May 2016 · 954
busk til bust
Sam May 2016
just a ****** busker wishing he was a **** buster
he swam lack-lustre,
a salmon unable to muster
the will to cut the custard,
and flutter upstream to meet a lover

stuck in the gutter singing covers
a crushed sucker, tasteless kfc crusher
ominous as a dawn-less dusk and
useless as a ham sandwich with no mustard
playin
May 2016 · 315
bung
Sam May 2016
The great turbines now rusted
I wonder if I can still cry
the heavens make it look so easy
when tears fall from the sky

the wet rags of emotion can no longer be wrung
the sobs to the beat of a tearful drip have been sung
those sonnets have been passed to another's lungs
another's tongue
are tears what it means to be young
removing the ****
May 2016 · 263
mind/matter
Sam May 2016
The sun is hung.
The day's at end.
Hello, night,
my only friend.

The page is black
with ink i've penned
all words unwind,
blend and distend

candle flickers
mind can mend
my body -wasted-
so to my spirits, tend.
for those poems that wreck
Apr 2016 · 516
Her
Sam Apr 2016
Her
some beauty made the moon

some beauty made the sea

that same beauty made you

but it didn't make me
Apr 2016 · 497
confession
Sam Apr 2016
i'd prayed for the Holy Ghost more times than most
engrossed in the idea religion was some signpost

...waiting for Mary's face on my own toast

i lost all hope when I saw the demon host
rising hellish from their infernal roast
i just wish someone had, to me, disclosed
that there's no such thing as ghosts
Mar 2016 · 663
my newspaper love
Sam Mar 2016
six o'clock, every morning
on its way since the dawn was yawning
meant for you as long as you pick it up
made for the spot beside your teacup
Mar 2016 · 408
blue moon
Sam Mar 2016
it is not new news that dreams do come true
only when the moon is as blue as the skies clear hue

but, i think, this month; maybe it is due
Mar 2016 · 286
Her
Sam Mar 2016
Her
Day 4: Here is my heart

Day 1: I left my heart at the bar but you mistook it for finger food

Day 2: Nibbled and chewed, I gave you a gun to stop its thrashing
            but you shot at my feet and I danced to your beat

Day 3: broken and bruised I tried to leave but I was stuck on your leash
            part of my heart on my sleeve, the rest in your stomach
            you were the master of me. The master of puppets

Day 4: ready for a long awaited rest
            I've painted a target over my chest
            please, shoot straight
            you can keep what you ate
Mar 2016 · 267
but with a whimper
Sam Mar 2016
The well of my soul might be full
but the cogs by which I once drew forth water rusted long ago
I  twist, contort,
strain and force
but the rivers ran their course
and as much as I ***** my eye
I can never cry
Mar 2016 · 741
a clockwork orange
Sam Mar 2016
Dancing on the stage bathed in ultra violet
is a dripping young honey making me ultra-violent.
My three stooges become scrooges using ***** useless excuses
to not be Zeus's and noose the spruce for their collusive abuses.
I leave the troupe, loop back, snoop, try to ******
induce some juice, a little loose chartreuse

The girl looks down from the platform, eyes vacant and hollow
Ten years of this storm full of snake-pits and sorrow
No glow but the glint of a nose speckled with snow
Her heartbeat allegro slows, lower tempo - adagio

For she's hooked to the pole by an IV of ******* and circumstance
I regret holding the cash and stealing her glance.
It falls from my hand, not that thats exculpatory
and when I next catch her eyes, it's merely to say, 'sorry'
Mar 2016 · 473
Start to Finish 10W
Sam Mar 2016
Woke to a grocery list.
Goes like this;
Duty, Death.
Feb 2016 · 802
The Deep
Sam Feb 2016
I'm bound to the round sound of the guitar
and I'm deep underground sleeping down with the drowned
now the lights of the town seem extraordinarily far
wound around my crown, sleep drips down from the stars

but I think it's the dope, smoke dances in my lungs
or the drink that gropes both my liver and my tongue
one long blink - begin to float roam the unknown with the young

and opening my eyes I'm awake from the sleep
the dopamine has died my aches on me creep
its time to climb but the slopes are steep
put on my tie and climb in the jeep
put my mind to the pile of files that are heaped
run with these self proclaimed wolves who are sheep
just thinking of home, the release of the deep
Feb 2016 · 348
This Beat
Sam Feb 2016
Treating my feet to the beat I leap from my seat
despite the sleet, take my heat to the streets
the concrete is freeing
from:
the deceit which we deal in
the obsolete (which I'm fleeing)
the people we're mistreating
which we repeat and repeat and
it's all self defeating
when the elite just replete
despite our attempts to delete
or just maybe deplete...

so I retreat to the sweet beat of the blues
as the pavement meets and greets my shoes
down the lanes and avenues
just hoping for something nice on the news
Jan 2016 · 230
seeking
Sam Jan 2016
whirling til I wheeze; I scream flowers
they grow from my eyes in great forests
both block the sights and sounds of god
and I look for him elsewhere

drinking til I drop; I bellow oceans
sinking, weighted, the sea drinks me
but God wasn't in death
and I looked for him elsewhere

laughing til I cry; I yell joy
swinging, weightless, in a park
the playground yells joy back to me
and god spoke in the creaks of the rusty chains
because he had been looking for me
Jan 2016 · 2.0k
Nouns
Sam Jan 2016
People, places and things
have become things we collect
things replace people
and it has the wrong effect
things, places, things
has the wrong ring
- its clearly incorrect -
people aren't objects despite our dialect
nor merely nouns now to be subject
at least I object
we're both Proper and imperfect
both Collective and dissected
both Abstracted and connected
More than nouns we are the now
thats what I think anyhow
Jan 2016 · 335
X
Sam Jan 2016
X
look at all the Leonard Cohens writing poems
filling their prose with death morose
this isn't a poem for your pleasure
x simply marks there IS a treasure
Jan 2016 · 6.7k
The Dance
Sam Jan 2016
Staring across the bar, it was love at first sight
- eyes so wide- I think I gave her a fright
She thought it was a *** look
thought she could read me like a textbook
wary of my advance
refusing me a chance
avoiding my glance
I put down my glass
and,
in a stance
weakened by my lovestruck trance,
simply asked for a dance
Jan 2016 · 285
10W Question
Sam Jan 2016
Does the true artist run out of paint before pain?
Dec 2015 · 735
For you, Mother; The Stars
Sam Dec 2015
one for each time I never said I loved you
Dec 2015 · 378
Prescience
Sam Dec 2015
This resident hedonist
is feeding false promises, premises,
had precedents
lacks presence
get off our premises president
our countries bloodied and blemished
supposed genius turned menace
made a promising entrance
now with vehemence, menaces
subverts his messages, sentences
burn our nemesis' edifice
don't hide in the crevices
its prescience
Nov 2015 · 311
We are Dust
Sam Nov 2015
so we must discuss
why this lust and thrusts
weren't just for us

saw your flush and smelled his musk
now this tusk is stuck deep in my guts
Our trust is rusting
I'm just adjusting
injustice gusting
injustice huffing an puffing
don't mean to be brusque
but we are dust
Nov 2015 · 461
Qwerty
Sam Nov 2015
no. poetry can be swirling
across the keyboard like a Rachmaninov
order from chaos
no meaning or rhyme
no rhythm all the time
idolising Bukowski
ending abruptly
Nov 2015 · 489
Untitled
Sam Nov 2015
I've been sitting in this city waiting for these brackish blue waves to take me anywhere but here
sold my surfboard when I was twelve but my swim shorts are somewhere
and, sink or swim, I'll get to the sea
Nov 2015 · 3.7k
forty winks
Sam Nov 2015
blinks lingering I wonder if this next 40 will be my last
need to head to the corner to break my fast
may be young but my mind is older
head on my shoulder, devil growing bolder
Its been forty days straight now here come the nights
He's been offering me bread now he's showing me sights
but with no angel to catch me I don't dare take a fall
I have only one faith, if any at all
thats my little girl in her crib laying two feet away
and she's my only religion today
Next page