Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
 May 2019 A Simillacrum
zxndrew
God bless Her
God bless her voice
God bless the way she walks
And the way she talks
God bless her smile
God bless the way her hair falls
God bless cameras for trying to capture her beauty
God bless her for the light she brings in my life
God bless her even when she takes that away
God bless her
But she doesn’t care for me anymore
 May 2019 A Simillacrum
DG
16
 May 2019 A Simillacrum
DG
16
Nothing I have to be proud,
Sixteen candles, and one falls down
Sixteen dresses in that closet
I'm turning into one now.
Worn out,
Because I grew out,
I WILL shout
till I'm thrown
out.
 May 2019 A Simillacrum
Eryck
It's a wide open art,
from the start.
Rules are for schools.
Dont fret em,
forget em.
So
Relax with a syntax,
clown around,
with a pronoun.
Squeeze the ******,
of a dangling participle.

Free flying like geese,
creative words release,
make it up if you please.
Example--the plural of mice is meese.

Flowery language isn't the exclusive domain of the professional writer, it's for everyone!
To continue then,
about the writers pen.
No write or wrong,
nothings too short or long.
Mangled,
bungled,
butchered,
bumbled, don't matter.
We don't need a librarian to admire what we have done.

Words aren't hard,
fling them unbarred.
It's not arithmetic,
or teaching a cat a trick.
Crunch them uniting,
mix them combining.
Fling them,
meld them,
Verb them,
sell them.
We don't need a New York Times best seller to enjoy the art of writing.

Uncrate it,
create it.
Use it,
and abuse it.
Don't bar us
from a thesaurus
Or a dictionary.
The spiel
is to write real
tell the tale
seal the deal.
WORD HATERS live in the town called Fictionary.
Fun with words
 May 2019 A Simillacrum
Sleep
it won't do, won't be
my song until the words are
gone, stripped of the obscene
leaving only the **** soul,
funked up and gunning out
for the road, reminding the hairs
on our necks and arms of
ancient sensations, long missed--
the long kiss, the thrill of undoing,
stomping grounds so trodden the
fresh pavement tries to forget my feet
i will never forget the honeysuckle &
stuck air, the secret paths that gave me
thin red trails like veins in my young arms
outrunning the cops, yelling at the moon
ah, the a/c is our holy spirit
chilling every atom siphoned off
to our skin, our houses of flesh
soaking anything that matters inside
our rocky pores, cragged from age
& the hot dragging whip of summer,
the earth's work camp, the whole city.

© 2019
 May 2019 A Simillacrum
putiira
Take me home, please
I need the quiet magic
of you.
 May 2019 A Simillacrum
Juno
Don’t cry for me
I’m not gone.
My soul is at rest,
My heart lives on.
Light a candle
For me to see
And hold on to
My memory.
But save your tears
For I’m still here
By your side
Through the years.
  
            -Christy Ann Martine
This isn’t my poem, but it was too beautiful to forget.
Next page