Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
He’s no musician.
He doesn't make melodies through violin and guitar strings.
Yet he composed, haunting ballads in dramatic tempos,
Rhyming every lyric,
Harmonizing, making it dance in a musical euphony.

He’s no seamster.
Yet he cuts and he traces,
plain words and printed phrases;
Then he sews and he weaves it skilfully,
into a lovely concrete poetry.

He’s no painter.
He just has a palette of pigmented letters,
splashing colorful lines on his blank canvass.
A blast of contained evocative memories,
Streaking and shading mixtures of kaleidoscopic imagery.

He’s no storyteller.
Yet from him, I heard the most romantic tales-
One, of the moon and its lover sea.
Reciprocating shy glances, whispering I love you’s,
while kissing behind the sprawling mountains.
Though the dawn will come, they do not fear.
For after the majestic tribal sun leaves his stage,
There’ll the lovers be once again reunited.

He's no poet.**
Yet he writes--
stanzas and verses.
And oh! it revives,
every strand of emotion,
every sense of intuition,
Inside me.
A lyrical perception,
Sheer perfection,
Arousing perpetual reactions,
From me.
I am not good at this. I just want to express my pure gratitude, appreciation and awe for you.

"I am no poet. Never thought of myself as one. Just a guy dabbling clumsily in words"
Yet even, everything you do amaze me.


Thank you all wonderful people on Hello Poetry. I just realized this moment that this poem was featured as Daily poem yesterday.  I have never imagined any of my work will be posted as daily. Thank you all for the hearts, re-post,share, comments and messages. You really made my heart and soul so happy. :)
And most of all, thanks to the man who inspire me to write this one. :)
(04.14.2015)
 Apr 2015 Breonna Noel
Brycical
Muscles clench like knots on rope
prior to any wintry water droplets
dripping on my scarecrow frame.

There's a moment of cautious pause,
my mind waivers the rest of me--
uncomfortable with the atypical developments
insisting through western culture's handbook
bathing is meant to be relaxing.

I agree.

So after a thoughtful inhale
we dive in.
oo!
The siberian shock of the frigid liquid landing
on warm, pale-rose flesh
slowly erodes with an exhale...
My mercurial movements
and conscious unravelling of the constricting sinews  
offer a peppermint bliss-like salvation!
The chill fades,
water wanders down,
allowing my body to interact with the clear solution,
allowing myself to be and breathe with each cold moment
of wide-eyed cool-headed serenity.
I take cold showers quite frequently but this is the process almost every time.
I will always wander,
To mountains in the north,
Your absence makes me fonder,
I'm treading back and forth.

The mountains lakes and caverns,
Keep out all the hate,
All of them remind me,
That wandering is my fate.

I will always wander,
From woodlands to the shore,
Walking all the trails,
That no one's tread before.

The mountains lakes and caverns,
Keep out all the hate,
All of them remind me,
That wandering is my fate.

I will always wander,
From blissful shore to hill,
I always seek the end,
But I don't know when it will.

The mountains lakes and caverns,
Keep out all the hate,
All of them remind me,
That wandering is my fate.

Someday, somehow,
I know I'll reach the end,
But only when my Father wants,
Not when I intend.
I can feel the radiation of your thoughts in my mind, a frequency that channels from your soul. All intertwined within life's flow.

Pedals dance as the wind flows, rain pours into the growth of soil which generously gives to root. The root then gives to stem, and stem to flower.

This rain is your heartbeat, the wind a connection, the root is what connects us and your flower's your expression.
 Apr 2015 Breonna Noel
Ottar
stars, does anyone look up anymore,
or is there enough action in the palm of your
hand, cars, do they look out for pedestrians
anymore, or is the main attraction a distraction,
what would happen if you reach up,
that could to over-fill your need cup
and you touched the sky
you touched the sky
the sky touched you
would your knees buckle too?
 Apr 2015 Breonna Noel
ASB
beautiful
 Apr 2015 Breonna Noel
ASB
desire is only a product of lacking knowledge
she wrote
and so she tells me nothing --
and I
fill in the gaps of her
with my imagination,
I do not psychoanalyse
or discover,
I love simply the visible,
the impressions of her that
cannot
form a whole,
as if perception is reality
and beauty is truth,
and so I love her
only
in all I do not know
yet.
complaint is staining it all
with nothing to wipe up the mess
i'll walk away
simply walk my way
..i'm your unheard speech
that screams too loud
to be noticed..
of course i'm right
deserve better..i do
sometimes people waste too much of  our precious time..bleeding for the wrong causes..i'm human and i deserve my flight
Next page