Aweeeesome free verse poetry...

Oct 2020

Graff1980

Speak the words,
that sacred incantation,
tell me everything
will be a ok,
and that love has
an open invitation.

We wouldn’t need this revelation,
or a hundred more revolutions
if it wasn’t for the level
of our collective confusion,
how we succumb to the illusion
that wealth is was what really matters,

and I haven’t seen
a ******* thing
that makes me believe
heaven is here on earth,
nothing better or worse
worth dropping a verse
and letting my songs ring.

This time
this rhyme
is me repeating
pleading for you to start seeing
all other human beings
as tiny flesh treasures,
a temporary measure
of how good we
can truly be
when we act accordingly
to the dictates
of what love makes
instead how hate
makes it easy to let others
elevate their greed
to monstrous proportions,
that should be simple enough
for all of us to see.

Oct 2020

Graff1980

Untitled 538

Praise be to the sacred song
of her sweet sexuality.

Soft skin, paled underneath
the smiling moon grinning Cheshire,
eyes close in silent prayer
to a deity who is not there.

If she only knew that she was,
the goddess of desire,
long blond curls falling down past
her supple shoulders,

cool water washing naked skin,
and from her mind’s distance
she imagines him
the one she loves
adoring her as she adores
the sparkling expanse.
How two lover’s hands
intertwine as passion’s twin finds
peace behind the trails and pines.

Long neck, blushing cheeks,
and in my dreams she is the one I seek,
wonderful witchy woman of words
nature’s breathing poetess.

She rises from the cool blue pool,
hands to her breast as the moistness
slides from her hair down her sides
around and under her thighs,
dripping on the evening’s green
as she greets the night and starts to dry.

Then returns to my dreams,
safely sequestered in passing fancies
of magical women I will write about
but never meet or even see in reality.

Oct 2020

Graff1980

Untitled 536

I am walking back blistered foot
falling off the track we both laid,
those railroad rods on
which pennies were sat
so, they could become pancake
shaped metal bits,
as thin as the skin
of the flat earth minds
that I am trying to break through to.

Oct 2020

Shubhankar Mathur

Grandpa

I'm often reminiscent of times,
When my grandpa used to
Take me out on his bicycle,
We were just roaming around
His tunes always left me spellbound.
But it was so pure
He was one of those people for whom
Money held no allure
He was a man of passion and music,
He was a poet
But I didn't know it
He gave, not just with his words
But also his soul,
Even when he didn't have much control.
I would always ask him for a candy
I remember once he even gave me a sip of brandy
He never said no to me asking for a toy
He often considered me his blue-eyed boy
He would stop all his work and writing
Just to play with me outside,
Whether clear skies or lightning
Now that he's no more
I miss him and the lessons he tried to instil within me
But more than that
I often miss that genuine connection
With someone who understood so much,
But still cared enough to smile and laugh along
The man with a golden touch
With him, I was happy as the day is long.
The world will be a much better place
If we all could learn to live our life
With his grace.

A simple tribute to one of the greatest humans I've ever known. I'm not such a big fan of writing for someone specific, but he was a special person not just for me but for a lot of people. He always lived life king size before it was cool!

#grandpa #love #pure #missing #life #skills #values #giving #happy #connection

Oct 2020

Graff1980

Untitled 530

I have sought silent moments of wet grief
to give myself that salty brine relief,
wetted white sheets then fell asleep
to find that time had gifted me
with emotion’s soft reprieve.

I have lived and lost, paid the cost
of all that was depressing,
obsessing over what I was possessing
and what was possessing me,

and in those moments, I have learned
quite a few lessons,

like I cannot get back one spent second
pursuing goals that might not come to fruition,
materials things should not be my mission,
and if I am not enjoying the journey
then this trip is not for me.

I have also realized; I am my own light.
Even though there is darkness if this life
the greatest victory I can achieve
is acts kindness against the inevitable black
that will swallow and take all of us back.

#reflecting

Oct 2020

Graff1980

Untitled 528

Grief is an old country song,
sorrow spoken in simple broken
verses accompanied by
the tears of hillbillies
and their family as they cry.

It is reaching for forgotten values,
beseeching preachers for what
tired seekers cease to believe
because innocence has been
abused and deceived.

It is hard work paid against
the balance that will never
ever break even again.

Calloused hands and hearts
muddy boots and ***** pants,
from reaping what we plant,
while others are sowing
the hate that they are growing.

Hymnals become pleasant memories
of a place that no longer holds
much power over me.
Nostalgia makes me smile
uneasily as I rise to see
the past played out
then fading from me.

Grief is knowing that
I cannot make my way back
or revisit the people
who are currently missing
from life’s short stay,
in this world’s late stage
spinning plate play.

#grief

Oct 2020

Graff1980

Untitled 526

Dream is
the loveliness
of deep thoughts
I know naught
freeing themselves
from my unconsciousness,

lips unsealing,
the cool blue
feeling of healing
affections,

nightmare forms
stretched and
elongated
feared and hated
at the same time
I know they came from
my sick mind.

Dull to exciting,
inviting strange lighting
to illuminate
that which will not wait
in the dusty cupboard
of my old mother Hubbard
soon to be empty
closets,

the closest thing
to revelations
that I have ever seen,
sadly
I am frequently forgetting,
even though I know
sometimes that is a blessing.

#dream

Sep 2020

Graff1980

Untitled 522

I write
like I conversate,
ready to elevate
or deflate
my own ego,

learning what
I know
and what I do not
know that I don’t
know;

Fulfilling the promise of
constantly being willing to
blow myself up.

I write like I am on fire,
begging for unsmoked air
whilst choking on
the beauty of trying
to not be the one dying.

I write like
I have something to say,
but mostly
say nothing
in the most graceful
style.

I write like
I am meant to
spend a few
words on you
who need
to breath
literary
artistry,
like plants need
to breath carbon.

So, I write like
I am a tree
and you are a human being,
a certain symbiosis.
I hope you know this.

I write like I hate
and love you all
with the same verse.

Sep 2020

Graff1980

Untitled 521

The sic dream specter,
plays out that bout
flowing freely,
while I am being
constrained
by a realm which
is not logic.

Master Morpheus
slides gracefully
before us,
sand in hand
to help this man
stay asleep.

Armageddon
follows me
from the waking
world to dreams
and back out
to chaotic scenes.

Reality
as decreed
by the dark deeds
of ill-intended individuals.

They are much worse
than that which pursues me
while I am sleeping.

Yet, I long to awaken
to a better day,
and a brighter place.

Sep 2020

Graff1980

Untitled 520

Praise be
to nature
and all of her
eccentricities,

of pink petals
softly floating,
then falling in
a cool blue pool
that children
go swimming in
on the weekend.

Of varying
degrees
from sweltering
to freezing
offering
strange variety
to make life
more exciting.

To tree sloths,
wombats,
and platypuses
who amuse us
with their
eternal cuteness.

For the breath
that I exhale
that feeds
the trees
what they need
to also breath
and cycles back
oxygen that
I need to
take another breath.

I am grateful
for all of that
and so much more.

#nature #beauty