Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
 Jul 2016
SøułSurvivør
-

upside down
butterflies
twirling

tin
sun
spins

fat raindrops
splatter
against
piccalo
wind chimes

staccato sound
drifts

an oboe car
horn
a far street
away

alto tympany
of liquid
from the
gutters

striking the
kettle drum earth

basso profundo
voices
a dark backlit
choir
from
the

clouds
rumbling
along

tree limbs
sawing

violets

and

viola
a symphony of
rain tonight

-
 Jul 2016
Valsa George
In the coffin lay your body silent and still
As with wax, sealed were your eyes
Bared of all passion, pain and strain
You were at rest, tranquil was your face

When your body was lowered into the grave
Tears trickled from our eyes like streams of blood
We stood orphaned beside the newly dug up pit
Knowing quite well that the days of glory have fled!

When you left, leaving in us a contused wound
We hoped time would heal the **** quite soon
But with every passing day you’re sorely missed
Especially when our life goes out of tune

At times when I feel lonesome with none to care
In weariness I search you among the stars of the sky
When my heart twitches with an unknown pain
To your comforting presence, my mind does fly

Sometimes I envision you coming into my room
Smiling that sweet smile in the dead of the night
But soon I realize it is only a fleeting vision
And from my sight, you vanish like an ethereal sprite

Rambling through the avenues of vanished years
We remember your sweet assurance, tender care n’ love
But never will we have the joy of having them again
For you flew into the horizon like a gentle dove

Mom, your presence my tiny world once filled
With that old bygone past how I was content
A treasure of sweet memories still I do hold
Now your eternal absence, how deeply I lament

Oh Mother, though you are dead and gone
Our love for you is inscribed deep in our hearts
Which nothing can erase or erode and will last
Until finally from our body, life silently departs!
Mom.... you are sorely missed, though many years have gone by !
 Jul 2016
Paul Hansford
Yesterday
I saw you
everywhere
all the time
and I wasn't even looking for you.
It was a good day.

Today
I was looking for you
all the time
everywhere
but I didn't see you,
not even once.
Life can be so cruel.

----------

Hier
je te voyais
partout
tout le temps
sans même t'avoir cherchée.
C'était un beau jour.

Aujourd'hui
je t'ai cherchée
tout le temps
partout
mais je ne t'ai pas vue
une seule fois.
La vie peut être si cruelle.
 Jul 2016
Austin Bauer
Becoming human does not require
Writing sad or dark poetry.
Rather, it requires rejoicing
Amongst the darkness
That can so easily
Encapsulate us all.
 Jul 2016
SøułSurvivør
Blessed is the man
who does not take offense
I'm speaking in the present tense
There is no sitting on the fence
This poem will now take me hence...

An offense will make us stumble
Forget the bluster and the bumble
Our defense will surely crumble
In all things we must be humble

When we see another's error
Are we really all the fairer?
Look Within it will be clearer
Are we looking in a mirror?

When we see reflection's bust
Do we see lines? Perhaps some crust?
Being honest is a must!
What have we done
that WE can't trust?

True of the bird as well the bee
We are all one cloth you see!
Self-assessment makes you free!

This is true humility.


SoulSurvivor
(C) 7/23/2016
Yes. I could learn the lesson in this, too.
We're always learning always growing.
Let's stop fighting and look at ourselves.

1 Corinthians 13

I won't be reposting for a while. I want this poem to stay at the top of my site.
Thanks for understanding.

LOVE YOU *ALL*!!!

-
I'll prepare a boat
to send my stupidity aboard
and provide it with a paddle
driven by the regretful memories that often made me shatter.
At times I wonder if my stupidity is to ever surrender?
 Jul 2016
ryn
.
A poet's heart isn't like any other...
It's the tears that trickle with radiance through words.
     It's a treasure trove that hides but longs to
     be found.
          It's a book shelved high that wants to
          be read.
               It's the freest of all birds caged but
               unbound...

A poet's heart isn't like any other...
It doesn't beat to the capable strokes of the artist.
     It doesn't pump in the most vibrant of
     colours.
          It doesn't wield a paintbrush to
          translate its thoughts.
               But it can see through the eyes of
               painters...

A poet's heart isn't like any other...
It doesn't conform to the conventional parameters of lyrics.
     It doesn't bind itself to the requirements
     of musical harmony.
          It doesn't follow the conventions of
          genres.
               But it sings its voice loud without
               restrictions of melody...

A poet's heart isn't like any other...
It's an open secret, that whispers in metaphoric codes.
     It's an exploding universe, that merges
     back into galaxies.
          It's a sought after painting, that boasts
          of unfathomable beauty.
               It's an everlasting song, that echoes
               within the poet that embodies...
.
Dedicated to all of you...

If you're reading this...
This is for you...
.
 Jul 2016
Ashlee Reyes
Every month
I am reminded of my fertility.
And while I feel physical pain,
I realize that of my emotions is
In the same vicinity.

I want my unborn child to know
That this life... Is like a funny show.
That while I'm unsure of what
She'll look like or he'll look like,
They come automatically into
A world that beyond their control
Will feel warlike.

That their future friends who bear
A darker skin complexion
Unfairly face the utmost rejection.
That their future friends
Who love the same gender
Get judged on their decisions
On who they love and if they happen
To be transgender.

But I want my child to know,
That this judgement and hate
Will always be up for debate
That when she finds her voice
Or when he finds her voice
It's to be shared with those
Without one because of personal choice.

I want my child to know that their pride
Is to be extended, wide, and
As far is it can go.
That when they witness injustice
They'll be expected to instinctually say no.
That these differences America
Still can't accept
Are the differences that
Bring beauty in every corner
And every aspect.

My children will know of the people
Who have bloomed in the midst
Of hatred and doom,
That the grass is not always greener
And that just when they thought they've Seen it all,
There will always be people who are meaner.
But I want my children to know of love,
Unconditional love,
Of acceptance,
Of hope,
Of being anti-weapon.
I want my children to bloom,
Because as their mother was expected to,
She faced the challenge of doing so,
In a world that depicted doom.
Next page