Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 Sep 2018
Edmund black
Remember jumping
on your bed as a kid ?
Today I did just that
for a whole two minutes
and thirty two seconds
with all my thitrty-two years
Six foot two inches
hundred ninety-five pounds
of my awesome self
Felt really great
Brought back
a lot of fun memories
It is a must
Once in a blue moon
You must allow yourself
To feel like a child
all over again
Sit on a swing and try
To remember how fun it was
when you were a child
I pledge it’ll bring a
Smile to your face
We all go
through difficult
seasons under the sky
Nevertheless
if it’s meant to be
it’ll be
just let it be
Positively affirm yourself
feed yourself with joy
and goodness
and feel like a kid again
 Sep 2018
Traveler
Control that which your powers allow
Let everything else go
The craft is only perfected
By the ability to let energy flow

Take a deep breath until
You can't hold it any longer
And as you finally release it
You’ll be gasping ever stronger

Trees fall, some burn
Some are diseased or infested with worms
Yet you are a tree rooted in your own beliefs
Never letting go of a single leaf

Concentrate on who you are
But meditate on who you desire to become
Knowing the power of reality
And the power of creation are one
Traveler Tim
 Sep 2018
Edmund black
In Japan there is an art form
called kintsukuroi which means
to repair with gold
When a ceramic *** or bowls
would break the artisan would
put the pieces together again
using gold or silver lacquer
to create something stronger
forevermore beautiful than before
The breaking is never something
to hide
It doesn’t mean that the work of the art
is ruined or without value because
it is different than what anticipated
Kintsukuroi is a way of living that
embraces every flaw and imperfections
Every crack is part of the  history of
the object and it becomes forevermore
beautiful
precisely because it has been
broken
I’ve told this story to tell you this
People are the same way
Being hurt or heart broken
or feeling broken generally
is not who you are
It is something that happens to you
Rise up stand proud and move forward
Stop looking about what the world says
about you and who you are
The value of your worth is more
than you can ever conceive
and when you trust
in your heart you’ll understand
the Power you house within
Cracks and all your true value
can never be lost in translation
Know the value of your worth, you worth more than gold... made to an exact specification!
 Sep 2018
Sierra Blasko
Dear Younger Me.

The days ahead are dark.

There will be points
Where you will close your eyes
Burning, stinging, tear-torn eyes
And it will look no brighter
When you open them again.
You will reach for the light switch
Only to discover
The dual bulbs
Clustered under the shade
Are doing all they can already.
You will walk upstairs
In the witching hour
The dark scary still hour
And even though there is nothing
Nothing logical to fear
The still scary, dark hour
And the night will surround you
Press in on you
And you’ll swear each step is a mouth
Waiting to swallow you alive.
You will leap from light switch to light switch
Because the dark
The cursed, smothering dark
Is a fate worse
Than sinking into a molten floor.


Dear Younger Me.

The darkness does not win. Not against the light.
Remember that.

Even if you, yourself, don’t feel light.
Even when you feel bogged down
Like the weight of a thousand worlds
Rests on your shoulders
And you’re slogging through swamp mud, besides.
There is light, and hope, and peace
Peace like none you have ever known
Waiting on the other side.
And if I could spare you the tears
The ache that tears your chest inside out
The lump that threatens to stay
Choking you
Breath by breath
Forever
If I could spare you that
You would never grow.
You would never become me.
Broken. Imperfect. Beautiful.
Stronger, holding tight to the Savior’s hand.
I wouldn’t trade all the stars to be you again, me.
But someday you’ll get here. April 2018.
You’ll write a poem. Me to you. Heart to heart.
You’ll look around. You’ll look back.
And there will be light again.
See you when you get here, yeah?
 Sep 2018
halioth
our minds are all conditioned
with a zillion tiny pieces
of ideas, picked up
from somewhere
consciously or unconsciously
reflecting one another
exchanging perceptions
in hopes that
we find a meaning
to all of it
 Sep 2018
Edmund black
I lived a large
part of my youth
carrying things
that didn’t
belong to me
Indeed I’ve carried
their loads for
too **** long
The load of how
they felt about me
the load of what
they’ve said about me
the load of how
They’ve perceived me
for far too long
These load was never
mine to carry
to begin with
Today I am free
free at last
from criticism
fears , insecurities
and other people’s
opinion
These loads
are no longer mine
to carry
Regardless
how desperate
and foolish
they may seem
Set yourself FREE .... This load ain’t yours to carry!
 Sep 2018
Glenn Currier
I know poetry is about words
and I do dote on words
I treasure digging up just the right one
to lay out on the carpet and let fly

but I wonder if
it would be well
to just dwell
in the heart space
in silence

to hold the object of my anger or irritation
there
in silence
surrounded by blood
and warmth
there
in the anchor of life

I have come to realize
poetry and its cousin prayer
are just as much
about the heart
as words.
 Sep 2018
Josh G
Compassion, a gift
Though it's also a curse
How can I be idle
When I know you're hurt?
I shoulder your pain
And loan you my heart
Because when you're down
I have to do my part
But when its me on that stage
Feeling nothing but grief
I have this idle hope
As I grit my teeth
That you will be there
Offering your hand
But that hope's a lie
Because most can't withstand
This double edged sword
That few of us wield
I've been told that I'm a very compassionate person and that I have a huge heart. Compassion is something that's rare in this world. Very few people are truly compassionate in my eyes. It's a gift that can be a burden.
 Sep 2018
a
our bodies are paint
with every motion of your body do you set a paint-stroke
upon the canvas of life.
~ We are beings who exist through a passage of time, we leave a mark in the places we go and we live in, we create a canvas of life that records the places we go and how we go about our days. Each of us have a unique story to tell.

(this poem is inspired by a quote I read but can't quite remember where.)
 Sep 2018
Valsa George
Stealing away from the noise and glare
I paced the aisles of an ancient library
Being worn and tired, indisposed to read
I sat in a corner, lost in half reverie

Around me were books stacked end on end
In safely locked glass and wooden shelves
And sectioned into different genres
Fiction, non- fiction, verse et al, in thinly layered leaves

I felt lost in this vast continent of erudite friends
Poet, scholar, philosopher and sage, each sat quiet
But those silent souls seemed to crave for human touch
Waiting to serve anytime learning’s lovesome diet

Closely sheltered from the tumult of the world
The place, though serene had an eerie air
And books like so many beauties in a harem
Were kept away in seclusion just to admire

The lifeless air and the long deserted look
Mildly disturbed my inner calm
Couldn’t digest man’s total disregard of books
Which for long, to many a lonely soul, served as balm

Sitting amid those gallant souls
I thought over the relentless efforts of sage like men
Who in the stillness of the night, in their cloistured cells
Plunged into research and meditative reflection

What knowledge is garnered in these tomes!
What all charms, encased in these pages!
To what magic lands they can carry us
Sharing with us the accumulated wisdom of ages

With the profusion of electronic gadgets
And information, readily available by a finger hit
Books no more are given a venerable treat
And fated to be stashed away in corners unlit

Heavy with the time tested wisdom of the wise
They sit huddled together in damp corners
Longing to get a little human warmth
But sadly neglected like rusted burners

After an hour’s enervating reprieve
While I was leaving that dumb world
In my ears, fell a faint sound
Of the agonizing cry of the Printed Word!
 Sep 2018
japheth
you see,

once you
realize
that you
were never part
of someone's orbit,

you'll notice
the right planets,
the heavenly bodies
you once admired,
come and intensely
gravitate towards you:

an extraordinary
celestial body
— unlike the sun —
shines without exhaustion.
Next page