John Michael Biely: Favorites

Sep 2017 John Michael Biely

Pradip Chattopadhyay

I hadn't expected someone there
already before me.

Only lonely men come here
I heard him through my heavy breath
lonely with nothing and everything.

Down there was the sea rumbling faintly
with the froths painting themselves on the shore
like a sketch in a child's drawing book.

Height does amazing tricks, the man continued,
makes you feel invincible
stimulates you to be ****** into gravity
to fall as light as the feather.

The dusk was wrapping up the light
when I remembered having promised her
not to be late to descend.

There's a man up there, I told the gateman,
Nope, he said,
you were the only guest this evening.

Sep 2017 John Michael Biely

grey

Sep 2017 John Michael Biely

Chloë Fuller

grey

when did your eyes turn from blue to grey?
what a beautiful grey
a cold grey
a wet October grey
an "I forgot my umbrella" grey
a "Should we stay home?" grey
a day consumed with nostalgic sadness grey
a familiar reminder of rejection grey
a hopeless new romance grey

as grey as the ash from your cigarettes
as grey as that woolen hat that I'd wear while I waited wondering when you'd wander home
as grey as my best shirt you stripped off of me on a grey night

i fell in love with a mixture of black, blue, and muddy pearl
it sparkled against me when the sky clouded up
and we kissed until our vision blurred

I don't remember how vivid colors were before you.

#love #loss

Sep 2017 John Michael Biely

piety and poetry

Sep 2017 John Michael Biely

wordvango

piety and poetry

some believe in the deity
others in the sanctity of self
I think poetry is a religion
a soul unto itself
not a god
but close
and I seek her his its
calming words
wisdom
to get on my knees
and worship
every night
alone
here
in my sanctuary
like any
true believer

Sep 2017 John Michael Biely

Poetry

Sep 2017 John Michael Biely

okayindigo

Poetry

My mother was a writer.
I remember her,
papers spread out upon a bed sheet in the sand,
stacked pebbles protecting her work from the wind
as I made drip-castles at the water's edge
and braided crowns from wild poppies.
I would run to her so she could
rub grape sunscreen into my sandy shoulders
and I asked her once,
“Mama,
is that poetry?”
and she said “No little one,
you are poetry,
this only tries to be.”
and I thanked her,
and ran back to the water
to search for flat stones to skip,
and thought no more of poetry.

Sep 2017 John Michael Biely

poet in love (10w)

Sep 2017 John Michael Biely

reflectionzero

poet in love (10w)

A poet in love
Is a match soaked
In gasoline.

-r0

follow my writing!

it will kick you in the diaphragm.

Sep 2017 John Michael Biely

A Poet Is

Sep 2017 John Michael Biely

LittleFreeBird

A Poet Is

A piece of you
Reflecting back
The bitter words in your mouth
Too raw to speak
A poet is
Someone in pain
And someone in love
Someone who looks at the world
Through a kaleidoscope
Who takes a magnifying glass to each
And every
Word you say
And lets them imprint on their heart
A poet is
A star gazer
A dreamer
A chaser of
The improbable
But hopes anyway
A poet is
Tissue paper skin
A heart of glass
And a soul of titanium

A poet is
A sharp tongue
And a gentle kiss
She is a sob
He is a sigh
A poet is
The sun at midnight
Bright and
Burning
Hot
Alive
But cloaked in a darkness
They cannot shake
The brightest day
And the darkest night
A poet is
The human experience
A paradox
An oxymoron
So complicatedly
Simple

A poet is
A lover
Who refuses
To stop wearing their heart on their sleeve
No matter how much it bleeds
But rolls them up
So you can’t see
The blood stains

A poet
Is Poetry

Sep 2017 John Michael Biely

Realities Poisonous Stew

Sep 2017 John Michael Biely

J Robert Fallon III

Realities Poisonous Stew

Caught in-between a hard problem and a tragedy,
one which all thoughts conceive a calumny.

False religious declarations brought hope, a preconceived act, with all past failures examined and attacked, like a quasi-contract.

How can infinite knowledge and power create such hate, terror, and pain, similar to a suicide pact?

How does one find their own avenue? Without being stuck in the heart with a corkscrew?

Is personal discovery extinct? Do we forget the past, subconsciously ensure the failures of our future, and presently live with no imprint?

Is individuality impossible?

The characteristics are defined and distinct, but each soul's technique is quietly fluttering away from this lost mystique.

Discover the reality of you, rise up, revolt, and fight the deceitful greed and promised happiness brewed in realities poisonous stew, as it's faithful traits of trust, love, and care that create our optimistic views.

To be happy; an outdated phrase soon to be extinct.

When the downfall of morality can unfold in a blink, as we subconsciously conjure a future drearily bleak.

#poem #poet #life #pain #care #power #hate #terror #love #poetry #past #future #present #reality #morals #religion #revolt