Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
18.2k · Oct 2014
Connected prosperity
Patrick N Oct 2014
We prosper by our connectivity
it permits us influence and involvement
which invokes within us a feeling of usefulness
a sense of purpose that allows us to believe,
we are worthy of being **beloved
4.3k · Nov 2014
Patrick N Nov 2014
Not so much grey today, despite the weather
Feeling lighter, an easiness, cells filled with helium,
You look brighter she says,
I have had a shave and my hair cut, I reply
She smiles, I smile, we laugh
The day feels well oiled, little resistance
Or maybe it is just me,
Either way I'll embrace it and slide on through
I'm having one of those good days...
1.5k · Nov 2014
Patrick N Nov 2014
Following Ember Evanescent's Dear Blank Challenge (­ep-it-going-hellopoetry-dear-blank-challenge-secret-santa-poems-e­xcept-not-secret-and-not-santa-random-actpoem-of-kindness-strange­r-poetry-appreciation/)...  here is my appreciation of your work written down.

Worley's words make one think,
Often times simple thoughts expressed in a beautiful figurative tone,
Imagery delivered succinctly, accurately, yet holding onto aesthetics
A voice is felt, and appears consistently
Not perfect, nothing is,
His poetry is uniquely his
Some of my favourite lines of yours:
-With silent tears, she begs forgiveness, from one she has never wronged.
-The sun pursues my agony
-I imagine what it's like on the other side. Their taunts supply my mind with amazing dreams. Ambitions grand and humble ripen.

1.4k · Jan 2015
Interrupting Certainty
Patrick N Jan 2015
The garden grows in all directions
Amidst the influence of interfering hands
The waterfall in motion is ceaseless,
Whether asked kindly or implored

Made powerless by that which cannot be changed
Yet, made powerful by knowing that which cannot be changed

The garden grows in all directions
Gardened by our hands
The water falls around us
In the spaces that we created
1.3k · Jan 2015
Off the fence
Patrick N Jan 2015
Offence has no real validity,
Yet it is used to justify the taking of lives
Is there one, that the world does not offend
If so that person has not lived or felt,

Warlords, rapists, racists, murderers and those who are cancers on society walk among us daily
Those who profess to know the will of god and act on his behalf,
Perceiving  and executing unhelpful dogma that infects our reality  

The words respect and correctness have become harbingers for cowards,
As our muteness silently strips us of our freedom,
Apologies are offered gift wrapped in fear
Sticks and stones still break our bones but pictures and words now ****** us
12 people had their lives taken by three machine gunmen in Paris on Tuesday 7th January 2015. They were killed in and outside of the building of the satirical magazine Charlie Hebdo. The attack was for cartoonists who had depicted Muhammad in a cartoon. Yes, twelve people lost their lives over a cartoon. An absolute tragedy.
1.2k · Dec 2014
Patrick N Dec 2014
She loved to dance,
the music didn't matter much
It was the feeling,
freedom, surrendering,

I think it was a way of communicating for her
A switch of the hips,
tap of the foot or snap of the wrist 
Illustrated her innermost feelings

I could never read dance
So for me it was only ever an obscure but intimate moment shared

Spoken words are my tools and I amplified my pointed but spinning feelings often and in person,

With no music playing, no time to reflect or poetry to serve as a conduit,
She would freeze and struggle in the immediacy of my spoken words,

These tools constructed small wonders leaving her still
For all the wrong reasons

Dissonance grew beneath the roof of these wonders
Breaching the walls,  
always at nightfall,

We were slaves to our mediums
Our mediums enslaved us
She never knew the steps I was shuffling in were mimicking hers,
I didn't know the routine and her music muffled my words leaving them weak, 

Hindsight, reason and honesty our last chance to dance and speak.
997 · Feb 2015
Losing fairly
Patrick N Feb 2015
And so I have lost you, and I have lost you fairly
Yet we gained a piece of each other
The end, those honest hours shared
A glimpse, a touch, a taste, of a temporary reality
A beautiful thing, made more precious by impermanence

Yet, something that we felt, since that first time
How can it be explained,
Chemistry paints too primitive a picture
To occupy, so much of the other,
When circumstance and situation should not have allowed

Existing on borrowed time,
As we found new ways to give time contusions
Almost always effortless despite obstacles, and stretched ethics
All or nothing, is everything anyone deserves
In our all, we may have found everything

Nothing is fairer, than something
Inspired by Edna St. Vincent Millay's , “Well, I have lost you.” the first line is taken directly from his poem.
920 · Dec 2014
Patrick N Dec 2014
I could write another boring story of her comprehensive beauty,
How all before her are brought to a pause,
But that's not the case or the truth

Truth is her beauty is finely balanced, To some she's ugly
She's not sweet tasting, but rather, strong and passionate

Words tempt my tongue, as hers are often crude and unnecessarily pointed
Her look, somewhat disguised, is not soft or subtle,
Her gait lacks elegance and fluidity

Her ideals, still orientating, while her desires begin to de-fuzz,
Her intellect steady, growing, but rusty in its current environment
Experience limited, yet pursuit of it growls, signifying a growing hunger

So womanly, so weak, so strong, such foolish bravery,
So much wrong, so little right,
Such an attraction I have never felt,
Such beauty I have never known
890 · Nov 2014
Patrick N Nov 2014
It was never a case of one more or less
Intangibles don't weigh on her scale,
They rest, balanced and immovable

There was a case of right or wrong,
So I asked her to pick up the sword and pass judgement
She severed you and I, all involved were cut deep

Bleeding, everyone bled
Blinded, she separated both flesh and spirit
The rights and wrongs seem less important now
873 · Sep 2015
Patrick N Sep 2015
Night, gripped by future thoughts I lie,
Mind nocturnal, never blinking eyes,
Day's events and those to come don't rest only rush
Heart hastens shadowing  pace, moves respite out of touch

Perspective the enlightener sprouts a shoot,
A momentary distraction which begins to take root

Breath is vacuumed slowly from nose to chest,
Streaming laden air out, a peaceful wind lays upon breast,
Mind slows recognising nights familiar touch,
Sleep content, knowing, I'm but a mindful piece of dust
797 · Oct 2014
Patrick N Oct 2014
I talk to her, and her
She talks back, it echoes
I squeeze her, and her
She burrows into my chest, splitting it

I laugh with her, and her
She smiles back with too many teeth
I can’t love her... and her, and me
We cry tears, we should have never let be.
790 · Nov 2014
What we don't see (10w)
789 · Nov 2014
The thieves
Patrick N Nov 2014
You kissed him with my lips,
Those lips I thought were mine,
I felt his breath,
His dew pressed
Upon our mouths for a time,

In your eyes I see the want
For me, for you, for us
Yet what you crave,
I have given,
This harvest has no wine

Your kisses, remain unbound,
Ghosts obscured my view
In our haste we lost ourselves
Thieves together two,

I stole from you as you did from me
Still we remain never complete,
Only us,
702 · Aug 2015
Between the waves
Patrick N Aug 2015
Life is lived between the waves
In those moments prior to being carried or pushed,

What make you of those moments
When life’s ocean ebbs and flows

Infrequently offering just enough respite
That you may catch sight of what awaits

Whether its better to resist against or float atop
Is not sometimes known until afterwards

To know so little, arrive at land
And walk forth
475 · Apr 2015
Patrick N Apr 2015
It is friendship, in that, being friends is what matters most.
Yet dangerous friends, we could be lovers,
Passionate impulses, should we be *******
Not touching brings uneasiness,
So we kiss and stare,
Shattering anxiety laden air.
434 · Oct 2014
The dance
Patrick N Oct 2014
It burns so magnetically, beckoning them in
the warmth is alluring and felt on their wings
they flutter and dance to the heat and light

embracing a malevolent illumination in the blackest of night
knowingly I wait, whilst feeling a premature pain
watching the last dance of moths to the flame

— The End —