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 44° 
patty m
The blind man too,
enjoys birdsong, sun on his face,
pungent scents of spice, the
perfume of flowers.
Even the flute pipes sweeter when
undistracted.

In solitary silence
taste the freshly peeled orange,
enjoy the citrus spray,
remember this spaceless,
pin-wheeling sensation.

Savor the memory of
of morning gold rush,
summer blues in lazy sky,
rose and amber dusk falling,
nights when the moon hung so low
light brushed your cheek with slumber
and you saw heaven through the eyes of a dream.
 38° 
Meera
He doesn't burn photographs
He doesn't join therapy sessions
He doesn't smoke too many cigarettes
Nor he drown himself into alcohol
He scratches his wounds daily
And never let them heal
He doesn't try to get rid of the pain
Instead he let it grow on him
He waters the seed of sorrow with his tears
He feeds it with the manure of old memories
He takes it to sleep with him
And nurtures it in himself
Till the moment when every single drop of his blood gets replaced by this pain
Until his fragile heart can bear no more
And his soul starts overflowing with emotions
That's when he dip his pen into this pain
And empty his heart on a piece of paper
He bares his soul for us to feel
He creates poetry that the world would cherish for centuries to come
That's how true poetry comes into existence
 27° 
Vicki
the ocean plays
no games with karma,
neither terra firma.
instructed by the moon
and sun, who are rarely
in the theater either,
background

in the smallest
scintilla of ourselves i think
we find our earnest pawn,
our souls who know
when to go and when
to find a home.
 24° 
Edmund black
Some would have
You to believe that
     Love is blind

Love isn’t blind
       At all
Love sees every
        Color
Love does not require
Sameness to love
          
Love sees every shade
And every relishes
        In each one

Love seeks to understand
And give freedom of
    Expression to every
      Brilliant color

     Love has perfect
             Vision
That sees and celebrate
          Every color

           Like love
         I see color
       And it is indeed
             Beautiful
            
      Love in color
              It’ll
     Change your life
 22° 
Nylee
The end of road
they are empty
without answers
but just a line
nothing further ahead


Turning back again
to where we came from
with a new question
the road looks stranger
than what it was before
.
 20° 
BJ Donovan
I've never read a poem without
the poet's heart and soul in each
line. I wish we could take snapshots
of our emotions and capture pure love.
 18° 
Jude
I despise myself for not being someone you could love.
 16° 
Druzzayne Rika
Get me to be
a soul liberated
from every
attachment
it could be.

I want to want
nothing from anywhere
not want to get
tempted
by things unnecessary
get myself bound to
what will be my
downfall

The soul needs nothing
it is to be free
but my own flaws
have made it
not so
that it could go
as it pleases

What is that one really needs
with no one else be depleted
all the seed, sign of lives
but with greed
everything dies

Devoid of true knowledge
what is I seek
I see myself so very weak
my vision so blinded
my eyes itself closes
that I cannot see

the lies will bite
the anger will burn
my own journey
with karma
it will come back on me
I wait
as I expect them
coming to me

My sins who will wash for me?

my thoughts
why they never sided me
they followed the down path
got me to fuss on things
over all the nothings
never mattered to me

the body detoriates
every day, every second passes

My mind forget
what it remembers
I speak no tales, but riddles
what sense
I try to formulate

This time who will be
the one to get it to decode
the mysteries
the real truths
which could liberate
but to think deeper
what really is
the answer lies very deep within
much closer than
who you are actually really.
 15° 
Ciel Noir
We are such            clever creatures to divide
Most everything             into its different sides
With chaos versus             order, dark and light
The stark duality of         wrong and right
We even split the very        world in two
With human versus human,       we and you
But still no matter how much      we divide
Each thing has infinitely many      sides
 15° 
Nylee
Does desire make you happy
or do they take away
the existing happiness?
 14° 
LeV3e
Love = Lust + Respect
 12° 
She Writes
Tell me this!
How can you cage a bird
When you fell in love
Whilst watching it fly?
 12° 
emnabee
We are the passionate people.
The people who feel.
It’s a blessing and a curse.
That’s what I believe.

We wish to reduce the emotional reaction.
But we just can’t seem to get that satisfaction.

So we lay low.
Until we're about to explode.

Give up.

And break out the poetry.
Mass exodus of expression.
 10° 
Nylee
Digging out the history
he created a new story
which suited his creativity
used all the evidence
to his benefit
to get the required popularity
praises for his credibility
and no rings and bones
are opposing it.

No cerecloth has pockets
No bag fits in coffin
No grave has cupboards


A thought..We leave empty handed from the world
 8° 
Woody
A whore standing
on a corner
blowing smoke
in the dark

The undertaker
waiting on the headlights
turning up the drive
a drink with ice
rattling in his hands

Someone turns a light on
in a house down the road
it must be a man
going over all the words
he ever spoke
all the fields he ever left
on his way to open a door

Away from our homes
and on roads
we thought we knew
holding a light for a stranger

A woman in the moonlight
wading a river
raising her dress
above her white thighs
but the gully is dry
it hasn't rained in forty nights.
How does
It come to pass
That no one in Catholic church
Realizes it is traumatizing to a
Child
To tell them they're
Eating
"The body of Christ"
?
 6° 
CA Smith
Brick
        By
            Brick
A house is built
Hour
        By
            Hour
The house becomes a home
Day
        By
            Day
The home turns into memories
Year
        By
            Year
The memories turn into people
Century
        By
            Century
The people turn into stories
Story
        By
            Story
Stories turn into legends
Legend
        After
            Legend
History is changed
Piece
        By
            Piece
Lives are changed
Person
        By
            Person
Love is spread
One Love
        After
            Another
Bricks are purchased
That build houses
That turn into homes
That create memories
That turn into people
That turn into stories
That turn into legends
That change history
And it all started with
Just. One. Brick.
Sometimes it's tough when you are just laying bricks to see the end picture, but it makes a difference in the end! It can be so easy at times to feel like we aren't doing enough to help others or to grow ourselves, but one ripple affects the entire pond.
 6° 
Traveler
And what about the lairs
Who whisper in our ears
Shadows in the corridors
Envy in their stare's
Evil eyes awatching
Wishing wicked things
I can feel them
Crawling across
The dirt of all our
Graves




An exercise in creativity....
Traveler Tim
 6° 
yúyīn
JJsbdksndkkdmxmjshJustletmediemmmkbhbxjdnxnbdjxbdnxnnxnxnImsotire­dofthisnsjs nkksbdndnbdthese tears wontstopjdjdnn znjsnndudndkdknfkdmssnfnjdndnndbdbdbdnWhythepainstilllivesin myheartjjxnxjxjdn mykdjdvjsndjcjndndncnxkxnkxndkdkjdnskxhjshdjddndeImsofuckingtired­msnndksnxonshxidnkxndjsjdbjdkslmsndjjdbdisbdjjdksndjdhbsndnndjdjd­ndnd


Youllneverunderstand me
 6° 
DeAnn
I've looked bad but felt good
I've looked good but felt bad
I've looked bad and felt bad
I've looked good and felt good

I've failed so many times I can't count
I've learned so much I can't find individual moments

I have gradually increased

But I am finding myself

I am finding the confidence to strut out of my dorms like I'm walking on the runway
I have found myself so sad my body has become immobile

I am growing stronger

Physically. Mentally. Spiritually.

I am finding God in the most random moments, but when I do it is glorious

I find myself alone too often
I find myself feeling alone too often
I find myself hiding too often

I'm ready to let my potential loose
And become the lion I am meant to be
The human condition may be
characterized by the posing
and re-posing of this most
fundamental of questions:
For what purpose, if any
is the suffering, the fear--
indeed, the utter bewilderment--
peculiar to Earthly existence
endured? Incessantly, we search
for an answer we can live with
and die for.
Lil' Israel, today, scuttled the long struggled for 'Iran ...Deal',
an acheivement of the Obama Presidency, although he failed on his
promises of "...watching the robots..." (20 % of "Bernie Or Bust
'Bots", the "hacker 'bots", and hackers globally, etc., biological
machine parts of 'la machine', mega, mecha, techa vs. orga, soma,
Gaia, which were central to the invisible coup that, with the tug, the
S.S. Tea Party, to the tune of their manifest destiny rag, dragged
'The U.S. Constitution', our Ship of State, into the 'Plymouth Rock'
Of this nation's original sin, imperialism, as they landed on it
while it landed on "...we(e),...", Native Americans, Turtle Island,
derailing democratically directed progress and installing Trumpler in
the klukahouse) and "closing Guantonomo", etc., he kept many, making
him singular amongst the number of the fingers of one hand at the top,
The "Presidents Club".  His legacy includes allowing the intelligence
industrial complex, of the corporate structure's convolution, to
purposely not prevent the hacking of the Presidential Elections of
2016, yet also includes such acheivements as the A.C.A., and the
'Iran ... Deal', it being the best possible foreign policy endeavor
To move forward with Iran.  Yet, Trumpler's feuhrer, Netsenyahoo's,
putting on a show of shiny cd's, old intelligence that didn't even
support his delusional projections, was all the cover 'The Donald'
needed to follow his channeling of his inner-worst yahoo and "scrap",
Racistly, that epitome of foreign policy success, "...because it was
Obama's...", as was Trumpler's campaigning on his desires to
"...update and use nuclear programs and weapons...".  For, it's been
common global foreign affairs knowledge for half a century that any
nuclear war is the extinction of humanity in a can, thus 'containment',
not proliferation', was the eternal order of the day.  So, His Trunc-
ularnesses not understanding why "...a country has weapons if they're  
not going to use them...", was not just a confession of his utter
criminal insanity, it was also one of his intent to break the "Non-State
Agression" part of the Nuremburg Accords that was central to the lessons
learned from WWII, like if you're not taking bullets you're making them,
By globally selling not just unending war, but nuclear ones, discarding
containment for proliferation, 'cause war pays extremely more than peace.  
What do you get when you mix imperialism, materialism, racism, religious
bigotry, patriarchy, oligarchy, notsee Germany before it annexed Austria.
Trumpenstein, blasting the keinder and gentler imperialism of remocrats,
Is warring on dempublicans, voting, women's rights, healthcare, health,
Et al, exterminating non-rem voters, etc., now he is angling for a Sunni
wished for unending worldwide war on the Shiite, Iran, to be nuclear, kill
all non: US citizens, Caucasians, upper-middle-class to rich, supposed
Christians, as our notsee war machine has ever been oiled by the blood
of, for more (like merx for more thru to mercs for unnecessary unending
worldwide war).  Separating the real religion which all religions,
etc., are a front for, avarice, from the State, as is dictated by our
Constitution, is not only a necessity for "a nation and an individual",
like Gandhi said "abhaya, fearlessness", is, it's now a necessity for
the existence of humanity, neigh, all life and the Earth.  He will end
U.S. if we don't protect the vote, GOTV, vote, and impeach him a.s.a.p..
I fear my disgust with presidential politics might be able to be gleaned through the twig of poetree   :)   c'est la unvie; no?   reality
 5° 
King
If
If I die today,
Would tears flow,
like a rushing river?
Or the clouds weep,
screaming in thunder?
Would the earth break,
shaking in anger?
Will the world care?
And for a moment,
forget laughter?

If I'm down
to my final heartbeat.
Will anyone be there,
sitting beside me?
When I draw,
the very last breath.
Will you hold my hand,
and feel upset?

If I go,
without saying goodbye.
I want you to know,
that I really tried.
To live and love,
to endure and smile.
To find the truth,
in this realm of lies.

If I'm fated
of leaving soon
to talk with God,
in his glowing room.
I'll be rejoicing,
when I face my doom.
Even I end like a flower,
that withered,
before it blooms.

If inside the casket I lay,
Would there any heaven for me to stay?
Or will my sins, demand me to pay?
Don't even know, how much this life has weighed.

If it's my time, to step on the scale.
Done of my part, in this play.
A lot of regrets,
but nothing more to say.
Wish me luck.
If I die today.
 5° 
Vicki
we don't live
long as flowers
burned in the heat
of our transient
sun star  
or
we survive
longer to thread
as needles into the
moon's stone eye
our every ache
until we die.
(sorta?) or
half an hourglass
 5° 
Pablo Neruda
How neatly a cat sleeps,
Sleeps with its paws and its posture,
Sleeps with its wicked claws,
And with its unfeeling blood,
Sleeps with ALL the rings a series
Of burnt circles which have formed
The odd geology of its sand-colored tail.

I should like to sleep like a cat,
With all the fur of time,
With a tongue rough as flint,
With the dry sex of fire and
After speaking to no one,
Stretch myself over the world,
Over roofs and landscapes,
With a passionate desire
To hunt the rats in my dreams.

I have seen how the cat asleep
Would undulate, how the night flowed
Through it like dark water and at times,
It was going to fall or possibly
Plunge into the bare deserted snowdrifts.

Sometimes it grew so much in sleep
Like a tiger's great-grandfather,
And would leap in the darkness over
Rooftops, clouds and volcanoes.

Sleep, sleep cat of the night with
Episcopal ceremony and your stone-carved moustache.
Take care of all our dreams
Control the obscurity
Of our slumbering prowess
With your relentless HEART
And the great ruff of your tail.
 5° 
Nylee
In depth
there's only fear and disbelief
deeper you will find nothing else
just void

the courage
is only the drop on the surface
wearing it like my favourite dress
not many times

there is rage
it intensifies how I feel
using every other emotions as fuel
it burns them

After the fire
Tired enough not to think much
and in a bad situation as such
I fall asleep

Waking the regret
funnily it keeps on returning
the cycle ongoing
bury it within

I am emotionless
with too many emotions dancing
improved a lot in masking
happy with my newfound skill.
 5° 
Jeff Blake
Beware the bitter idiot--
That fellow with the sour
    Mind,
Cankered by disillusion,
And feelings of
Left behind.

So life may not be everything
As planned--
It does, after all, arrive in
Installments called the day.
One of these is enough to try
    To understand,
One enough for this thin
Vessel of stardust clay.

His voice is but a drone,
Nothing but rancor and filth
    Ride upon his tongue.
Complaint the engine of his
    Tone,
The wormwood ballad of
Pitiful woe he sings and has
    Ever sung.

He will not be mistaken,
For the street tough is at his
    Very core.
He will not allow to awaken
The malleable man of his
    Youth and yore.

And so this fellow who has
Shut his soul off,
Stands in front of his mirror and cries.
He's too proud to unhand the
Lance of the scoff--
Boldness is his favorite lie.
 4° 
Nylee
We never took more
never took any less
of our share
for our hunger
when everyone stared
it is rightfully ours.
Long before
we were
the beggars,
When we had nothing
no more,
did millions of tiny chores.
We were wronged
no one shared,
we looked at them
gave them pitiful stare,
we wanted the same care
and now that we
climbed the ladder
we are no better
that we are having
our healthy dinner,
there is someone
rising upper
working under the sun
this summer
and maybe
we were wrong
and someone knew it better.
 4° 
NuBlaccSoul
We are forgotten yesterdays of tomorrow,
note-booked mementos on thighs time travelled,
back from the future, few tsha-tsha with flashes,
blackouts and gray-matter gashes
The slurred dance of good memory,
crib-notes on collar-bones,
bare chest, a loose tie, knots, not around neck
formal education white-suits, tucked-in remembering.

A formal date chasing me indoors.
chasing me into doors of consistent
nurturing nature of the neuro
doors on the right, left doubt outside.
A manner of hindsight sighs.

Running back to tomorrow to save my 4 unborn children
from my present past. Amnesia.
The pendulum swings in reversed backwards.
Forward is just an antithesis, poor protest-art
An analogue, roman-concept coded in digital now.
Fraudulent, faux and pseudo. We look at the sun
to tell day from night. Progress practising stillness
Passage of pain frozen in time,
sun is amber lantern,
phantom of what & who has risen,
out of resin's
suspended-infinity-loop prison.
The bitterness of honey stings
sour-sweet on the taste buds of trauma.
Strolling up memory lane, compassion
for former faults. Less envy, only empathy
Fragments of a broken dream further smashed
can’t fill in the gas smothered cracks.

We died many deaths.
A mass burial, a mountain of bodies brewing
under the garden, the slumbering soil wakes.
3 is the number of perfect balance and god.
Ma’, Sister, and I.
Mother died the day Doctor
told her that the body she named
Home was evicting her, with a 10-year-notice.
She must have watched herself
watch herself
sitting on covered couches
thinking what a theft of life
this holy trinity is –
what is left
to see
here?

I saved all pain of breaking
bones for this,
I ran in opposites, dislocated my hip
tore tender tendons, I have a Belgian-Congolese tendency
never stood for much but numbness
an absence of nothing because
feelings kill.
I saved haunting ghosts of night for day
For this day
For today.
All these reservoirs of resilience won’t be enough,
ever.

I wept
winter sunsets –
to remind my new self on the coldest of nights
that once time was warm days
a slice of life’s beauty in Redemption.

Efforts tuck sweat under my arms,
gravity grounding my prideful chest down.

A bed of waves
afloat sober dreams
nightmares of wrinkled water
submarine my day dreams
and flowing peace.
Please be polite and let me be.

I now know, less hoarding.
A pair of paradox, or pandora's box: written by Phila Dyasi
Published by: NuBlaccSoul

To call it an existential crisis
would speak exclusively to a disturbance relating to the decaying case
that encapsulates my eternal hold of being.
NO!
This crisis is a crises extending to the infinite.
A philosophical and metaphysical troubled state.

NB: Please comment and critique and share :) Feedback is always welcomed.

(C) 2018. Copyrighted 19 February
2018 NuBlaccSoul™. All rights reserved. Please quote poem with author name, poem title and date published if sharing to external sites without the link or/and if sharing an excerpt of the poem.
 3° 
Hannah rose
He doesn’t like to cuddle. He likes to grip my hips and touch my lips, But only when it suits him. He sticks his head out my window because its too hot in my room and he doesn't like the sound of my fan easy.Breath.caffeine.breeze. We laugh quietly and kiss quietly and moan quietly. He mouths vulgar things that make me giggle in front of our friends. I run my hand along the seam off his far too expensive shorts We take every opportunity to be with each other to talk , to feel, so secretly. So public. Exhibitionist pleasure. We talk night after night rapidly and vigorously and trip over each others sentences like a sidewalk crack. He says “her” like it means “amen” i say “us” pretending i could be them.We get drunk off of music  and skin and things we love. His smile erupts across his face like it could shatter his cheekbones. His eyes glimmer like a lake catching the glare of the moonlight.He loves to be so much taller  than me. He thinks it makes him wiser. We spend a lot of time in my room with the doors shut. (We spend a lot of time outside of my room with our mouths shut.) I always wake up first. I lay there looking at him Vulnerable and quiet with the occasional sleep talk. Soft face. Soft sounds.We bond over love for our friends We fight over who gets the corner in my bed.
We tease and We kiss, ooh we kissed.
He loves classical music. We listen in silence.I sit on his stomach and laugh maniacally and pout my lips when he won’t be fair.
He is my occasional constant.
i think i'm falling in love with him.
I think he's fallen for her.
I ran,
Towards the horizon,
Where the land and the sky meet.

I ran,
To see,
Where they become complete.

I ran,
To see,
The land and the sky together.

And I am
Running,
For forever.

And I am
Running,
For forever.
From far away, things seems different, when we get close we see the real things or it just the way it is.
Sometimes things are better from far and we can never get near them no matter how much we try.
 3° 
Traveler
In poetic manipulation
In magic of our words
Beneath the breath
Above duress
Let your heavy
Hearts be heard
In power of rhyme
Upfront sublime
Equal syllable
Entwined
In each consecutive
Spellbinding high
Or
Emotionality low
Crafted on
The twist of tongue
Either way
Let poetry make us whole

We all have the power
Write it down
lock
And load!
.........
Traveler Tim
 3° 
idk
I stopped writing.
Not because I fell out of love with it...
My emotions just seemed to disappear.

I started a new medication.
The doctor said it would help my panic disorder, and it did.
I took that pill, like my mother talks to God (every morning).

When I went back to the doctor she said we had to up the dosage because apparently having 2 panic attacks a week still isn't okay.
I told her that when I woke up this morning I got out of bed without crying, but she didn't consider that as much of a victory as I did.

When I was put on a higher dosage, my emotions shut down.
After a few weeks I stopped crying, my OCD got better, my panic attacks were gone, and I could even go into the student union of my college campus without my heart trying to win a race against my thoughts.

I could breathe.

But, I also stopped having fun.
I felt like a stranger in my own body.
My emotions found the exit on the plane and jumped, never to be found again.

Since when did being able to breathe require me to feel like this?
flowers laid perfectly in a path
silk colored of pink welcomes her mighty wrath
young girls look up to see the image of beauty, kindness, and love
gentlemen see her as the image of above
all hail the perfect
all bow and worship
her mother and father loved her since the day she was born
they knew she would keep the world from being torn
she walks down that path as the angels sing
but soon follows every human being
the world has a blindspot for seeing the normal this way
every blended person seems to save the day
the broad picture of society
it brings nothing of variety
but can you blame
wanting to be viewed with glory and fame
the image of picture perfect stands and wanders
making everyone want to be a follower
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