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Aridea P Oct 2011
Palembang, 22 Juni 2011

Api itu hampir merajai waktu
Merenggut harta benda tanpa ampun
Mangarang tubuh yang sesepuh
Duduk pun terdiam di kursi besi butut

Kekuatan api bagai Sang Supernova
Membumbung tinggi tak ada yang terjaga
Meletup-letup bagai haus dan lapar
Tinggallah hamparan abu di senja tiba

Sebelum fajar menyingsing indah
Berisik di tengah jalan sirine mengulang
Langkah kaki mondar-mandir yang tentu arah
Bergotong royong pun dengan peluh dan baju basah

Ku duduk terdiam terpaku
Setengah melamun di sebelum senja muncul
Ku tersadar pun di tengah padam lampu
Dan ku lihat Monalisa tersenyum pada ku

Ku duduk bersimpuh di kaki
Menunduk dan berharap ini hanya mimpi
Dan aku bangkit tuk lihat situasi
Ku dengar mayat rapuh bagai tiada arti lagi

Tak mampu tumpah air mata
Hanya tubuh kaku mati rasa
Pikiran yang ingin selalu waspada
Mental ini rapuh butuh udara

Abu terasa di mana-mana
Terinjak, menyatu dengan tanah
Menutup mata kini selaalu terjaga
Menjaga hari tanpa Supernova

9 Juni penuh cerita
Di bawah tangisan dan panikan
Wanita memasak dan menjaga anak
Pria bahu membahu membangun rumah
Sydney Victoria Nov 2012
Don't You Dare Speak,
Your Words Trying To Make Blue Streaks,
On The Monalisa Of My Soul,
Black Graffiti Stains My Wishes,
And Teeth Bare At My Well Being,
Am I Daft?
Or Sane?
My Head Pounding With Lyrics,
About How Cruel Life Can Utterly Be,
Sharpie Crossing Out My Faith,
Paint Vandalizing My Mended Heart,
Rust Dressing The Hinges Of My Heartbeat Itself,
And Golden Irises Reset,
Back To Seaweed Green,
Resting On A Bloodshot Background,
Crayons Scribbling On The Coloring Book,
Of My Dreams,
Making It A Midnight Sky Mask,
Flecked With Miserable Maroon Tears,
Slang Covers My Intellect,
Making It Foggy And Usless,
You Can Thank Society,
For Sculpting My Strength,
From A Slab Of Clay,
Burning It In A Kiln,
To The Foundation Of Life,
I Am Art,
Sculpted From The Earth's Face,
Yet I Sit On A Shelf,
Collecting Dust,
And All Of The Arrogent People,
Doodle On My Shell,
Colors Make An Ugly Mix,
On My Bodies Skeleton,
And What Is Making Me Special,
Is Slowly Drowning,
Underneath A Sea Of Graffiti
Ivan Brooks Sr Oct 2018
You can't silence the church's bell,
So, a poet can't be silenced, never!
He was born with deep stories to tell.
Even after life, his words are forever!

You can stop the flow of the Nile
Therefore you can't alter its direction.
Like tempering with Monalisa's smile,
call it an affront and abomination!

You can't tell the tales of the pyramid
Therefore you can't decipher Egypt.
Like the ocean and the mermaid,
It's a wildcard and mysterious script!

You can't see the end of the universe
Therefore you can't fully fathom it.
It's infinite, deep and immense,
That's why there's always a star to spit.

IB-poetry©
10/10/2018
The great truth doesn't encapsulate everything, it says a few. .
M-E Mar 2019
He is a painter
who dreamed big
as The eiffel tower or
The statue of liberty
Descendant of The Monalisa and
The painter's self-portrait without a beard

He bought some paints and canvasses
but not some Aspirin
or Vicodin or anything
for the headach He had but
a frr.. a frrrr. That thing gave him
a homemade Advil-like pill, which it was
Fentanyl which is Morphine like only
its more like its a Hydrogen bomb
He slept but never woke up
to dream big, again

Not far from him
In a bar stool
in a beautiful town
with good people and
the same kind of ****** people
A beautiful lady, She was sitting
in that beautiful town, on a stool
when a charming prince facade
asked her for a ride
but before She decide, he offered her a drink
so She will not think he is a  tool
One drink, two drinks, maybe thirteen!!
Rohypnol inbetween
******* down
Think twice before
Lowering trust crown

Inspired:
I apologize if this is offensive by Deb Jones
Dam I need a blunt,
can't put up with this ****,
I'm fealin a new person
My heart just feals like cursin...

I've bin hear,
in this new home,
sober a new rome,
If i had my shear ****
you'd sure  would hear a cheer song.
I'd feal you out so happy,
have my words churned out to sappy?.
I'm way out,
    I'm not burned,
I get it I sure learned
far out mars rover,
spot me out like your'e lucky clover,
out in a big croud
I'm rare like a drout  cloud,
like I said,
I miss my bed,
eatin all day,
    freakin all may,
Give it a doobie a precious ****** ruby
Not lit Not fit
can-I-Just-quit?.

How bout a bubble and a bowl,?
no trouble nore parol,
you know i'm slick won't get in no ****,
just help a ***** out and ******* a hit.
  I love my jane we plan to mary
when she's gone my world gets scary..
So be it if i'm sketchy,
I'm posted monalisa ,
see me on the wall,
touch me and I'll fall,
  trust I see it all,
you walk right out the door and leave me on this floor,
I've seen it as it's low thats why I tend to flow,
Best of what I know is what minds like to show..
don't come back that lock is latched,
   holdin steady bit attatched,
I need a hook to hold me steady.
some one strong that will be ready,
Flower Scent Nov 2010
The Poet is the language,the mystery of Monalisa's smile,

the brush of Caravaggio and the finest painting of Vangogh.

The Poet is the sonnet of Mozart anf the symphony of Bach,

a tragedy of Shakespeare and the saddest verse of Pablo Neruda.

The Poet is the blue Danube in waltz and the Swan Lake in Ballet.

The Poet is the renaissance of passion and the remnant of life,

the dilemma of morality,the shadow of deed,and the ombra of sin.

The Poet is the fantasy of each Sunrise and the illusion of every Sunset,

the wave in tide of wishes,carried in a bottle to  dune drunk shore.

The Poet is the believer, dream lover in a hot passionate crazy affair,

the magician who creates fables and fairytales from a deadly reality.

The Poet is the worker who works and works to survive,to cope in this

demanding,sophisticated,stigmatic  concrete hypocratic world.

The Poet is the thief of time,with eyes flutterin on late nights,

Still loyal to the pen,His thoughts  in verse,bleedin fragranted words.

The Poet is an Omnipotent servant,with a will to ask and crave to learn.

A Philosopher,whose always an amateur in the pursuit of wisdom.

The Poet is an eternal slave of His Muse,the beverage of inspiration,

the spouse married to literature,adulterer of lyric,deceiver of prose.

He Knows no lapsus in all that is scandalous,royalty or sacred.

He is the artist, musician, actor,the clairvoyant  of destined paths.

He is the cheap clay's mold,carved in the sculpture of the next century.

The Poet is the unfinished book,the chapter in yesterday,

He is the Nobody of today and the bookmark  of tomorrow.


                      T  H  E        POET     IS       YOU    ! ! !
He said my eyes were intense;
He said I scared him...
But I know they are intense.
I know that I'm fierce.
They do follow you,
they look intense at you
like a Monalisa stare,
throwing hot insence
and daggers into your chest.
They make you reach, hold your breath,
pause and sight.
I have seeing it well...
But why do you fear my eyer.
Maybe because my glanze can read your soul
and turn you into a better man.
pt  Mar 2019
;
pt Mar 2019
;
distance between us
so close
yet we are light years apart
with galaxies between you and i
how did we get here you wonder?
what did you expect, my love?
how far could we go
with melancholy as our common ground
we had gone through this hadn't we
how you'd remember me
as the one who tried,
your sweet leaf
this monalisa smile,does it still haunt you?
tell me
will you be waiting for me on the other side?
for i wish to meet you
some other time
when i won't be just a bridge to your past
and you would learn to live with yourself
in some other land
where the eagles don't flutter
and where there will be no peacocks dancing in the rain
we can call it our heaven
where the rain brings solace and is less of a burden
but till then
I hope you write about me some
And when you do
I hope it will not be all bitter
and till then
I'll be here in this purgatory of intersection
reminiscing you through our songs
KAT  May 2010
THE M WORD
KAT May 2010
the m word


Misunderstood misfit making my way to next monday morning, minute by minute. Many may call it the mainstream kind of life. My mind maybe misleading, maybe only to myself. Mauve colors in meadows make me mesmerized. Mind over matter, boredom melting away. Made up make belive, make up with me. Mistakes being made, measure up Misfire...misery make it meet you. You might think it is modest.          Mute minute......I'll still take it.         Mirror-----              Miraculous mistake made mother. May I make a toast to your magnificent majestic miny me. Magnify meaningful memeries in the membrane    

Mighty all Mighty monument...I'm the monalisa.

Luv-kat
(c) 2007 Performed in the Pink Lace Sofa Play
Mia  Oct 2012
Under your spell
Mia Oct 2012
The enchantress has got me
under her soft illusionary spell
only her my eyes see
as angelic as the monalisa.
Me don't mind being a pet
My senses so aroused
tuned to her every need.
My heart beating in time
to her spirit's pulse
Me walks where she does
skipping along the path
she has lain with flowers
Me drinks from her essence
overflowing with power
pretty as the universe
me don't mind this spell.
Diane  May 2014
When..
Diane May 2014
When he looked at me?

I left like the monalisa in skin and bones,
Like the Eiffel tower at night,
Like his every desire and fantasy standing in human form right infront of him.

When he touched me?

He made my nerves ignite and send sparks all through my body.
He would put his arms round my waist and that... That felt like home.

When he kissed me?

His lips pressed against mine, and produced movements that seduced my mouth.
He always left me begging for more.

When he spoke to me?

His voice captured my attention,
Producing sound that my ears yearned for.
Sometimes i would just sit and listen not for what he was saying but how he said it.

— The End —