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Ken Pepiton Jul 22
Be assured, the sun always rises
through out morality.
Re, nach einmal, crows caw,
and race down the valley
laughing, beating the call from the roosters.
Re joyed be,
re joyed being, noise of life in morning,
caws of crows,
calling crows.
and tweets and peeps of tiny things,
wake us all to be once more
users of light made in life,
doing duties,
crowing and cawing and
stretching and yawning and such.

oh, what a day!
Mitwoche, aber mas, mucho mas,
este dia, este dia
Vvoden's tag aqui, we rejoice
and be glad as on any given Wednesday,

as though it were like any other fine day
to begin in,
in relation to light letting
letters let the sense
of life seem true, sure things, can't loose,
choose, this day,
realizes its possibility… being the basis,
the one event that must occur
as in the night,
the earth must turn,
doing the actual cycle of living
in quanta mediated reality, ones in order,
this day
digital squawking alarms, flashing
red-lights and green, signifying
oomph enough, trickle
charged to aid my being connected…

to the task at hand,
this is the given
I choose to pay a whole day worth
of rapt attention… drawing on
power stored in darkness,
dripping into day, clepsydra wise.
Wiping sleepy from woken eyes, to see the old new.
Good morning, my fellow tricklers of the charge that makes us think,
we make life work. In letting words say all thy mind might wish.
Man May 21
works burned to cinders
poplar trees leaking resin
bulging eyes lashed
punishment as a lesson
but his chain links snapped
fresh from slavery
hefty debts to the procession
the gally of people alike
that lent him a hand to his ascension
a journey his own
luck and his mind
fortified his constitution
they carried him to his fate
that was to be
Mikko Mar 19
I left home young, I scarcely remember
being a lad and learning the way
of the old wisdom hidden in swordplay
When the war came I enrolled, a beggar
Then, I unleashed my consuming anger
And waded through blood, through every melée
I rose to command, and all would obey
and through my skill they came to call me ”sir.”

Then, when I returned, I had no more fears
Back as a lion though I left a lamb
I strode with vigor, to scale the last hill
Alas! On the crest I burst into tears
The same war that made me the man I am
had vanquished my home, such a bitter pill !
Originally written sometime in the summer of 2015. I started to think about a person leaving their poor home and rising to infamy through death visited upon others. How it doesn't matter how tough you are, you will suffer among all the others.
cristina Dec 2020
we search for saving in every little crevice
of our lonesome existence
we yearn for release
and for whoever may be generous enough grant it

it is comforting to believe in a savior
because we crave the idea of rescue
a moment of peace in this endless cycle of suffering
as if redemption could befall on us from the sky
as if there was a miracle crafted from the heavens above
just for us
selflessly gifted and waiting to be found

to live one's life in the hope of saving
is the most poetic tragedy ever written by man

I have come to understand the charm of religion
and those who seek to pursue its principles
for if I were certain that someone out there cared enough to save me
I'd get on my knees too
Kaley Aug 2020
Your love is of a sacred kind, that leaves me basking in the afterglow of your longing embrace.
There I find myself alight with emotions so radiant that their golden rays burst forth from my ribcage as if holy arrows have pierced my very soul.
And it is in your divine light that I wish to remain ever more.
Left Foot Poet Aug 2020
they hit you everywhere,
bruises, slow faders,
pretty much all over,
spaced out, body and time

some, they come back,
months, years later,
enticing, devising,
with revelations perfect,
you melt with helpfulness

some claim they are born
with only questions and an
insatiable quest for knowing,
but line in the soil tween rows
is there for you not to cross

some proffer their pain,
asking for ablution and absolution,
from demons they wish to share,
but refusing the smoke of my offering,
that could cleanse both our inhalations

like highway men of yore,
they hit everyone, below the belt,
stave breaking into the heart,
slow bleeding, with answers
received in absentia and silence

until the till needs refilling, and they
renewed, reappear, reformed, with
perfect words, even better questions:

my portfolio of replies mostly go/grow
old, noting the obvious, we are socially
distance by age and geography and
degree, I free and clear to provide while
they just free to hit and run, one more time
if you think this poem is about you, then it probably is…
M Srisaravana Apr 2020
I see them flowers withering, Llorona,
The cold wind sweeps them away,
The leaves and stems are so empty, Llorona,
Come at ones to collect them, Llorona, Llorona,

There's darkness surrounds me, Llorona,
Like a burned coal mixes with the air,
It has consumed me to the core, Llorona,
You are my absolution, Llorona, Llorona,

They say I bring the calamity, Llorona,
Distructruction above all laid,
Even the full moon will hide from the sight, Llorona,
Take me to the river and show me Llorona, Llorona,

My eyes are filled with sorrow, Llorona,
No more butterflies of colors flip the wings,
A dune of a pale sand desert grows in me, Llorona,
Come with the rain and drizzle me Llorona, Llorona,

I wander in the woods and the lakes, Llorona,
Looking for a white gown of a woman weeping,
To give my will freely to your salvation, Llorona,
Hold me in your arms as I pass into thee, Llorona, Llorona,

If your wailing needs life to be taken, Llorona,
Let another child live with joy and meaning,
Take my wasted soul without falter, Llorona,
Let us go into the void of salvation, Llorona, Llorona.
Just inspired by the folklore of La Llorona
Brice Katherine Jul 2019
Open the windows caked in dusty melancholy
Allow the sun's strange rays through
To call the skeletons from their closet homes
Forcing them gone in hurried queue
Wake your mind from heavy slumber
Raise your weary chin
Your search for absolution
Is found once you let light in
Exotic trollwood harlotry and mule kit blues
Tyrannical tyrannosaur traction padness
Cohort cavorts clastic and witch’s *** hues
Ontological ontogeny somatalogy fadness
Inductive endemic veracities and talus weather clues
Epistemological equilibrium’s homogeny badness
Timeless rhetorical ruminations and ephemeral exigency dues
Transcendent ascensional equivocal madness

Tactile acuity prescience capacity intrepid intrigues
Mystical symbiosis dharma sensorium sentiment proselyte
Torturous tractive prosthesis umbrage ultraism colleagues
Newfangled nocturnal nonchalant nether nestle neophyte
Top notch topography tortoise trauma fatigues
Faustian faux pas foist felicitous fealties socialite
Agnate nous ontological ontogeny euphenics in league
Mentalities evocative introjecting sycophant eulogizing apposite

Mystical terrestrial equestrian tellurian tableau
Panoramic imagery empiricist
Evocative exserted apomixies’ ethereal should show
Ontological somatology lyricist
Reflective refraction remissions opulence could know
Theosophy theophany epiphany equilibrist
Magniloquent inductive extrapolation quantum back ***
Transcendent nimbus nimiety exorcist
Ominous phenomenon portrayal spontaneous synchronous
Exponentially extemporaneous
Oskar Erikson Jun 2019
i sold my soul for redemption
to sign this pain away
the devil however forgot to mention
that all the guilt would stay.
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