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she always talks
says and orders
say something'
you stood as a stunt

coming from ancient
saying no word
she has gone

crying with tears ascending as rains
shouting at the crowds
that is my fault
they stretched thier lips
as they do not know
what you want?

you screamed at them
a mad man they called
you believed that
running so fast
shouting at the space

i love my darling
reaching her home
your sound is hardly heard

when you reached there
you could not even stood
you screamed so loud
but she could not hear
as your sound was not so aloud
you can't ever move
but the waves blow against willingness
she had another one
whose word fly to heart
no matter if he is honest
no matter if he has trust

the lovers need to control thier wishes ,tempers and efforts
K Balachandran Jun 2018
On the sky, cloud’s write,
The west wind reads it aloud:
‘Monsoon phantasy’!
Brent Kincaid Oct 2015
Here sits the poet
The scribe of the times
Rendering the wordless
Into heart-rending rhymes.
Listen to the poet
Who says what most do not.
Pay attention closely
And see what the poet has got.

Sometimes you listen,
Then must listen once more,
Because hidden inside
Might be the words to a score.
Only you don’t yet hear
The music it is playing
Because you are still listening
To the words they are saying.

And, sometimes you must
While reading the second time
Be careful not to penalize
Because the words don’t rhyme.
It is often about the cadence,
The way the words dance along,
That turns the words from prose
To the beginnings of a song.

The poet’s job is to treat you
With a bit more than just language
To give you all the artistry
That the spoken word can manage.
So we use things like spacing
And often joyous syncopation
To achieve your attention
And catch your imagination.

Whether in a limerick
Or in a soothing lullaby
We do our best to slip things
Like satisfaction past your eyes.
We are, after all, artists
Who take what you have heard
And use that to entice you
To fall in love with the spoken word.
TD Oct 2015
if you go to this link you can hear me read the poem..
Nicole Bataclan Jul 2015
Write it down
That thing
You fantasize about.

Write it down
Those words you dare not
Say aloud.

Write it down

Now is the right time to write
When words will not sit tight
When they cannot match
Whatever you hold inside.

Leave it all to feeling
Will give these words meaning

Write it down
What silences your mind
Exactly that
Which makes your dear heart bounce.

It is a wall to climb
And one to knock down

Write it all --
The words do not need to blend
It is then
When feelings make the most sense.

Write it on paper
My love,
The one who will answer

One who can read
Lines that are not poetic.
Martin Narrod May 2014
He weeps his heart, and hangs his head,
He doubles back, and follows her back to bed,
She says, " Some homes are towns and lives, while others wear their homes inside." And he keeps up though he's kept out, the volatile, the sudden frown.
She makes up the cupcakes but they're never vegan are they? No they're never vegan are they?

He makes a gift, and wrings his thumbs, the bubble bath, the tepid tub,
Outside where the rains have gone long, something gives him something strong,
And he picks up where he had left off, the trouble is he doesn't know when to back off, and the cupcakes aren't vegan, sweet and such spectacular, but they really aren't eaten, now that they've been made with eggs. No the cupcakes aren't vegan, though they are quite delicious. And he loves her forever, though he never eats again. No he never eats again. No he never eats again.

— The End —