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lk ode Aug 2020
Poor little thing
spewing words like poison
gurgling, bubbling poison
a putrid mess from ****** lips.
still you have much to learn
Arkapravo Aug 2019
A poem weaves lyrics to thoughts,
the fortune that destiny brought,
the wind that the words caught,
... just enough, never a lot !

It is when, the flowers shout out,
... the birds sing aloud,
bees buzz together in a clout,
hooray to the dancing village lout.

Or, if it is the charm of a maiden's eyes,
hold my hand and tell me a lie,
as truth will only make me cry,
give me a promise, till I die.

Or, if it is for a social reason,
an anarchist on revolt season,
a dab of red, a call of treason,
a poets verse can take to prison.

Or, if words seeks the minds-speak,
psyche is for the daring, not the meek,
... a work at hand, not a walk past the creek,
can you read my thoughts at a poet's streak?

Or, if it is for war protest,
in Guy Fawke mask and a black vest,
for the plight of those in peace who rest,
catchy solgans and a chorus to test.

... then there is the drunk babble,
verses on a high, writing for a fable,
realm of the bar's loony rebel,
few moments just too incredible.

Few who talk of life ...
... and the universe, past time's swipe
thoughts never too naive,
a philosopher's table to wipe!

A poem will always try,
to make verses not too dry,
a worth of truth laced with a pinch of lie,
a flutter for the heart to fly.
Jodie-Elaine Mar 2019
Let the babble stop
Let the brain farts cease
Let pleasure be your guide
And the poet slip into their persona,
Like a performance uniform,
A slip dress
An existential throw up of thoughts like
Bad Chinese food.
The kind that climbs out of Tupperware,
slippers ready

Of Tupperware and ready slippers
***** out takeaway rice.
Performance uniforms sit up in bed,
Babbling about existential poets.
The bad Chinese food
Waltzes with its guide,
Brain dribbles out of nostrils.
Dear night-shoes,
This babble has ceased,
Bard Dec 2018
It's not them, It's you
Your not like them, more like you
Like you to defend yourself
You sit on a shelf
haunted by ghosts
Gather dust, to spite yourself
In spite of what you want
You spit in spite at your want
Stunted your growth, always fall short
Don't change, don't grow, selling yourself short
Pathetic and sad a dying man feeling glad
Think you're tall, think you're small
Unstable, you don't grow you'll fall
Your not perfect, your not even great
Think your perfect, don't even try to be great

Great greatness gets greater  
It grates greatly the grating gratifier
Ego stroker a chronic masturbater
Losing sight when everyone will cater
Man of masks an avid actor
Nice in summer
Friend in fairweather
See you later
When the sky is clearer
Poems about friends
Azizah Oct 2018
i am a ****** ryhmist
for i arrange words in a bouquet
in hope that flower of syllables would bloom
to give you fresh-cut flowers scent or unsavory stench
but again, who cares?

they said
words are meaningless
and forgetable
so here i am
trying to make sense out of nonsense
saying nothing more than cries for help
Danielle Jun 2018
There’s a coil in me.
It likes to wind itself up.
The only thing that eases
Is these words dribbling,
Down and out of my mouth.
Not the words I’m trying to use,
Nor the meaning
I’m trying to convey.
I’m sorry I’m this way.
I've gotten into a bad habit of just unleashing a stream of consciousness, when I get anxious about social things, which in turn doesn't actually really help much of anything.
Jessie Schwartz Feb 2018
Tower …by Jessie 11/05

Busy people run aerie
Build a tower up to the sky
Communication at it’s best

Working hard, accomplish tasks
Do just what the foreman asks
Everything is running smooth

Soon, the foundations laid
Blood, sweat and all have prayed
Another layers up

It’s not long and heavens close
But all the people start to boast
God looks down and frowns

Angry that they build to him
Looking upon it as a sin
He waves his arm and sends it crashing down

Snaps his finger, numbs their tongues
Fathers can’t communicate with sons
Every ones dispersed and quiet confused

Never again will man contrive
To sit right by his makers side
Nor will man understand the other man

Which one was wrong? It’s hard to say
But I’ll tell you this…from that day
Its no wonder, man can’t get along with man
Traveler Dec 2017
In a twisted
Loop of time
  Separate from yesterday
We were left behind
Popping in
Mostly out
Of sight and mind
A whispering shout
Echoing rhymes
Mere memories
Imprinted strong
Desperation thrives
In the early dawn

When real were things
Larger than soul
Mightier where misfits
Dared to roll
To bitter end
And back again
Inside of cave
Where meaning descend
In darker places
We all have been

And so we put
Our two cents in...
Traveler Tim
Jasmin A Nov 2017
Back to the others.
       The sun gives louder compliments.

    We cherish those with words so wrecked.

                        May we move.
Be free.
  Continue to disappoint mother nature with our

Don't judge young me, okay?
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