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Payton Feb 24
His love was a lightning bolt that split her bones and left her stalked
out on the grass.

She made his heart beat like thunder and his soul sing with the wind.
I'm not sure that this is a poem but rather a pretty thought. It was written in 2016.
Michael R Burch Apr 2020
The Shape of Mourning
by Michael R. Burch

The shape of mourning
is an oiled creel
shining with unuse,

the bolt of cold steel
on a locker
shielding memory,

the monthly penance
of flowers,
the annual wake,

the face in the photograph
no longer dissolving under scrutiny,
becoming a keepsake,

the useless mower
lying forgotten
in weeds,

rings and crosses and
all the paraphernalia
the soul no longer needs.

Keywords/Tags: shape, mourning, bolt, steel, locker, memory, memories, penance, wake, keepsake, memento, rings, crosses, paraphernalia
Poetic T Feb 2020
Woeful of degenertaive

I walk the streets looking
       For mister right.

Then I hear Neanderthal

"All right darling,

Fancy some meat in between
        Then bones....

I look upon there fingers,

   Looking for a rope of shame.

I smile, I play nice..

    Pulling them into an Alleyway,

        I asking them,
          does your wife mind.

What she doesn't know
    Won't hurt her...

"Maybe not her but you,

As bolt croppers loose his finger
    From his palm..

Screams were to ensue,
   But gagged by lace *******..

Shoved deep within
   his dry throats...

Did you know gold rolls
   when its not weighted down

by the fidelity of indiscretions.

He'll not be using that finger on
        another's crying tears...

They came up with a name for me?
    I was honoured,

The guillotine of divorce..

I giggled as the amount of rings
          that rolled decreased..

Finding those who were single just
         looking for a night of fantasy.

Ok, some never learnt,

                       my box of collectables...
so many little lies in my box..

I saved my ladies a lifetime of lies,
    and I have a reminder that some men
                             are worthless...

but some are just out for a some fun,
         just like me....
****** them


cream them to me
beneath my feet

what den have the wolves
my wool is razor plated
thief bite
as if

the piper taught me in tune
consider them

what have you seen

at the age

it wasn't mean

it was just
prepare your *****

***** notes
Tahirih Manoo Aug 2017
Awakened by her vibrations

His molten rocks sputter,

Preferring to remain undisturbed.

Boiling, brewing, he begun erruption.

Amused by volcano's reaction

she listens and watches,no retaliation.

Considering her own stormy nights

when her lightning bolts strike thrice;

When her clapping of thunder

revolts even the sages

(both above and under).

She places a palm outwards,

blows kisses of cool wind,

To greet his fury,

His sweet love remembered.

His embers, with a smile, are pardoned.

She showers his projecting magma-

With droplets of chilled agua.

Awaited patiently for his red to cool,

to be brown, with help from yellow sun;

So that his lava could reconnect with outer earth-green.

Using a drifting veer she carries a charming flower seed and lays it beside him,

Soft petals soon blossom, rosy and pink.

They both smile gently,
now glowing for each other.

The volcano and Storm are forever in love, in flare and submerged;

Growing compassion and understanding of each other's plates and waves.

Yet neither may burn nor drown

but somehow remain facing the other-

At the very tip of their forbidden lips' kiss- for this day, tomorrow and in endlessness.

1:55am . Thurs, 24th, August, 2017.
Linda Terman Apr 2017
What I See and Feel Looking At You...

When the sun first peeks over the mountains in a new day.
The feeling of awe that it inspires with its beauty.

The smell of a field of wild flowers in a green meadow.
The feeling of refreshment it brings.

The sun setting, dropping slowly into the sea.
It's beauty takes my breath away.

The joy of watching a new born calf or horse, taking their first steps.
The wonder of it.

Looking into a clear stream, seeing the fish swimming
beneath the depths.
The awesome feeling of looking into their world.

Watching the full moon rising, slowly into the dark sky.
In silence you watch the beauty and majestic climb.

The stars in the sky, glittering like millions of diamonds in the sky.

Seeing a rainbow, of many colors
That seem to blend to sky and earth, when thy touch.

Watching lovers walking by hand in hand, feeling their joy.

The wonder of birth, the feeling
Holding a new life in your arms, for the first time.

The joy of a first kiss
with all of its bliss.

The warmth of, first love.

The sound of music
Filling me with feelings, from it's melody.

The softness of the clouds, on a soft day.

The power of a thunder clap.

A lightening bolt
Thrown from the sky, striking earth.

The sight of, gently falling snow.

The taste of sweet honey.

The joy of a parent,
when the child takes their first step or says their first words.

The first time a puppy or kitten, opens their eyes and see the world.

Everything that is Beautiful, in this place and more.

All of these, I feel and see
When I look at you.

Linda Terman
topacio Apr 2016
Nothing scares me more than inspiration stampeding towards me
I can feel her coming on like lightning bolt
As I sit in the distance eyeing her songs and poems and sonnets and anecdotes
Spiraling with great effort towards me
She has given me a net and a silk floral dress
For she has grown weary in the heavens
Living as idea and essence
Preferring a life of the palpable
To walk amongst the lay of men
To sleep within the threads of a woman
And yet I can only feel the chaos of her wash upon me,
As I throw her net into the great gulp of her eye
And I capture nothing but the pure feeling of
Her wrath in between the seams of my silk dress.
Pauline Morris Feb 2016
She must always be the center of attention
Loud as hell too, if I even need to mention
You know when she's around
She bellows like an old basset hound
When she's here she'll let you know
As picture after picture of herself she'll show
Always bragging on herself and her's
Like under your saddle a well placed bur
The same old stories over and over
She can talk anyone sober
I can only take her in a small dose
Not in walls that are close
In an open field, in case I need to bolt
Because I just can not cope
With the stream of ****
That spews from her lips
I'll run like a wild horse
It would be hard to follow my course
When I can't put up with her any longer
That attention seeking monger
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