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Jon Thenes Jul 21
Don’t let the medium dry
Moisten This Creation                                   
by ANY MEANS necessary

It’s vulnerable

For This Creation to become pedestal WE MUST :

feed it
off of a capillary bag

mist it
under a dense healthy breath

lead it
to suckle an engorged breast

For
IF WE DO NOT
we risk it becoming husk ;
good only for digs and dust shops.

For This Creation, WE MUST queue

with our blood tapped
and ready

our breeding fluids
our various flows carefully labelled
and in sterile pouches

our donor cards filled out
steady for sacrifice

Keep This Creation wet
and it shall be a beacon
a call to awareness
a beckon of craft for us all
and not some common art-hole
In time THE CREATION SHALL SERVE US
Arts’ Monster
It’s vulnerable
(a toothed Whale out of water
  awaiting a machine strong enough
  to return it to the ocean)
Ken Pepiton Jul 3
This face, this phaze, this fus-if-i-can't-ation,

see me
the de ift sign
signed
sig
nift

ab
sent, not here, else
where

who were you up there?
up there
where

all this you and me being began,
who
were you
up there?

God.I'd guess, but tha's a cultural


con
struct, they say, God the way I imagined
since
I remember, until now

when you ask me a reason for the faith
in me
and

I say reason, per se,
the thing,
faith, itself as it hapts t' be in me, y' see.
I be letting that be my

answer, when asked
to give a reason for the faith in me, y'see.
It is war. My side does win. The peace you shall someday find shall remind you.Peace practice
False Poets Feb 2018
there is no value in a poem that reads
_____
_____
____­
M M l i f e s u c k s x x x n o p o e m i g o t

just

nerve; crap bs, a denial of craft

seek the intelligent intelligible,
kiss the sensational thrill that
emotion harvests with resonating tenses
that beg our brains to differ, sense

this claims,
there is no value in no words is
a hoax cloaked as art by the weak,
make thy metaphors metastasize,
my every cell, a preposition,
preposterous and precious and
comforting in their
privations and provocations

speak to us in alpha and
line our eyes wide,
with pictures at an exhibition
of a faun immobile and beauteous

let me hang on every word of yours and
let it be the raft that sees me happily
unsafe home

take your bs line poem  
shove it down your silent voice

this is not avant garde; this is insulting

p.s.  write me a smile and all will be_____
.
Mitch Prax Mar 18
You've learnt an art
from within your heart
so when you break mine apart
the pieces fall into
an aesthetic craft.
Steve Page Jan 6
The right way to say something
something important, something of emotion
is a gift and a craft.

The right way to tell your story
is your's to decide.

So decide.
I envy the writers.
My heart wants to go in many directions
Unable to choose a path to take
Endless possibilities and personas
Each piece of me wanting to separate
I want to master each craft
Yet be the jack of all trades
But how can I, when I am born
With mortal's time until decay
Each passion in me burns so bright
There is no obvious lit way
I am unable to choose which path to pursue
A confusing conflict that ensues each day
My heart wants to explore each one
But I am only born with one heart to play
Can anyone understand this yearning
And burdensome feeling I try to convey
How spoiled am I to be burden with choices
Picking one should be mere child's play
Yet when I do I'm still not satisfied
I want to do more to my dismay
If I could, I would break my heart
So each piece could have their way
To fulfill their inner purpose
To live how they were made
Lynnia Nov 2018
Write me like a rose
Soft petals built of prose
Carve me like a keyless lock
Whose secrets no one knows
Draw me like a dream
Who isn’t what she seems
Mold me like a polished mirror
Who says just what she means
Craft me like a crime
Who stole all of your time
Paint me like an endless youth,
Never past her prime
Form me like a fire
That never, ever tires
Lull me like a legacy
That stays when things get dire.
Lyn-Purcell Nov 2018


~
I simply read to rewrite
the history and future
of my life
~


Another short poem.
Mentally I’m coming out of that dark place. Slowly, steadily but surely.
I’ve just been mentally asking myself one question: why?
I feel like I need to confront my truth
of who I am...
Thank you so much guys for being so patient and supportive of me.
I really appreciate it!
I’m so sorry if I sound like a broken record but I am very humbled and grateful for all of you.
Thank you so much for 260 followers.
That’s so insane that my page has even gotten this far. I never thought it would!
I love you guys, Kings and Queens of Poetry!
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