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A M Ryder Apr 23
What intrigues
The flint
To spark a thought?
Is it sadistic?
Is it sympathetic?
Recognizable,
Understandable,
Plausible?
Do you ever
Know enough?
Lost in search for
The heart of the matter
Do you truly believe
In this world
You've created?
LC Apr 19
ink melts through paper
during heat, cold, rain, and snow
to mark every heart.
Escapril Day 18! Prompt: creation.
This is my take on it, and a haiku felt right. Happy Monday :)
LC Apr 15
they stuff "yes, no matter what" / "you're always wrong" / "what will people say?" / into a flimsy puppet skin / rigidly moving the strings in one direction / whenever someone comes over / they mount the puppet on the wall / proudly showing off their prized creation.
but when their eyes come to a close / the puppet feels scorching strings on its shoulders / it reaches inside / gutted by what it sees / one by one / it examines each phrase / it takes everything out / replaces it with "no" / "I am not always wrong or right" / "what do I say?" / and slowly snips the strings off its shoulders / so it can walk freely.
Escapril Day 14! Prompt: taxidermy (the art of preparing, stuffing, and mounting the skins of animals with a lifelike effect).
This is my take on the prompt! Thank you for reading.
Leaves fell
amidst snow's descent
Leaves grew
under sun's ascent
Times changed
and memories faded
Times changed
and I grew jaded

I was always concerned
am I left behind
will I yet grow more
is the deadline due
when will she get here
I am so **** late
I am so fed up
there's so much on my plate

I blew a fuse
my bell was rung
my clock ran out
there loads the gun
but before I go
I ask of time
what is your name
what have I done?

A gentle touch
an eve of peace
a staircase looms
a wreath of fleece
adorns me now
I make a vow
to see what waits
'pon yonder bow
it held my hand
and took me hence
to arid peak
to distant land
and there I saw them
low and weary
stooping dreary
sorrowed
teary

I said can't they see!
They need but wait
for their sorrows will end
by time it will be sate
and satan's hold
his clutch will loose
they shall be free
like airborne goose
but I saw myself then
like roast on the table
Thanksgiving dinner
feast for the sinner
of course they're broken
of course they don't know
because time waits for no man
man waits for time...

Another journey
to far-flung ages
where machines roam free
and lords are sages
people commune
in a peace distilled
from forgotten wars
from absence of pills
I saw them congregate
like ants in a colony
working in unison
for each other's grace
and there was a feeling
like waking from dreaming
how timeless it all was
where peace was manifest

But just like that
I was pulled from the panacea
from the vision of victory
from the dawn of destiny
a saw pain as prophecy
I saw pleasure as peasantry
I saw passion as poetry
I saw power as illusion
I saw my struggles as choice
I saw my misery as vice
I saw my vices as voices
voting down my ambitions
undermining my plans
I then strove for strength
I then fought for freedom
I then stood for salvation
I found the purpose I'd always run from
and it was then
that I heard the voice of time

It said you are my name
and you shall wait no longer
for you wait for no man
you are man no more
you are an agent of change
and the future is yours!
I'll just leave it there.
Felt some peace from that write.
I hope you all felt it, too.

Enjoy!

DEW
Kassan Jahmal Feb 19
Eyes that would word a painter' creation. All the beauty
upon the ends of Earth. Framed; hanging on invisible
wires of worlds.

He has glazed my eyes, hanging still in life' chaos.
Looking to all that was done, through a window view of insight.
His words made planets, stars, moon, and sun. So delight
deep of his reverence.
            
Of a cunning hand of artistic art. Set apart to it's part.
Carlo C Gomez Feb 10
instrumental
dreamer

time free
to sight see

wide
down
corybantic
oval
perimeter
shedding
tiers

in a garden
of angels
sprinkled
with pine cones
at the border of
void and Vaud

cantons
of meltwater cirque
les petites Fauconnières
the inner basin
of my outer reaches

I am
your
visitor
I am
your
audience

let's
stop
for snow
and polar cap
songs
where things
are still run by the natural elements
instrumental dreamer
not by algorithms
not by advancement
Zywa Jan 22
Creation: spirits

blowing bodies out of flesh --


and bottling themselves.
"Bomen omsingelen het huis" ("Trees surround the house", 2011, Ellen Deckwitz)

Collection "Unseen"
My Dear Poet Jan 16
I create a giraffe
from a paper craft
green was its colour
“Nice dinosaur”, they said
hmmm…
should’ve chosen red
or tan tinted paper

So I flip in half,
squash fold to a calf
It’s simply done with ease
“Nice baboon”, they said
hmmm…
I change again instead
to an island and palm trees

with mountain and valley folds
we unfold what creation holds
and recreate a world from disaster
we make a judgment fold
from the view they hold
hmmm…
if only change is as simple as folding paper
Origami - a Japanese word meaning 'folding paper'.
The two most important folds and the simplest are the valley fold and the mountain fold. They form the foundation of all origami models.

There is also a Judgement fold where an exact location point does not exist, and so you locate the fold by eye alone
joel jokonia Jan 12
On and on, I go, following the flow to wherever it settles me. There I wait for yet another wave to carry me, someplace else, another awaiting adventure destined for the blank pages of my scripts. Gradually, it becomes rather sane to be teleported in-between worlds, and never quite ending stories, tasteless poems, and on good days, hit songs.

Most times, unfortunately, it's the ever-there pain of the past that make it to these pages. And no matter  how much I have tried, seemingly all that is meant to be forgotten and buried, finds a way to live on As words on pages. Without hesitation, it's a skewed opinion to take away, the heaviness and beauty of such creations, disregarding an amount of agony carried within.

On better days, we find ways, to paint the happiness, so It could be shared to those in need of comfort and a little bit of love, which is mostly us. Apparently, it only lasts a breath, then away it goes, to be sighted once again. When it's good it's going great, air is fresh and alive. Words dance then, sometimes calmly, step by step as if waltzing to a classic lady in red jam.
Tøast Jan 1
We sit on the edge of conversation
Hands clasped, feet shuffling anxiously
Eyes darting across the room like
the stars in the night sky
You lean back with a sigh
and I catch you.

Hands together, knees bent
fingers touching skin
Tracing outlines of mountains on the map you offer me
You look up from my gaze and a calmness falls across your face
The corner of our eyes don't wonder but meet
Times entangled in the feast before us
I raise a leg and your knee greets my feet.

Waters greet these feet,
Waters that rage on and under us
Washing over our bodies like the light that’s wrapped itself beside us
Bodies become one in the heat of the den that we've made
In the depts we've paid
The depths we've obeyed
The trust we've displayed

Down by the rivers where the whomping willow weeps,
where the waters run ramped, and the wild things wonder
wonder about life, wonder about death
run through your mind son, be absent, be bold
just don’t forget that the water man reaps
reaps in what is sown, sold and told

whispered. whispered like silence on the edge of the wind
the wind that howls through the corner of beauty
there where it stays and sits for a while,
as the man, he stands, waiting watching on duty.
I look back to you, your face changed by the cut of a smile.

A smile.
That smile, that warms my soul like summer breeze,
Wraps me up and takes me in from the cold
You don't even realise, you do it with such ease
You do it now when we're young and you'll do it when we're old.

We sit, once again, as we used to, but more alone
Hands together, fingers crossed, in utter isolation
It’s such a wild thing, wild life that we’ve known
And none of it is ripe for an explanation.

Feet dancing on the edge of contemplation
This information that we use for the source of our meditation
Imagination sparks conversation but also speculation
So, what are we to do when there’s no confirmation?
A shout shuddering in the darkness of creation
Thinking of the combination, representation and motivation for these words when all I ever wanted was a simple conversation.
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