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with a smile like that
you could get away with ******
Cool afternoons spent
With ocean skies
That don't compare
To your wildfire eyes

Lay back in the grass
Your dog on my chest
Daydreams and sunscreen
Of all my fantasies
You are the best
Almost half a year now.
Lovely Nobody Jun 13
...If you like me or not
Your liking won't change me this time.

I've been changed once.
I won't change again
To commit the same crime of loving you
(edit: note added to the poem)
Darryl M May 8
You’re on safety and you know the code.
What you made me feel, I fought over.
Now I’m missing the moments.

Unlike a lost bug,
I’ll get off your hair.
Bags all packed, you’ve left.
Silly Life, left me with your memories.

Your heart is like a locked door,
I have the key, but you’ve changed the locks.
A test I shall take,
But you running away, I shall not chase.

Ladies say you play with a guy a little bit to see if he’s serious.
The funny thing is;
That’s how they lose a serious guy.
I have girlfriends who’ve never spoken to me,
Comrades who’ve never fought with me,
Acquaintances who’ve never seen me,
And friends who’ve never chastised me.

This constant, never, fills me with pain,
So let it be crushed to dust by the weight of April rain.
Haha this won’t change anything at all
under the delighted sky, baby-blue like his eyes,
he holds my trembling hands

his sunshine of a smile warms the cold anger in my blood, makes my heart skip pebbles within me

"true pain is a like a paper cut"
"you don't know that you're in pain until it hits you," says he

he lets me vent out my poisonous emotions
to save me, to make me happier, to absorb my pain

"that's how much i love you," says he as he embraces me warmly

Get yourself a man like mine.

Just kidding. I don't have a man.
Nat Lipstadt Aug 2018
disclaimer: unedited rambling and overly long and frankly, Scarlet, don't give a **** anymore...

Thus spake and quested
another, younger poet to me,
a far better one than I,
but obligations thus provided,
are serious business,
to those who understand
poetic responsibilities, and
under his own Rules of Order,
an answer,
though long in coming, AR,
must be provided.

Well well well
all is not well,
the faucets offers choices....
chrome hot
chrome cold

there is no such thing as
lukewarm truth in
clear waters that
run run,
yet never
run stilled,
birthed at turned-on conception,
to drain death removal,
another daily poetic miracle,
unappreciated by most,
overly consumed by their
own passage on this Earth

peddler wayfarer,
passing through with truth
poem pots and rattling pans
(nowadays, mostly panned),
a historic factoid,
and not what Amazon delivers...
truth is a genetically modified
bitcoin currency, misunderstood,
prone to sometimes useful,
but never ever, to stick or stain,
for I got excuses and who gives a ****,
yesterday is forgotten instantly

The coldest truths,
the confirmation of same
by mirrored image text sent,
(immediacy a necessity,
for though poor, it is 'real')
the twitter that methodically
A-lists your major crimes
B-lists your petty,
hope-you-didn't miss my
exposé of latest misdemeanors

the hot truths,
only whispered,
merely mint hinted
in a hot cuppa,
the heat itself
a cover up,
for what you do not
wish me to plainly speak
or plainly sell,
is accursed truths,
won't sell, even if free

Can't write about moon and June,
alabaster is a fine word,
but white suits me fine,
don't know the diff
tween dragon flys and lullabies

The way I write is
just the way I think, believe,
from my eyes to paper
there is no misdirection,
just silent labor conception

Poor poor real truth
is out of favor these days,
because there is nothing
no one won't cease or hesitate
to expose himself,
flaunt the anguish,
copy other's jive,
but that is real,
but it is not truth

Had a bad day,
You need to know about it
Right away!

Though I meander and excuse,
there is one state of truth,
I need yet to annotate

Too oft when tapped turned on,
it is rusty water and rusted truths
expelled and this, my stuff, my days,
not in vogue, or a top seller

I love the color rust,
overused in my poems,
but compulsion is not a
conditional, but a must

This then is the form
they spill in these,
my final days here

You might think that rust implies
lack of use,
a non-caring
for his voice,
his well practiced instrument

Au contrarie, amigo!

My rust is from overuse,
my eyes don't see
what the popular want nor
could I provide it
even if
it was demanded,
which it is not....

Rusted but unvarnished,
undisguised by fancy words
or silent cries, what you read
is what you get
until I find
a more "authentic" voice,
one that satisfies the world
not just me...he sneers....

Feel for me in the summer breeze,
from whence my best stuff
has always been plucked
sent on its way, to you,
in self-same wind,
to kiss your cheeks,
slap you alert

I used to write
on both feet
then Hillel was asked for
the whole truth
while standing
on just one leg

His reply:
"Love they neighbor as you love thyself"

So I switched
and now compose,
in quiet ignorance,
a wrong footed poet,
left only with his what's left,
and to put his left foot truths
first, forward and foremost,
is what he got, and
what I got, you'll get....

But a cautionary note,
drinking riposte rustys,
bad for the body,
but kindly
for your mental
if your have the
only other element
most needed,
in your pocket posses,

Rambling, unedited, and yet fresh so off to the presses..and at 4:21am,
I frankly, Scarlet, don't give a **** anymore...
A Mar 13
i do apologize that
when i say i miss you
it’s not because you’re far away
but because i want
to feel your lips
against mine

i do apologize that
when i say i miss you
it’s not because
you’re not with me
but because
i miss touching you
under the sheets

i do apologize that
when i say i miss you
it’s not because
you haven’t been around
but because
i want my tongue
between your thighs

i do apologize
when i say i miss you
because what you think
is not what i mean
at all

memoona kazmi Feb 28
i thought you were only a chapter,
in the book of my life,
realized that at your last goodbye,
without knowing,
you will always be the beginning of every page,
and ending of my every story,
you will be behind every door,
that i'll try to open,
try to close,
you will be thread sewing my book,
the glue sticking my book pages together,
i thought your part in my life was over,
you'll go your way,
i'll be on mine,
how insane was i,
not having even a single notion,
that on every path of my life,
i'll have your silhouette,
tracing me like a nightmare,
accompanying me,
trailing me away from light......
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