Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Hilary Sep 11
love is an ocean
and standing on a cliff
the wind begins to blow
before it has the chance
to push me into a fall
i dive
headlong
fingertips steepled
pressed together
outstretched
above my head
they direct me
toward that
sweet
crisp
splash
i hold
i am tight
smooth
aerodynamic
i hasten
my descent never pausing
never pining for the safety of the cliff
never looking back up
never checking
if the tide
is in
.
Glenn Currier Jul 13
Writing is like jumping into a deep mountain lake
to find some tiny piece of my soul
submerged and floating there
an immersive brooding wistful prayer
or a flight into the blue thin air.

It is a cinematic journey
recording the fruits of noticing
what is right in front of the eyes
and finding what is deeper
unseen underneath.

Writing is looking into an old man’s eyes
and discovering the person there
just as much a spiritual venture
digging toward his center
as a physical sensation.

It is a magical mystery tour
taking the visible threads
in hand and feeling my way
to the roots
or pausing and squeezing the fruit
for its juice.

It is fun
it is a morning run
or an evening rest
pain, joy, and dreams expressed.

Writing is moving, grooving, including
taking a moment in time
exploding it in rhythm and rhyme
finding in the ordinary the sublime.
I wrote this after reading several poems on this site including one by John Riley on writer's block - https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2989123/stuck/
Thanks to all of you who reveal a tiny piece of your souls here.
Annie May 28
This pool is bottomless; stunningly blue,
I find that I’m tumbling towards it with you.

We’ve fallen, and now that the surface is breaking,
our dive, beyond words, will leave us both shaking.

I see now, a lifetime of love in the making.
28.5.19
Nat Lipstadt Mar 27
a quote of Bernard-Henri Lévy

~~~

the divers’ recovery, diverse,
shipwrecked salvage from different locations,
auctioned to the highest bidder,
tho the excised excerpts are exceptional,
none come to do the bidding,
for the provenance of words
belongs to all, and to none

~~
“so oft we trifle words,
expel them from the country of our body,
without passport and earnestness,
as if they were the cheapest of footnote filler,
day tourists, to be treated as leavings,
refuse for daily discardation,
barely noting their fast comings and faster disappearance,
but leaving not, a mark of distinction”

“the addicted pleasure words granted to we privileged few,
like every enslaved soul to the mind, which I am, I am,
evening dreams, midnight thinkings, sunrise seeings,
how can I infect and thus protect the young to the liberty
to love the crafted content of our human essence to better
comprehend that a moment caught on tape of our shared
words is a holiday, a celebration for the ages...and every molecule,
becomes a human tuning fork in concert, in pitch identical, in blood tainted with the simplicity of we are all the same, only words, this will transmit”

“murmur me, with soft downy charms,
these words discovered
recoursed and intended well to
pointedly offset and contradict
their very own tumultuous discovery uncovering,
tear tongue me
with calming, lapping word  wages,
hymns harmonious and fine homilies,
a call, a request,
a bequest
to sedate my shrill life

“some cells, microscopic, preserved digitally,
aged to imperfection, thrash my eyes,
making me speak in tongues I do not recognize,
but fluently possess, no wonder there,
the memory place fairly empty,
room aplenty for passerby's and the imagery
                                                         ­­ of the vaguest of dearly departed

skin is not the only mot shed,
                                                sloughing of woeful words

“speak them slow and distinct,
for they arrive slow to you,
a trickling of refugees for your sheltering,
harbor them as full companions,
protected by natural law,
provision them well,
prepared and ever ready for a quick departure,
moor these words at the embarcadero,
for the next restless leg of endlessness,
which they themselves will inform you
will last longer than eternity,
long after there are no humans to speak them”
excerpts from a few old poems, after reading an interview with Bernard-Henri Lévy
https://www.newyorker.com/news/q-and-a/bernard-henri-levy-on-the-rights-of-women-and-of-the-accused
March 27, 2019 4:48 am
Poetic T Feb 9
I swim in your ocean,
   but I always taste fish.


The ocean needs a wash.
Wolf Dec 2018
I donned a suit of warmth
And dove into my memories
They swirled around my body
Teasing scars I left behind
But what once scraped my soul, past love
Won't hurt the same again
Taken softer, just a heartbeat
Like a storybook for me

A laugh
A grin
A hand
A kiss
Something to treasure, not to fear
For learning
For growing
Even for showing
In my heart, all held dear

I smiled as they carried me away
Letting them flourish, it gave me breath
For I knew a reader stood close by
In case I ever dove too deep
Blade Maiden Sep 2018

The room in starlight bathed
My body unscathed
Swimming indoors
sheets are shores

Wash over me like the tide
for I don't sleep at night
Swimming indoors
where it always pours

Moon reflection
on my cushion
Swimming indoors
following ancient lores

Diving deep to find
an Atlantis on my mind
Swimming indoors
til reaching the dream's source
DKSouls Aug 2018
The sun is shining, we poets are rhyming.
Others might be out to bathe, but we fill our sheets with creative parts.
This is a thirty second writing, as I am freestyling the way I am diving.
Had an Idea of 'freestyle writing' within 30 seconds, that's the result.
Next page