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Raven Feels Jul 22
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, wasn't a midnight this time:)

in a brilliant black dress
just like hers better the darker I guess
but she was an actress on a stage
wings with no limit or a cage

the lighter lights older violent notes
roses bleed the blood in red quotes
like perfect poem lines
played like a movie tape upon eyes

pink stars in permanent
seen when fell of the argument
talk some sense into the ceiling
on a page of eternal with no feeling

not the best of all the endings
some bones of broken to the mending
back to lipstick on coffee cup smells smart
the sky rains a fall a dream from the start


                                                                                           ------ravenfeels
Ghosts are tramped souls
Neither belonging to this world
Nor belonging to afterworld
They hang between the two worlds
They possess astral body
Subtler than the physical one
Which stands destroyed after death
Ghosts appear properly dressed
I have heard
Wherefrom their clothes come
When they leave everything physical
In the physical world
Ponder, ponder
Seekers seek and then tell
Ghosts suspended between the two worlds, wherefrom their clothes come? Do they wander naked?
Too young to have an opinion
Yet not too young to know the truth
Too young to know their orientation
Yet not too young to know its not a phase
Too young to experience racism
Yet not too young to have slurs tossed at your face like casual talk

Too young to understand global warming
Yet not too young to negatively affected by pollution
Too young to understand politics
Yet not too young experience the effects of an incompetent president
Too young to dress like that
Yet not too young to be sent home because the boys are distracted by your shoulders

Too young to experience real pain
Yet not too young to be six feet under because of it
This poem was written by someone who knows what it feels like to be "too young"
You're never too young to make a difference
A change in this unvarying world might be just what it needs
This is the second poem I've ever written, so let me know if you like it.
Sharon Talbot Mar 10
You come to me each night
After all the crowds have left.
Never telling me your name.
And I, having stood for hours,
Begin closing down in the glow
Of blues, vermilion and rose
Reflected in plate glass,
From neon names of luxury.
I move to synthetic music
On an old stereo and let my
Eyes play tricks with the light,
The vivid letters and logos
Snake round and dance
Against the incipient night.
Just as I relax, you arrive,
The last one here every time,
As you were on the first.
You no longer pretend to consider
A preference, nor wander
Around, feigning interest in
Things you might not want.
Last night you brought flowers,
Twelve lilies in a Venetian vase.
Now this night you say I should
Dine with you somewhere,
But dinner is a euphemism.
You stand close, even as I turn away,
Occupying my eyes, though still,
I see your dark hair, straight shoulders
And the lean, solid strength of you.
I try not to think of your lion eyes,
Almond-shaped and topaz, that glow
With desire and will show a certainty
About me, lessening your need to ask.
As another song starts, I turn around
And you wait, amused almost.
“I have something for you,”
You say, conspiring with Venus,
And hand me a gift.
“You shouldn’t have,” is automatic
But I unwrap it while suspicion taps
On my shoulder, like a tiny demon.
Surprised, a cascade of softness falls
Through my hands, like pouring cream.
Holding it up, I see an evening gown
And think how strange a gift it is.
But it is as alluring as you,
The cloth is the blush of a thousand
Sunsets that sigh like silk
Dragged across a lover’s limbs

I ignore the thought that this color,
So full of innocence and petal-shades,
Clashes with your dark, consuming insistence
That I feel your desire and can’t turn you away.
You can blend kindness with tenacity,
So I am apt to let you in.
Agreeing to your proposition,
I suggest a dance with me.
I want to hear all the music in the world:
Pianos, violins, qanuns, sitars and humming bass,
With luscious voices luring the darkness inside,
Causing the lights to dance and our feet to move
Into that zone of heat that is riotous now,
That I felt all day, knowing you would come
To me again and I know now what will ensue.
And yet, as my body moves toward you
Without moving, my mind holds back,
Delighting in the wish, prolonging the unfulfilled
And I see in your pained gaze,
Under lids heavy with lust; you feel it too.
Why is it that we think of lovers
More intensely when they are far away,
And are closer to us on a distant shore,
Then, when their arms close round us,
We wish almost to be apart,
So they could reach for us once more?

Based on a dream
March 4, 2021, 12:50 AM
Want to make me a dress
With a piece of the sky
Yes that's right
Something heavenly blue
I like to try

Will it feel like silky blue satin
Will it have
cloudy white dots,
warm yellow beams or a
colorful   touch  

Guess it depends on the weather
How it turns out to be
this heavenly dress
exclusively for me

I know!
I'll  make it at midnight!
This blue dress of mine
To have
bright sparkling diamonds
as stars kissing the sky!
'O beautiful
midnight blue dress of mine.

🐚✨
Shell
Carpo Nov 2020
A girl is different when it's in a dress.
It's a woman that makes me wanna confess.
A boy turned into a man.
A woman only a man truly stan.
Paul Idiaghe Oct 2020
the soul likes
when I dress him up like this:
few vowels,
more consonants,

syllables, and all the rest
that float
on the white clouds
of dreaming

on the red waters
of the heart.
he could hide, of course,
but would rather

show off scars and slashes.
naked, colorless being,
he needs
the glitter of language,

rhyme and rhythm,
similar, succeeding sounds;
he needs poetry’s depth,
beauty

and immortality
and the lucid glare of eyes,
substance
and stimuli,

to exist
to be more than a song
that plays
in silent frequencies—

so he flows—
from the deep of feeling
washes out burdens
like a mighty stream;

and unto paper
blooms up the slick and scented
petals of pain
like rain.
Heavily inspired by Mary Oliver's poem: "POEM" from her collection 'Dream Work.'
Steve Page Oct 2020
Hue
My enhancers
Are chosen carefully
And balanced with my dominant hue
To ensure
They first see just who
I am
And not see me through
my base blue
Colour is important
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