Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Verdant Quo Nov 2018
I carry a white noodle bowl,
carefully up to my chin.
I smile as my nose catches,
the steam so grey and thin.

I set the bowl down gently,
Because it was too hot.
and take this time to ponder,
The noodles I have got.

A small carrot captain,
rides his vessel south.
But the spoony seas are violent,
and bring him to my mouth.

Legions of green sprouts,
are armed and at the ready.
But their base was built on broth,
and therefore is unsteady.

A scallion sergeant paces,
He’s timid and afraid.
And hopelessly fell in love with,
A mushroom mermaid.

The brothy land changes,
As beef enters the scene.
And to the broccoli scouts,
this meat is only mean.

Finally the egg,
who knows he’s the best.
Will wander around the edges,
till he decides to rest.

The dinner’s duty done
I tilt the ocean east
And drain the sea of veggies
into the belly of the beast

I take the styrofoam bowl.
And poke a hole in its side.
The bowl is now found empty
All my friends have died.
A Trojan horse. As Cleopatra in a carpet
Enters hidden on a breath
Incubus; droplet alien drawn in,
sets about its work; brooding job to do.

Awaken a little stiff, sweat and grog
A scratchy throat; a swollen lymph
Shower power, rinse and coffee makes well.
No. Twas not to be this false alarm, I’d grabbed.

Working fast now, growing, flooding
like snow melt hitting parched desert.
Seeping into cracks; changing blood-scapes.
Reprographic virus; dissociative – to thrive.

A false pardon was granted this morning
Cruel deception, such as played on Nick Bottom
teased mind into belief; a surge of relief,
Just early morning rust; blow away sleep dust.

I am sick of it now, the sickness; the bug.
My alien visitors; my too close encounter
making things smell wrong – like vinegar
and my nose pop as each side turns to unblock.

As big screen drama – epic plays out in my mind.
The white cells; the soldiers wiping out alien-kind
Dualling MacDuff and MacBeth in Dunsinane cell
Waging battle within me; my man-flu living hell.

©pofacedpoetry Billy Reynard-Bowness (2018) all right’s reserved
Suffering, as only a man can! An epic battle against alien invaders - the flu'
Bragi Oct 2018
In the sea
There is a tree
It’s roots they stretch a thousand leagues
It’s branches reach up oh so high
They go so far as to touch the sky

The tree was said never to be named.
For centuries, deliberately some would say,
it kept all people in the world at bay
But the gods had promised there to be a day
The most deserving of children would find a way
And climb the tree to find treasures array
..if only one monster the youth could slay.

In a sadly lit room a little girl cried.
The ring she had given her before she had died
was all that was left of the happy past life
Her mother had spent with her there by her side.
Her mother long gone and the ring not in sight,
The little girl wailed but would sneak out that night.

She knew where it was, her cruel aunt had thrown it;
‘Come now’ she said ‘I think you’ve outgrown this’.
It fell at a place where all were forbid,
under sea waves was where it now hid.

She found the place
She made no mistake.
Before jumping in the little girl braced
A rush of water had hit her face
A brand new feeling she had to intake
But the water now returned a warming embrace.
It helped the girl and showed her the way.

She must have been swimming for more than nine hours
Her legs were so tired, but she was no coward.
She could see shapes ahead, she screamed and she shouted
But no one replied, no alarm had been sounded.
So the little girl swam... and soon she was grounded.

The shapes were giant roots, bigger than buildings
Huge, unbelievable, bewildering, tall things
Then she realised, on one was she standing
And when she looked up, she noticed she was climbing.
At the top, she knew, she felt a strange feeling,
The ring would be there, she could see it, waiting.

She reached the top
Her heart had stopped
A golden garden with birdsong, soft.
The gardens heart held a door, locked.
But the way to the key appeared to be blocked.
Blocked by a horrible, familiar aunt.

The aunt ran at the girl, in big scary strides
But the girl was not afraid, no more would she hide.
She stood on the edge, her heart as her guide.
And waited for the moment they both would collide...

Off the edge they fell
The girl said ‘farewell,
To my mum where all is well’.
She closed her eyes as the demon aunt yelled.
At then at that moment her mum’s voice broke the spell
‘One more push to be happy, one more my big girl’.

She opened her eyes and felt the wind rush
She kicked off the aunt with one final push.
The girl only just missed one of the trees roots.
The monster was slain, you could hear the yells hush.
The girl landed safely in the waters warm touch.
And now a small key in her hands did she clutch.

She climbed once more
And unlocked the door
Where beyond was lain the most wonderous of hordes
Treasures beyond what all life has explored.
But the little girl walked on so swiftly past it all
Until she had found what her heart was there looking for.

The Gods came down and congratulated her
‘But you must take more! It is what you have earned!
You completed this feat, you should take what’s deserved!’
But the girl just smiled and with this thank you she turned

I just want the ring
And memories to keep
Of my mother always.
To help me to sleep.
You Gods are kind
But my mother you can’t give
So let me go home with this most precious of gifts.

And with that
the girl found herself back
In a dimly lit room with a ring in her hand.
But in the morning when she got up to stand
She found herself smiling at a rather strange sound.
It wasn’t her aunt yelling, or screaming a demand,
But asking if she liked yolks runny
or if she preferred them when hard...
Aaron LaLux Oct 2018
How much is too much,
doing those Emily Dickinson numbers,
almost to #2100,
doing with words what was previously unheard of,

the Andy Warhol of pop poetry,

will continue until even the Atheist Haters believe in me,
I mean if they ever again believe in anything,

&,
I’m on track,
to not look back,
all I’ve gotta do to be great is not die,
or do something stupid and get locked up,
like lose my cool & Triangle Choke out a fool,
just for acting rude,
doest that mean I have a bad attitude,
I don’t know that’s why i’m asking you,

used to have nothing to lose,
now I’ve got nothing to prove,
Game of Life you decide,
pay the price roll the dice win or lose make your move,

I made mine,
by choosing to write these lines,
created my own style & gave it a title,
end every piece where it begins
so the thought’s are complete & the piece comes full circle,
add a few pop culture references & call it Pop Poetry,

& no one known is excluded,
I include more than a few references to saying & names,
my work is an encyclopedia of idioms,
it’s our entire collective Contemporary History literally explained,

& artistically rearranged to keep their attention & entertain,

& I’l write until I write every last thought right outta my brain,

how much is too much,
doing those Emily Dickinson numbers,
almost to #2100,
doing with words what was previously unheard of,

the Andy Warhol of pop poetry…

∆ LaLux ∆

Cali, Colombia

July 2018
Nikos Kyriazis Oct 2018
To the summit we go amidst the wild night's storm
An avalanche is summoned where the elder stars grew
Visions of hope amongst the mighty hailstorm
I barely recall now a morning's peaceful dew

An avalanche is summoned where the elder stars grew
Our perilous journey to the dragon's gold nest
I barely recall now a morning's peaceful dew
Valorous are the ones who dared to sail northwest

Our perilous journey to the dragon's gold nest
The Gods have abandoned us, no sign of omen
Valorous are the ones who dared to sail northwest
We're determined to get back the jewels were stolen

The Gods have abandoned us, no sign of omen
With fearless hearts we reach the portals of chaos
We're determined to get back the jewels were stolen
That beast will be slayed by our axes blind pathos

With fearless hearts we reach the portals of chaos
Soon we're going to meet the thief and his firestorm
That beast will be slayed by our axes blind pathos
To the summit we go amidst the wild night's storm
The padum is a lyrical form which started in Malaysia and established in Europe by Hugo. It consists of four verses with crisscross rhyme, the second and the fourth lyric of each verse are become the first and the third of the following. The number of verses is undefined, although the fourth lyric of the last verse owes to be the same with the first lyric of the initial verse
Derrek Estrella Oct 2018
I've been waiting for a while
Waiting on the bus, lingering Acadia road
With stark canary smiles
Tires sliding south, piercing lights through the snow

The grouching driver smiled for a buck
But it wasn't my number, just his luck
The face mistook

The madmen piled on top of one another
Spitting stories of strenuous times
Though they complained about the weather
They would do so well to shine every dime

The bus came and noticed my suit
The others followed me in pursuit
Of their boots

I am happy looking at the snow
And only feeling through the cleanest window
But everybody's in a jiving craze
I'm amazed or maybe I'm enhazed
By the speed of streets
And my halted heat

The participants of equilibrium
Took attempts at a kinetic sleep
Instead they chant, in dulled delirium
And take a peek at their synthetic keeps

Neon lights and thinking, dancing strobes
Stamping all their prints into my lobe
As the traffic probes

The wolf in withered wool
Talked about the finest winter day at the start of fall
His owner pulled a spool
Out of her spine, turned it to money, aimed a gun at her own gall

People were aroused ‘till they were pale
And the snow took on the visage of hail
It had us all impaled

A preacher in the back carried the thrall
Of every play and soon denounced them all
Then every mind’s speed-o-meter broke
The bus in that moment served to provoke
The red lights have stalled
But I am simply staring at the wall

The beautiful marmalade-
Haired lady was a victim of the locks of fate
As the buses fade
Onto pavilions of blurs into oblivion’s gate

The passengers sink past another precinct
The districts become less and less distinct
Vision is extinct

The cosmic eye’s offspring
Held a mundane life of bounding over mounds of salt
They came off of spring’s
Offering and found the true, world-collective gestalt

They fret over the facets of fossils
They seek to shine on acrimonious ant-hills
Passion is distilled

The merriest of people lie in songs
And do not feel bothered to belong
But when the bus transitions to a train
The vindictive vain are doused in pain
Queens on their knees
In well-ragged fleece

The bellowing bell-maid
Rang a tune that sang the smells of Familiar Arabia
The sums that we all paid
Meant nothing at all as golden sands enshroud grey Acadia

The replicated people do not dwell
Or belong inside my newfound well
While they seek to sell

The curl-headed mind,
Kept and groomed by the spotted hand of mercury
Grabbed the leashes of the hind
And repeated tales of great Apollo’s century

In the prints on dunes, he has found
The journey and a lack of solid ground
His bounds make no sound

The beaming castle of the once-gestalt
The gardens of the sky that never halt
The market district full of jubilee
Perpetual and peaceful entropy

Once a fool to look into the past
Now he pays attention to the mast
Once entailed his failure to the sea
Perpetual and fleeting harmony

Now, we sway
Grasp your every day
Aaron LaLux Oct 2018
A combination of solo acoustic guitar solo,
and dubstep trap hop electric heavy metal,

never settle,
because I’m never settled,
have always felt more judged than more loved,
ever since I was called black by the Kettle,

cut your nose off,
if it grows like Pinocchio,
no strings on me though,
nope no Gepetto,

no fairytales,
no cartoons no make believe,
just me alone and us together,
in this Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy,

and I love you,
whatever that means,
just trying to stay awake long enough,
to make it to another night of dreams,

hold me,
but don’t keep me to close,
see I want to want to want you,
but I’m too high to fly anything except solo,

a combination of solo acoustic guitar solo,
and dubstep trap hop electric heavy metal,

never settle,
because I’m never settled,
have always felt more judged than more loved,
ever since I was called black by the Kettle…

∆ LaLux ∆

Los Angeles, CA.
October 10th, 2018
DeepPoet45 Oct 2018
Back at it again
hoping to make some new friends
this should not offend
a rhyming haiku.. what that is so epic
Isaac Spencer Sep 2018
Me and my Titan,
We fightin' like lightning,
With a crashing of thunder-
This **** gets exciting,
Not a second to slow down,
Hesitation is a killer,
My Titan is falling,
Look up at the pillar-

Of smoke, trailing down from the sky,
My Titan might land on your heads,
My Titan wants you to die,
My Titan needs to be fed,

And I am his pilot,
Flying the fastest,
Surf on my ***, *****,
Across that map quick,
Swift with the S.M.G.,
Or bring the E.P.G.,
You'll need an E.K.G.,
Dead? Read your eulogy,

"He started a fight that he couldn't win",
And that's the truth no need for the spin,
So cry to your gods, this fight is simplistic,
My Titans are here to take back Mount Olympus.
Next page