Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Shakytrumpet Sep 2021
I've cut open my eyes
And to my surprise,
I found an old carousel projector
With millions of upsidedown pictures inside.

The machine starts to whir,
And my life flashes by,
Every memory frame by frame,
On these convenient little slides

Every laugh, and every smile
Every absence of joy,
Those slides seem to last longer on this carousel of poise.
My friends were talking about writing poetry and it's admittedly been awhile since I've written anything so I decided ***** it one more wouldn't hurt, I was gonna touch it up a bit here and there but tbh I can't be bothered, it was also gonna be longer butttttttttt :p (also if someone says carousel of poise doesn't make any sense too bad deal with it I do what I want)
Khoi May 2021
Real freedom
are intrinsically linked
to the freedom
of a bird of prey.
Grey Nov 2020
I am lost in the rain,
and the rain is lost in me.
Aaron E Sep 2020
We've been given the antennae,
to alert the nearest node in the wave,
with just a calorie of effort.
That's the gift that gives us leverage.

Lifting up to surf the edge,
the valleys fold into the blaze.
A simple word can move the sled,
as time eclipses our transgression

We could travel peaks and valleys
to conclusion for forever,
never once aligning neatly
(*** - for - tat)
with our impressions,


We'd soon subside to find
a signal blinking in the night,
to heave it's burden on our tides,
and help to push us through the next one.

Remember that the signals always there.
It's always pulsing in the echoes.
Surfing waves beneath our vision.
Just remember we can lift it.

When you need it sound a siren.
Float the message to the surface.
All the lessons here can serve us
in a quest to make a difference.
Gale L Mccoy Apr 2020
climbing a mountain and coming back down
picking up pace after a long break
dancing and running out of breath
waiting for eyes to adjust to the darkness
getting blinded by the light
a sore throat after yelling
bruised skin after impact
sweating in heat
shivering in cold
a hot burning fever
swelling flesh
a dizzy spell
and a healing process
Noura Abdelrazec Feb 2020
up in the sky above, I am begging
why do we pretend like we have choice?
Red or yellow? Boy or girl? To listen or to speak
You have made this known.
In Your bounty is cement and the capacity to set things in stone.
It is not in our hands but we grasp on to
these insignificant rulings and comforts that
make impressions
or give one that we are in control
before this unforgiving soil swallows us whole.
It is preordained
bound beyond fears
that the world does not stop for our silly human tears.
We are the vassals of fate
so we are made aware.
Yet we still breathe as though we will forget how to eventually.
Yet we think until our brains collapse into an untracked paradox.
Yet we magnetize towards fire to soothe our frostbitten fingers.
Too close, they will char
they will fall off if they’re too far
so we are made aware.
A permanent and predetermined state of equilibrium.
This has always been the case.
You have made it so.
So why is there turmoil
everywhere I go?
Hellooo this is my first poem on this site! I have always loved writing poetry and have a dream of getting published someday, but I'm aware that my style is quite juvenile. I would love some feedback and criticism <3
Aime Jan 2020
In medias res:
In between
non-present times
which are unseen.

In consciousness,
the past's dense
the future's vacuous-

It's matter out the airlock toward
balance moves the clock forward.
This poem's title was a requested topic.
Chandra S Nov 2019
There are times when you feel like
reaching out..............full length,
to grasp -
the ultimate;
something, which you will not like
to dispense away with
no matter who leaves or alights.

Somewhere, from where you will never waver
again -
an Equilibrium.

But most of the times, the best you can do
is to swish your hand and latch on to;
thin, slippery, lukewarm air, vanishing as a wraith
into a starless, roiled chasm......
and you are viciously abandoned
amidst the pungent whiffs
of the random metropolis.

Every night I lean against the rusted gate
of this modest rented apartment
and give a fish eye to the stillborn night.

I see a lean column of smoke from a smokeshaft
...obscure...far off;
reaching out......for the stars
cruelly dispersed by grimy draft.

I see the flickering, pale beam;
the solitary, asocial gleam
of the municipal  lamp;
reaching out meekly....towards me,
getting devoured in a frenzy
by the soft, persistent charge
of the relentless molecules of dark.

And loneliness becomes admissible....
OC Sep 2019
Not the stillness
but the never-ending motion
not on the head of a pin
but in base of the broad basin
not a perfect evenness
but the wealth of variance

Not two opposing pebbles
laid on a lever atop a pivot
not a balance
like a train car
arriving at the station
where people board and disembark
while their total never changes

not good opposing evil
not black and white
or self against the other
the summation of the ins and outs
of all that simultaneously occur
when nothing ever happens
14th installment in this series of poems inspired by physics. For further reading:

Thoughts and comments are welcome
Next page