Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
We Are Stories Oct 2019
-I can taste the sensation in my brain
a drug moment defined by you-

a little slip to a lip, to a touch, to much-
such interactions leave my heart in a ****
roll around the cloth in a lump-sum of love
holding onto firm feelings of the swelling of our tongues
back to the white as we dance with our smiles
forth, moving forward in a motion (we won’t turn)-

split the gates wide open
let the honey flow from your wells
face deep in life’s sweet sensations
drinking deep of your sweet nectars-
I will hold firmly to the tiny words cradled in your chest
leaving me breathing until we’re both out of breath-

spread apart, open like a rose in bloom,
our hearts awaken as I hear birds swoon-
a loud and beautiful chirping, given to the space above-
dams held back from bursting forth, no room to keep it held up.
Intertwined, upside down, neck deep in our song,
Flittering and Clittering reversed first in our souls.
a shudder, a touch, and the life of our sound.
Äŧül Jun 2019
On every terrorist incident,
Leave they not a stone unturned,
And scream it without fail.

Why do they think of 7th heaven,
Heaven after killing so many,
Of the innocent people?

Undertakers of Ola they are,
******* commit dastardly acts,
Ever will they be able to gaze,
Right into their own eyes in a mirror?
Ola Who Uber is their warcry

Secondary acrostic.

My HP Poem #1747
©Atul Kaushal
Silence, screams, lullaby
these sounds you couldn't hear,
but me.

Clear, blurred, faded sight
your reflection is too bright,
with those glowing purple eyes.

Height of wall,
weight of fall
a euphemism in phantasm.

Heed the call,
it bellows,
you pretend, it isn't there.
Robert Zheng Jul 2017
a plum, a peach, a pause
youth and vigor's jaws
gradient morals
homage to William Carlos Williams' "This Is Just To Say" and my old teacher, mr. v, who taught me a plum doesn't always have to be a plum
Äŧül Feb 2017
Her feminism is more of self-discovery,
Although I am not intending to insult it,
Than it is about empowering females,
Even I am a feminist essentially...

Sometimes she fails to find sense,
Horribly so and ever non repeated,
Even she herself might laugh inside..

Maybe she is adamant right now,
E**arn I will her love someday surely.
My HP Poem #1454
©Atul Kaushal
Liam C Calhoun Aug 2015
She’s the same old
Country girl
When she settles back in
With plentiful rice in mouth;
Dry and yet fulfilling with
Words echoing
In between chopsticks,
A sentence upon,
And within,
Every other mouthful.

She has a way with
Talking while drinking tea
Wherein her hands,
Once left to grains of Mao,
Speak nearly as much as the
Sound of
Slurping mountainsides,
Leaves telling stories
And roots shaking rock –
A little something so very
Ancient, so very practiced
And so much so,
That the burden of “old”
Overwhelms her “new”
And 25-year old back.

She rattles and he’s a way,
Away, a way away,
With tinkered thoughts of
Mirages buried silk screens,
The gentle sweep of
Fingernails upon back,
Shooting stars,
Dodging cars
And failure.
He’s the man on the run,
On the road, wherein –
He never ate,
He only watched her
And he never drank,
He only watched her;

He’d watch
Until the faint dreams of a
Sunrise’d give birth,
The new day’d be promised sleep,
And twilight’d be labeled,
“Escapade” or “escape.”
When came the closed eye,
He be the same ol’ boy,
The “other” she’d never known.
"Love is a dog from hell" - Charles Bukowski; and more often than not, I'm entirely compelled to agree.
Justin G Feb 2015
In the light
Shadows are prisoners
And prisoners we are to our shadows
But if shadows could speak
I think they'll say

I am no prisoner
I am a but a listener
I guide the light
and shape
the stars
I am detailed
craftily inked
I am what links
us all



In the darkness*
Our shadows are free
And we are free from our shadows
But if shadows could speak
I think they'll say

I am beyond free
I am everywhere
omnipresent
and omniscient
I shade what most
aren't aware of
I am the protector
The keeper
of all secrets
I am defined
by none*


But if shadows could speak
I wonder if anyone
will still feel lonesome?
Anand Nov 2014
he was riding a beamer breezer
into the thick foggy Red Mist
along a steep rising road
that seemingly ceased to exist

having relished the taste of elixir
intoxication elevated his state of mind
inebriated with exuberance of life
on stairway to heaven he drove blind

he wanted to ride fast and free
though his mind was strangled
his body refused to be *******
in a life cord entangled

soon he experienced an impact
deafening his senses, the slumber's fang
eyes closed in sombre sleep but he
crossed the great divide across the big bang

he saw many a glittering diamonds
cuboids of tempered glass in shards
glittering with iridescence against the dark
a tarry sky filled with shattered stars

It seemed like a surreal dream
his body felt light like its floating
amidst the heavenly constellation of orion
saw he, the betelgeuse with ruddiness exploding

the mystic dream faded away
awakened to eternal life with closed eyes
rung down the curtain he joined the choir
mother nature singing him a lullaby

— The End —