Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Left Foot Poet Aug 2018
pale dead moon

them the words heard, cloud covered, make the few streaks visible
look like mocking smiles saying see we got your numbers,  
play pale and dead you’re sure to win and add an over/under
and a trifecta guaranteed

everyone is willing to take and give you thanks
with a nice tap on the head which buys them
a grimace smile of 2 seconds recognition and
further confirms the crumbling internals
and unless you walk away,
into solitude and recall from
high school language class

répète après moi "c'est la vie,” repeat after me, that’s life

no, now,
pale dead moon,
that’s life
rgz Apr 13
infant tongue
my father's
I never saw
and never saw

My first fancies
derived from
tombstones
square, stout, dark
inscription,
"gave up living"
"overgrown infant children"

the dark wilderness
the savage lair
the small bundle of shivers
growing afraid to cry
Hold your noise
as the graves cut your throat
a blackout exercise using the first page of Great Expectations, keeping the words in the same order they appear on the page
Ylzm Apr 12
What is Space?
We don't know.
Here and There.
Distance, the Basic Notion.
Quantified with a Ruler.

What is Time?
We don't know.
Then and Now.
Change, the Basic Notion.
Quantified with a Clock.

What is a Ruler?
A Counter of Repeats of an Unchanging Distance
From Heel to Toe, a Foot
And Length is the Repeat Counts

What is a Clock?
A Counter of Repeats of Constant Change
From Evening to Morning, a Day
And Time is the Repeat Counts

Space and Time
Ruler's and Clock's Measurements
Conceived in Distance and Change
Presented as Length and Time
But Distance and Change remains
Unknown and Unknowable.
We don't know,
We don't know,
Maybe
we'll
never
know.
Oh crucified Messiah!
You walk along
The Messi street
Here in Kozhikode playgrounds,
Alone,
Head hung.

You used to write poetry
With your foot
In the green field.
Green pens of press rooms.
How swiftly did they
Turn to red underlines.
—————

I am writing to you
From this land
Where poets will
Always get red card in
Playgrounds of poetry.

You should get down at Kozhikode one day.
I shall introduce you to
MoyduVanimel,
A journalist as old as Kozhikode.

We should roam all around Kozhikode
With him.
We should listen to Vanimel tales,
Sipping hot tea,
At Malapparambu, Puthiyara and Kallayi,
Everywhere that remained under
The spell of your foot.
—————

There is a mosque cemetry
Full of Meezan stones
By the beach.

Tombs
Tattooed with
Foot poetry
By many souls
Who died
Many deaths
In the playground.

You can see,
From your flight itself,
Those Henna trees
That lean towards these tombs
And nod lazily in drizzle.

There,
I shall kneel down
And repeat
The Liturgy for the Losers,
For You.
Liturgy for the Losers
Kuzhur Wilson
Translated by Anand Haridas
Souf Mar 13
You're one of my favorites
A star of my life
Someone I just can't live without

And even when you're far away
I'll never wanna spend a day
not talking with you

Because I never had that perfect person,
that one who never left my side
who was always there when I needed them
and didn't leave me in the dirt to die,
when I was at my worst, they stayed, with their foot planted at my right.

So please, please.
Don't ever, ever leave my side.
Ahh love this so much. So proud of myself on this one for some reason!
Johnny walker Feb 23
As we walk throughout
our life leaving traces of
our footprints to where
we go
But just like the traces of our footprints start to fade with passing time and as life draws to
end
Like footprints on a sandy beach washed away without a
trace
By the In coming tide just as If we've never been here
Our life fragile like foot prints on a sandy beach washed away with the In coming tide as If we've never been here
Poetic T Feb 2
I dreamt within the confines of my room,
              of a place where the white moments
                                              gathered in ease.

Collections within  them.

                                        Every negative
     and slowly asphyxiating gathering
being buried within
          the confides of a blanched confinement.

No longer where there shadows of before,
collecting in pools bellowing the fumes of


                                                        ill repercussions.

Instead the flakes of ******* highs drowned
             every moment out with delusion highs..


For within the white molecule,
        was a specific reflection.


And I never gazed deeply,
in fear of being
                          blinded with the truth.

Covers everything in a shallow grave
                of white mummers
crunching under foot.
Maxim Keyfman Aug 2018
again hit the nail
what is next to the verses
what is next to the most beautiful
and the most wonderful phenomenon
phenomena
effects
pears

again hit him
again with his right foot
how sick of it
how sad from this
why is he doing this to me so
this nail

13.08.18
Shofi Ahmed Sep 2017
I see no face
nor your foot.
But you seize
my heart!
You get me hooked.
Next page