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Peasant The Poet Jul 2019
I don’t want to wake up,
I want to live my lucid dream.
Flushed with shades I’ve never seen,
You entwined in every color scheme.
kain Jul 2019
Take a deep breath
Let it out
Look down at your hands
Turn over your palms
Trace those lines
They're real
And you're the only one with them
Whether you believe
In palm reading
Or simple idiosyncrasies
Or the monotonous diversity
Of humanity
You have your own lines
Your own life
And the way you see your friends
Beautiful and wonderful and
Lovely in their flaws
Is how someone sees you
You're astonishing
You're a ******* work of art
Maybe you can't see it yet but
Someday that veil will lift
And you'll see how much you are
You are enough
You are so much more than enough
There's a lifetime in those palms
And it isn't over yet
So take a deep breath
And open your eyes
Inspired by the song Forget the Lies by Quietdrive. Here's a link for my fellow Spotify users: https://open.spotify.com/track/06LZcxlNSBZmYQGdgKTfzQ?si=GfLYqFS6REKMemsURIbuSQ
Colm Jul 2019
My Goldberry

My heart runs dark as blue berries
For you and for your inevitable change

With soft and growing orange light
With cool water wandering skies
You are all of me and as much mine

My Goldberry
Would you never stop
And always change though you needn't try

I give to you my conscious though
And you give to me
Your mercurial eyes

The way of seasons past like our memories passing by
His hat is blue. His boots... Yellow.
Gabriel burnS Jul 2019
You’re a blunt trauma from a sharp weapon
You’re the highest of the low-hanging fruit
You’re a dark day to a vampire waiting for the sun
You’re this year’s May that I might as well not...
You’re such a hidden button during ironing “I can’t even…”
You’re the diagonal towards the end of an up-down-down-forward-back-back combo
You’re the most unexpected choke one gets by their own saliva
You’re a Ferrari keeping quiet about a handling defect until it’s too late
And me… I’m just as perfect as you are…
Only not as articulately pronounced…

*

Ти си натъртване от остър предмет
Ти си най-високия от ниските плодове
Ти си мрачен ден за вампир, който чака слънцето
Ти си тазгодишния Май, в който май не бих…
Ти си така скрито копче по време на гладене, че даже не мога…
Ти си диагонал към края на комбинация от горе-долу-долу-напред-назад-назад
Ти си най-неочакваното задавяне причинено от собствената слюнка
Ти си Ферари с премълчан дефект при завиването докато не стане твърде късно
А аз… съм точно толкова съвършен, колкото и Ти
Но по-неотчетливо изказан...
This time I'm making a step across the line in the sand!
Bryce Jul 2019
It is not my job to be a poet,

not my job to spew hopeless clauses

Not my job to weave callous causes

Not my job to print insipid logic

Not my job to parse sight through the darkness.

Not my job to tell souls to behave

Not my job to give credence to knaves

Not my job to sell this gold to the state

Not my job to give words away.

No, it's yours - -

Yours to obey, yours to disdain

Yours to compare, yours to reapir

Yours to create, yours left to fate

Years of the past are not of one date

--

Not my job, not to wish or to pray

Not to shine one's soul with spittle
And lacquer its grain

Not my job to place words, no, merely to give
Not my place to give words that do not serve fit

You all know better, you all say so
And for note, with a sad, careful bow will I go.
. . . Maybe if I learn . . .
. . . . . . . Another language . . . . . . .
. . . . From a different time . . . .
. . Meant for different people . .
. . . . . I could write
us . . . . .
. The love story we could have had .
Poetoftheway Aug 2017
"the ever shifting light of ourselves"
(a poem such as this)

For Jamadhi V.

<•>
8/28/17

at 11:09am,
the phrase arrests itself, then assertive,
ungently demanding fulfillment,
implanted, it cares not my whereabouts,
it is a child~phrase, inexact, mysterious,
wanting its breast milk feeding immediate
no matter where my presence visible

but to me, it stinks of familiarity,
for my shifts, my redrawn shapes,
exhausting, giving me cause to grieve,
write poems such as this,
which I regret both
before~after conception~completion,
written in a fevered misery of fervor,
hoping,
no one ever likes it and its witnessing

as light ever shifts,
it consumes, extinguishes, reignites,
poorly lit, revealing dregs and dustbins

better then to sit in the darkness
the one you call,
getting it over with...

6:00pm
<•>

~~~~~~~~

*the swelling and the spume


for Lucy:

who gave me the title, three poems, a compliment, and the X Factor {inspiration}
~~~
the spume, the sea foam concentrate,
a greener white
by the the salt and the souls of the
million dead organisms,
that are are the compost of its formation,
it, watches the poet, who watches the spume,
come ashore for its final act of
immolation by evaporation

which is why the random act of
an unseen ministering force,
fills my ears with humbling glory of
Samuel Barber's Agnus Dei,^
my fresh reminder that this swelling chest
in this temporary abode of mine,
by the sea, passage is prepaid for my
expiration by evaporation too,
all lambs march to the sea,
returning to spume
~
Lyrics to Agnus Dei:
^ Alleluia Alleluia
For our Lord God Almighty reigns
Alleluia Alleluia
For our Load God Almighty reigns
Alleluia
Holy Holy
Are You Lord God Almighty
Worthy is the Lamb
Worthy is the Lamb
You are Holy
Holy
Are You Lord God Almighty
Worthy is the Lamb
Worthy is the Lamb
Amen

~~~~~~

"may all my lost lovers haunt me"

for Vinnie Brown

even your kindergarten crushes?

what burdens you seek to retain,
the edgy border of delicious and pain is a raggedy cut line,
as lost lovings rhymes with duality

Once upon a time,
a middle aged man
left the woman he married,
the one who drained and cruel reigned
over the destruction of his-dreams
for one accidentally stumbled into,
the love who blurred his edges as well,
between forgotten happiness and
pain so bad when she grew tired
of his life's complications and the
valises of drama,
she left him,
weeping on the corner of Broadway and 83rd Street

was that 20, 30 years ago?
a memory
from no matters land
but
the physical ache that marred the hearth in the chest for months and months,
sent him to the doc who smiled sweetly
but gave him, had no, no relief for busted grownup hearts
that had normal  EKG's

and that remains a treasured affirmation to this day of
life's capacity to love that comes with an ingrown danger
of never forgetting

did you know the French outlawed the use of the term
Mademoiselle in '12 (Mlle.)?

I loved that salutation,
calling my one true lovers
with the soft feminism of that address

and still do

and you want to recall
kindergarten crushes?

Mister Vinnie
possesses a lovely contradiction,
holding onto
lost lover sickness
that lives on in good love poems

this my new found poet
is how that he, this aching heart,
fast approaching his shore line for one last return and final departure
repays a sweet compliment,
from one who complements
another man's lovely's insane desire to
never forget any of it

~~~~~~*

reading love poetry and listening to
Joni M.,
at 3:09AM
never wise,
but always full of hindsight
TheB0redP0et Jul 2019
poetic thoughts running free 'n' about,
thinking limericks, my mind's full of doubt.

spooked from behind, as then i called for my cat,
trying to convince, the innocent claws to chase out the rat.

as all he did was pout the fat 'n' lazy, stout...
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