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lesson #1: in the beginning, all poems on Earth were formless

on blended knee, the approaching, humility, raging, barely  
tempered by a gale force need, the forthcoming yoga pose of compose

you have urgings, mostly in a blink of an eye,
then going, gone notions, the writing is so a losing effort,
you turn the paper’s aperture sideways hoping to get an
inside straight insight,
but the poem refuses to come, the creation ******
delayed is torturous and the poem birthing, even worse

so you revert to basics to give the formless a shape,
recalling  a child’s learning that in the beginning:

“the earth was formless and void,
darkness was over the surface of the deep,
and the Spirit of God was hovering
over the surface of the waters.…”

so you insert a single sheet of 20Lb bond paper,
sliding the typewriters carriage smooth swift  
over to the starting gate hell’s bell, typewriter machine smell erotically exciting creative fluids boiling,
typing, laughing out loud, forming entree to the hinted hallway
of a womb opening to a crafting with three words:

                               in the beginning
Aaron Feb 18
Here's a poet's plight:
To force words to come is a fight;
Gorgeous nothings hold no light;
Meaning shall not bow to might.

Thirty thousand words or more –
All just sounds heard before;
But somewhere deeper there's a door,
A certain feeling from some core.

Or, in clearer words:
I have nothing Great to say,
but That shouldn't stop me anyway
From speaking when I feel I must;
No other way to reverse this rust.

Perfection is a savage
Curse to ravage the mind
'Round and round in circles, growing blind.

But of all the stones and stars
Or overpriced, shiny cars
The greatest gift of all you give
Is that you let me gently live.

You accept me as I am,
Tarred and scarred and marred with gray,
There's a thousand whispers, but they're all okay
When they won't be judged anyway.

There's this frustrating little tic
Where no words can quite click
Because no lovely language can compress
or stress enough meaning into a tiny little space
That could give a hint of a trace
Of the meaning that was felt.

Suffice to say it seems somehow insufficient,
Nothing Great, simply true:
You're wonderful as you.
Aditya Sep 2018
Pompously floating among every Liquid,
Cola, whiskey or an exorbitant Cocktail,
Forms multitude, plain to Sculpted,
Simpering secretly over water's Assail.

Slowly with the passing of Time,
As the temperatures Rise,
Losing its position of Prime,
Melting away in its own Design.
Arrogance is like ICE.
It can boost your ego for a short time until life hits back to drag you back to your real form. You are formless like water. Don't let your ego transform you, for it won't be long before you melt away.

ohellobeautiful Jun 2018
has formed
a Love for me
as formless as
the Soul it
Breon Mar 2018
Choose another bitter morning routine -
whether from cold, coffee, or compression,
As in "man, I really need to just relax and decompress"
But without the last bit happening.
Choose to let it sink in until you can bite it off,
Choose the pressure because it feels like home,
Choose to dally, choose self-sabotage,
Choose kicking at the gears of your routine until
Something warps under the strain until
It fits like you never believed it would.
Choose the long way into work, a million faces
Nodding off behind their steering wheels,
The city's symphony still trying to get in tune,
Still trying to harmonize with, with, with, with
Whatever gets them to their job still sane, all
Trying to dance to beats only they can hear,
Howling out careworn verses they scrawled
By trailing their lives along the road:
The rhythm of the city is discord and hell.
I've lived near cities for nearly all of my life. Now, relative isolation - visits to the countryside, even visits to towns which AREN'T suburbs - is more innately concerning, even confusing, even confounding, to me than the constant threat of terrible local drivers. Maybe I'm addicted to the city and I just don't know how to do without.
Mark Wanless Nov 2017
"The Mystery a Fear"

A wonder is the mystery
       The mystery a fear.
Countries unexplored bereave
       We must travel on.

Dream a simple holoworld
       Safety mist of brain.
Dream is but a dream, a craft
       Sculpted formless mind.

Lost the future gained a mote
       All the unexpressed.
Never seen, to near to touch
       Thoughtless only known.
Youdont Needthis Jan 2017
He exists in ****** duality
Dwelling in ******* lips and tongue
She is born of blackest dimension’s strum

When the rifle conquest bellows loud
And slaughter’s hum be murderous roar
It rivers in winding bends
Of purest human shale
The destroyer’s chorus in innocent’s wail
Clammy skin of mistresses pale

Chant in rounds this king curse brain
Her obsidian Charon
His violent game
It thousand claws
It needle veins
Sand drowning corpses in rotting flame
It eldest spirit from ancient plains
She blood unholy
He flesh unchained
Forever wholly thirst insane
Dismembering life
In nomine
Beki Ponds Apr 2016
I changed myself for you,
It was too late.
You’d already said your goodbyes
Before I smoked my first bowl
Before I decided to let loose
Before I chose to jug that plastic bottle of whiskey

I told you I needed you,
It was too late.
I treated it like a game
Because I thought that’s what you wanted
A girl with her head in the sky
And her heart full of limericks.

You never told me what you wanted
So I made a person up
I hid who I was from you
And realized later
Everything could have worked out
If I had been myself.
Wolf Irwin Jul 2014
My body will die but I will always be,
They could lock me up but I'll remain free,
I could lose my eyes and still I would see,
That anything could happen and I'll still be me,
I am not my thoughts, I am not my looks,
I am not the bad I've done or the chances I have took,
I am not the scared little boy whose knees once shook,
I am not any knowledge I've learn in any books,
I am a kind hearts biggest fan,
And I happened to be born as a man,
I'm a well orchestrated plan,
Ask my identity I'll say I am.
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