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Lyteweaver Feb 2016
Facebook makes me want to *****
Spew chunks of fake houses
perfect spouses
So many poses
perfect smiles and staircases
tout it.
Adorn rose-colored glasses
as you watch the egregious *****
boast champagne in their glasses
as they fool masses.
What does it matter the square footage
if you can’t teach your children how to solve problems?
Or start movements?
Or have values?
I’d rather wear hand-me-downs and have roots
than don Versace and walk in rich boots.
When the day ends, as you are lounging in your satin linens
do you ask yourself how you grew today?
How you moved today?
How you flew today?
Well I am…

So get out of my way.
solEmn oaSis Nov 2015
ang balaraw na may KATAM !
- - - - sa bala raw ay TAKAM !
kung sa aking pasakalye ay may kulang ba?
,,,heto na't muli daraan pa sa kalye ang titik A !

minsan sa isang unan AT KAMA
lapis at papel tanging KA MATA
napapa-taglish.... " i...AM TAKA "
as in surprised nga---TAMA KA

sa sistemang nababagay AT AKMA
sabi ng iba sa akin,may "AMAT KA"
ayon naman sa ilan- ako'y "MAKATA"
  it's just a fiction-a make-believe! sa tagalog "MA-KATA"
i inscribed bantayog because any monument from now ,, ;) i will encounter many memorial living legend here in "Hello Poetry"
K Balachandran Jan 2016
I enjoy, the subtle shades, connotation of each word,
probe, how dexterously they are put together in an order
like jewels in an ornament for generations to wear.
The way the construct speaks to the brooding solitude
that moves in and out of my soul,as the reading proceeds.

I smell a fragrance, like the scent of fresh ripe fruit,
eager to taste it, sink my teeth deep, draw juice,
now find a memory awaiting to resonate with the
cadence of my heart.
                                                 I am such an animal
that can smell poetry's worth from a distance,
a goldsmith who could  predict it's weight in gold
my avarice for a poetic diet, never dies, only swells.

Every poem of my kind, to me does something
my lover does, decidedly every imagery, carry forward
a memory, like wind a cloud, reaches a space beyond
touches eternity with it's magic wand,  a flash results
Even if the poet leaves me mid way, I'd still see the light.

I've an enticing excuse to imagine what I want to see
a poem doesn't produce anything,but what it does to mind,
is pure magic,I am in that flow,far from the illusory reality.
Jill Carter Dec 2015
I think like a poet.
That’s why I get headaches.
Images burst
wishing
waiting
hoping
for my head to explode.
Julie Grenness Dec 2015
Our Synaesthesia is for free,
Music is the muse for me,
In my blood, you see,
Images imaginary,
Elvira Madigan wakes to see,
Mozart play Mozart lucidly,
Swooner songs sound so silly,
Old rockers croon so vividly,
Funny lyrics in my brain,
Sounding a little deranged,
(It is hereditary
In my family)
Yes, Synaesthesia is for free,
Smurfette's songs, so silly.
1% of the world's population have some form of Synaesthesia. Feedback welcome.
Yasmeen Hamzeh Nov 2015
You observe.
I know what you see.
It's all perfectly visual.
Your eyes low to the ground, they catch on the tip of her heel.
You follow the curve of the red sole to reach her thin ankle.
Something possesses you to look further up, and you unintentionally trace the expanse of her languid legs.
Suddenly her eyes are staring back at you, and all you can do is instantly turn away.
Something you saw pulls you back, and you look.
Her lips are red, darker than blood and her eyes remain in your direction.
She removes the cigarette from her lips, and the look in her eyes almost throws you off your chair.
You train your eyes to look straight ahead, but when you close your eyes an image flashes.
An image of her lips pressed against the concrete.
You open your eyes only to redirect them in her direction.
Her black rimmed eyes with irises that seem desolate, are redirected away from you.
When you close your eyes another image flashes.
An image of her dead eyes staring up at you, almost pleading.
Light creates images for us,
the appearance of Reality.

All that we know, all that
seems so real, is playing
a part we have asked it to
play. Unmanifest Reality,
appearing as all forms,
and all phenomena.

All that we know
is a dance of shadows
playing across
the infinite
ocean of bliss,
unboundedness.
©Elisa Maria Argiro
utkarsh pandey Sep 2015
Had the dreams of the future ,
as I stepped into the train,
Life wasn't picture back then,
but outlining of a frame ,
On the walls of freedom.
I could finally feel the rain,
See mommy I came too far,
Simply Walking down the lane,

Leaving home , tying knots I was sitting on the raft ,
Waving hand ,blink of eye I was away from the past,
Life was stretched like the ocean darker and vast,
I was floating on the stream knowing,
Good byes never last.

As my raft lost the stand ,
I saled it up with my hands ,
bonded in , packed the past ,
Left the life to the raft,
And Let it to float , down the stream ,
In cold breeze ,through the wind,

So Here I am in the rain,
Still laughing , and build the frame,
with a picture of the raft,
That keeps floating till it lasts.
Andy Hunter Aug 2015
I could talk about the fallen.
Pink blossom

lying on the green grass.
As if the fall of something

beautiful
something

you might cry
"innocent"

meant
something.

Or
I could talk about the flowers

"smothering the branches of the tree"
thickly. As if

they symbolize love.
Or something

like it -
fecund

fulsome
bright. We

could praise the Lord this way.
Some King

of some Heaven. But
that would be an image.

A pale reflection of our hope
for the wind-

fallen seeds.
But

it's just a tree.
Not a glance upon the face

of some deity;
a piece

of eternity.
Why

make an image out of love?
Isn't love

enough?
the words come less often
the images too
the tears aren't ink
but laughter will do

it's like waking up
or being born
the lessened pain
after the storm

it's not over yet--
the damage is bleak
but no longer we fly
nor numbness seek

it's not like forgetting
or hitting your head
but still a relief
to wishing we were dead

i don't know what to call it
maybe You do?
"Hope...?" i say
You tell me "true..."
written in 2010
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