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Tina RSH Jan 2020
Morning is such a desperate lover.
How else could she make
you meet her if she didn't
steal your dreams at night?
Tina RSH Jan 2020
Clink clink clink! Out thou comest little genie
Broken is mine heart, not one time but three
So grant me three a wish and may that be
Fly aloft and take these ****** tears with thee


Mine keen eyes captured by the hands of doom
guts wrenched in light of mephistopheles' gloom
A dark solo rider in hue of a hero assumed
Beguiled the young heart is now encaged, entombed

Lo! Take the glass heart and travel afar
Drop it where hungry vultures and eagles are
Pour my light into his blackness like a shining star
Pour it to the end of his every remaining cigar

seek me then in the lands of madness within
Resting as the corpse bride I always have been
Xella Jan 2020
I scratch the neon paper with thoughts in my mind-
The way you scathed laboured wood under dim candle light.
Clueless to my aptitude the falsity of what is new
What I know is- You, not you but your marvelous craft-
papyrus paper and pen, quill to bound book.
What makes a poet? I really do not know.
S T Mont Jan 2020
How to stay the same while changing

How to be the calm and the chaos

How to adventure far while staying close to home

How to love

How to be loved

How to fear while remaining blissfully unafraid

How to feel while showing nothing at all

How to be human
Maryann Ravera Jan 2020
Red.
The color that crept onto her cheeks in utter surprise and shyness. The color that stained her lips as her teeth mercilessly sunk into it in anticipation of her inevitable fate. The color she wishes to be adorn with, in the form of marks and ribbons.
Carlo C Gomez Jan 2020
Your fine eyes and lively wit
first caught his attention,
your light, lush figure
he discerned upon closer inspection.

You then had the audacity
to speak your mind,
to tell your unwanted suitor
where to go.

Nonetheless, what did he find?
A young lady brimming
with charm and intelligence,
a country girl of unrivaled specialness.

And hither came his letter,
an eye-opening missive,
a charitable benediction
that proved redemptive.

Here your prejudice began to be
worked on for the better,
its constant hold relenting
until it unfettered altogether.

His agony of rejection
soon warred against his pride,
his ardency for you
could not be denied.

A chance encounter
and you were
at once astonished
at what your heart did reveal,

his intense stare warmed your cheeks,
his kind words
and acts of goodness
then sealed the deal.

You could love no other.
And in this blissful denouement
you agreed to become his wife and lover.
Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy, Mistress of Pemberley...
To the remarkable writer Jane Austen and the wonderful 1995 BBC mini-series "Pride & Prejudice." Kudos to Colin Firth and Jennifer Ehle, forever the best Darcy and Elizabeth!
Maryann Ravera Dec 2019
A beautiful face fades—wrinkles surface and it decomposes along with the body once one’s borrowed time is done. A beautiful mind doesn’t. Ideas from such a mind endures the test of time, and is immortalized through art, literature and research.
fray narte Dec 2019
here lies asteria.
and her falling stars —
they crash faster than they rise
here inside this starless chest —
a foreign place,
a refugee camp —
all leaden lungs and a leaden sky.

here she sleeps
under a blanket of nightfall one might mistake for the golden fleece,
but then again,
alchemy is a long, forgotten lover
all bag of tricks,
and sleight of hand,
all doves and swords
and a fickle heart.

so what of her?
what of a lonely girl?
what of her history and all her scattered bones?

what of a fallen Titaness?
what of this diaspora of all her dying stars?
what of this sepulcher for all her nameless stars?

here lies asteria
with her unbaptized stars —
here, where the dark side of the moon
goes home.
here, where wisterias and howling wolves
and stifled screams
go to die.

here inside this starless chest,
these pallid lips,
this leaden skin of mine.

here lies asteria. here lies her host.
and this is how a black hole sighs.
Mia Kuhnle Dec 2019
Meet me at the edge of the mountain
With your arms around me, breath heavy
Take me away, towards the persimmon sun.

Rest your head upon my shoulder
And share with me authors you read fondly.
Send me to a land, where gleaming parties and revolutions are canon.

Sit and read to me of Grendel
And the darklings of Keats, his solemn pastorials
Protect me from all, Sir Beowulf, my knight with bravery ineffable.

Traverse with me the woods
Away from the cabin, and to the pond.
Tell me of the leaves you see-- muddy, mucky, made webbed.  

Sing to the moon the poetry of your swoon
The light that cares and dusts away your desk
O Gabriel, my knight and day, scare away his hooves.

Lead me to a life far from Auerbach
Yet so near, through your words on our mountain walk.
Show me the world you see through literature.
fray narte Dec 2019
and lately, these poems have become nothing — nothing but just mere spoils of war from inside my head.
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