Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Karijinbba Sep 1
You know you stopped me dead
while I was passing by
while you were inking gold
and glancing by;
reading poetry you like.

Oh my Lord I loved your style
and though I hadn't written
of this feelings all of my life,
I always thought in metaphorical
deep formating style.

One beastly soul
just loved my style becoming
a better patrkCham mind.
Other Poets thought of me
as different true and wild.

Two wolves pretended
to even like me in any form
A rich a goody two shoes
forelorned perceived;
in my skin so wrong viewed,

No sheep but Ram I am!

Some even called me weird
in dance and song so feared
I guess they saw
their own greedy eye revered.

So as my story in poem flowed
like a river rushing to the sea,
some poets joined my plea
to the sea I longed to join.

And as my river ran along
diverted its rushing went wrong
my river the sea never joined.

What's a river flowing!
what's a metaphor in poem!,
~~~~~~~
Karijinbba
Copy Rights 09-2020 revised.
Some poetry makes it to it's destination
read by the intended target
this kind reaches to the sea joining in.
Sabika H May 2
Mummified me tight in her web,
she finds it funny
that my eyes are left open.

I shake
but I cannot listen
and I cannot scream
and she stares until
my heart is broken.

she whispers and I read her lips:
"I am fate,
and you were held firm in my clutches
ever since man has fallen.

"Lay, watch, and twitch
and remember my dear,
every breath you take is testimony
that you were chosen."
It comes with big fireworks of happiness
Like an extra life that revives you at the final battle,
Like a compliment that makes believe in yourself,
Like an advent of a person with radiating hope.


Euphoria - what it's called - catches your moments,
Paints everything with eternal-like vivid hues,
Triumphs your whole past in a meaningful-like song,
Brings you a goal that has never existed.


Then, it just stops the time around you,
Lets you see the grey cloud of the present,
Hear the empty vacuum of the past,
Get dizzied by the blur of the future.


It holes your soul with the deepest pit
That eats up all the hopes remained or desired,
All the energy left leaving only fatigue,
All the senses that might make the soul living.


The Mark of Death spreads its curse all over the body,
Including the soul that just sits, lays inside,
Letting the whole world behind half-living,
Accepting death already by my side.
17.02.2019
For the one who has no rest from tempest to tempest,
What does the word mean: summer?
What does the word mean: winter or weather?
Would he believe ever that there's a good weather?
Would he believe in warmness and sunshine or any similar form,
Or rather, would he see them as the lull before the storm?
Wouldn't he see the sun as hiding new tortures?
Wouldn't he hide under a tempest's cloak as turtles?
Saying: Oh Sweet Home, I know you and you know me,
Oh Sweet Roar, Thunder and Rain; follow me.
28.05.2018
I remember as a village member,
I cut a memorable road in the wood...


I remember as a walking wobbler,
Some deep thrill made shrill the route,
Covered by the blackness of Blackwood.


I remember as a faint bystander,
What a dark power had that wild park,
beware-embraced, making my eyes sharp,
Taking its hideous darkness like a lark.


I remember with a tender temper,
Some river's ripping ceased my shiver,
I - a thinker, harkened the silent timber,
How the water seduced me to drink her,
Whether I will fall to flaw, following her.


I remember as a deep slumber,
I answered the call, the fanfare, I heard;
The song of the fake stream was a lake,
A lake calling me with its narcotic ache.


I remember as I remember,
As if that freak lake wanted me to keep,
As if that deep lake... made me to leap.


I remember as a member of the lake,
I cut a memorable road in the wood...
24 May 2016
Tina RSH Mar 2019
Many words I despise to praise
and smiles forcefully produced
palms on their eyes, fretting
to eye the truth that tastes so bitter
but mixed with glitter looks just like gold
to the bare eye.
I dare not say
I fret to speak
what truth lies buried in their chest
They'd run a thousand miles away
and shriek at the top of their lungs
to rip that chest apart
dispose of a piece of art
but never hear these words..
Easy to forebear lies within lies
sweet and sinister, like robbing a maiden off virginity
far better to taste, way easier to digest
than relinquish your heart to her fresh love
That is what they desire, not so deeply
And I haul myself to write for a sea of lost souls
and rivers of forgotten tears as mine
whose owners please to shroud
from what's indeed all human
to see with heart, and devour with ears.
This goes to all of us. Whether you've had an emotion or not, if you've ever felt pain and wondered how to react to it, then this poem is yours.
The Mellon Nov 2018
Mamma always told me-
I was struck motionless at the sight of her
Son,
Don't let me catch you playin' with fire.-
Her hair was ablaze
One of these days you're gonna get burned. -
Yet I am but a moth to her flame
Two poems in one, because 2 is always better than one.
Sudipta Maity Mar 2018
Turning page after page,
searching web to web.
Reading books and novels,
prose and poems.
For some metaphors -
those were never been used in history
to portray feminine beauty.
No, they haven't left any
not even a single one.
Now, how shall I capture those deer like coal jet black eyes with so deep and calm stare?
Then how shall I portray those earrings hanging like bunches of berry touching her fine jaw line?
Which seems to be drawn by some Renaissance artist.
How will I draw her lipwing of rose petals, flamed like scarlet wine?
And that smile beneath the cheeks just like the before sunrise.
Or her hair, flowing like waterfall down her shoulders same as rocky mountain.
metaphore
Tiarnán Murphy Jul 2017
Sun baked sand holds back withered shrubs
From the slow salty invasion of Poseidon
Drooping palms drop laden fruit
On passing, unsuspecting, heads
Where beauty once lay, now lies a trap
Calm steadily turns to white-capped waves
As surely as Poseidon's slow victory over the cliffs.
Stone Fox Apr 2017
These ****** intentions
seem to **** more than those so-called "reported" serial *******.

To say,
      -off the record-
that you give me both...
feels very disturbingly corrupt

yet thats not why you see me blushing.


can this burning betrayal flesh be helped or better prevented? probably not

my fight or flight instinct is to be the only suicidal bunny wet with desire, pressed up against the starving fox
wanting you to give me it all.

this is to be the root of my eternal damnation.

have all these urges
      -that even you have yourself-
really be tainting the fragile lining of my soul using only my sinful secrets like a parasite?

or is the questioning of my own morality while you **** me religiously the real sin?

How dare my mind even wonder while you posses me from the inside.

if i am to be ****** for finding what you only long for then so be it,
mark me ****** and chisel me into the future's mythology.

and on that day,
the divine powers from above decide to strike me down,
        when they smight me,

plaguing me with some eternal curse
I will welcome all fates with a smile.

I found a love so powerful it made destiny insecure

resulting as my name serving as some cautionary tail of knowing ones place
forever blazing in the stories with danger and warning.

but even if the sight of me were to turn you to stone, making me your demise,

i will deliver your marble tomb each and every time.

I will always choose to make you hard-always.
my take on the mythology of Medusa
Next page