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b Apr 4
it just feels like maybe
if i stuff a McChicken into my hallow soul
it will somehow fix everything

it just feels like maybe
if I purchase a metallic Maybach
it will somehow fix everything

it just feels like maybe
if i add more items into my e-cart
it will somehow fix everything

it just feels like
things can be fixed
by material objects

when it is our materialised soul
that needs fixing.
Tommy Randell Mar 27
Soil, Grass

Brick, Stone

Baby, Laugh

Blood, Bone

Glass, Blinds

Porch, Door

Drive, Car

Leaves, Chore

Phone, Children

Phone, Wife

Computer, Private

Terse, Life!
Austin Draper Jan 26
Roll down the chair. Cut it up and sell it now. How much do you price an inch? A centimeter? Would you all give it away? For what, a stick?
For how do you price each strand?
Squeeze it and meld it, you only change the appeared shape and liquid absorbed. But it is what it is. For a light in brilliant colors whispers
“For better or worse, it is a rag.”
Out comes the stuffing. It made our cars go and now what? Should the rock come in and shout that each should be not unstuffed by introspection
Or is it theirs to introspect?
Made to know. But when does “The know” have enough to know itself and us? When does it’s eyes become eyes and read the words plastered on our face? When do we become “The know?”
Although making the container itself, we did and shouldn’t make the contents within. Be mindful of your portions and don’t spice
Because that’s the way it’s always been. ?
Talking about the nature of Objects, Are they always what they are? Do they intrinsically mean more than they are?
Feet bare and scarred, limp toward the edge
scabs pinch at tired flesh
skin of leather fights gnawing winds
trampling the barren land, where graves begin

The shoe fits this haggard beast
he no longer roams the church of priests
no faith is left, no judgement thrown
A mountain up, a cliff below

One item left behind in folly
atop the edge a haunted body
time can cut emotions thin
shadows linger where soles have been
Prompt was worn boot
Anya Dec 2018
The golden baby
In the last slice of Mardigras cake

A half dollar
Well after they stopped being printed

A rare right sided conch
When most others are left

Are the rare treasures I find buried underneath

The glass bird
Dainty as can be
And the size of a nail

The miniature tea cup
A full set
Spoon and all

The Minni and Miki
Mouse holiday wear
mini collectibles

Miniature Kitty Kat
Pouches
In four different colors

Are the tiny bobbles I couldn’t bear to part with

The multitudes of dice
From classic six sided
To 8 To 12
Even dice in dice
More than can be counted

Erasers by the gazillions
Stingrays, baseball gloves
Eraser pencils with missing erasers
And a baby head detached from the body

Keychains, by the plenty
Sunglasses, Weapons
Dream catchers, bird’s with bells, all sorts
Of strange and curious oddities attached to a chain

Coins, many sizes countries
Fake, real
Dinar, Rupee, Euro, dollar,
Replica of ancient yuan

Jewelry-
Don’t even get me started
Necklaces, bracelets
Rings and earrings
Even though my ears aren’t pierced!

My hoarding tendencies coming to light in this
Curious collection of collections
Also known as
The objects in my closet
I was looking through my closet and I just had to make a poem about it.
Louisa Coller Oct 2018
A warm wool neck filled with pins and needles,
rips a volcanic eruption of string from me.
fixing my china is fun to do but
not with a sledgehammer smashing me in pieces.

An golden ornament is once desired,
Only providing blueprints of a destroyed home.
A flower is fair, beautiful but pure
and even there are days we stare more at the thorns.

Necklaces choking a porcelain doll,
with movements which are dead but a creative mind.
Plotting curiously note after note,
I feel like an object and to you I am one.
It's inspired by Sonnets and Canzone's structures - just a little more simplified;
It always irritates me, the feeling of being mad, upset or even stressed out but sometimes we feel that way and it's okay,
yet for some reason people always think if you are level-headed it's surreal to see you angry, upset or even weak at all.
Stop seeing people like objects; We're alive not dead.
fearfulpoet Sep 2018
objects in the distance may be closer than they appear  

how many thousands of times
these words mirrored blankly upon my eyes

only today did I-read them accurate

from the nowhere    from a great void
someone stepped and lifted me from a
rubbled prone
where there were no options
asking for nothing
over and over I beseeching

now I see
in the mirror
those words

I see only them
in the heart human
the object so close
it writ upon my face
proudly
effie ebbtide May 2018
a pair of headphones with the mufflers missing
the wire that goes from said headphones to the computer
a ceramic pug in a red scarf containing tubes of paint
an ocarina that i picked up in a ghost town/tourist trap in california
a red cup for water during painting
a book called the artist's mentor
an adjustable lamp
wristbands a lover made for me
a book for savannah college of art and design featuring someone holding a large inflatable red ball on the cover
an incomplete abstract painting on canvas paper, slightly crumbled,
a box for the savannah college of art and design VR kit that they sent me
a book on writing
a book about color line and form in the visual arts
a red squishy ball inside a a fishnet containment, creating organic bulbous abscesses when squeezed
a book of poetry with a red cloth on the cover
a small packet of konpeito, a japanese sugar-based hard candy
a novelty necklace designed to resemble christmas lights, complete with glowing LEDs
a red colored pencil
a red marker
a red mechanical pencil
a gigantic anthology of american poetry i have yet to dive into
a packet of cherry jello
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