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Anais Vionet Mar 27
In a lattice-lit dorm room sits a writer.
A discarded chemistry book lies beside her.
because ideas are hitting off her, like a collider.

Why does writing make her feel alive-er?
Cause it helps sort out the feelings inside her?

Repose is something grinding-study denies her.

Now, rhyming isn't her primary desire
the connections form, almost, despite her
poetry’s at it best when it comes unaware
“Oh,” she thinks, like, we’re going there?

What she writes might eventually be shared
with that awareness she vowels with care
picking words when they seem the ripest
shaping phrases like some sort of stylist
she may be less of a poet than a typist

Her default is to narrative - like you read in novels
cause let’s face it - cold-poetry is as dead as vaudeville,
as buried as silent movies, letters and opera,
have I come to dig Caesar up, like a fossil?
cold = straight up
Carlo C Gomez Jul 2020
I so dreamt


A boundless arrangement
Estranged from

The whispered waters

This sullen cathedral
In thoughts hushed

As anxious lips quenched
Their thirst

From the passionate

Trapped within
New rhapsody
TS Ray Nov 2019
For three he plays,
For three he strays,
For three he stays.
I stayed and I was one among the nines.

Arias for my Giovanni,
thirty minutes for the thirsty,
it was over too quickly, at the gramercy.
leaving my moods in the open for a mild controversy.

Cozily encased like in a womb,
attached to you by an umbilical cord,
no matter the type of chord,
It was clear you were singing,
through Mozart’s vocal cord.

I was ready to swim in place with you,
to be drenched in musical shower,
with open skies as my shower curtain,
come cleanse my soul,
as my heart tugs,
at your tone in nature.

TS. 2019.
annh Jun 2019
You were singing in the shower,
Very loudly,
Soap in your eyes,
Face scrunched up,
Blowing water like a bull whale,
Curtains flung to one side,
And I thought - *******, I love opera!

It’s the little things, right? :)
Emma Feb 2019
Her Imperious Canticle rewarded
From the butterflies of monarchy
Mermaid scales are her bouquet
An ombre is the debut
Crystal corals are the stars on her face
Below pink rings that scale a tune
Which the winged beauties will charm in too
An amazing debut for the see through
Of a dynasty that glows in the prism moon.
My first poem of 2019, based on this amazing artwork:
Please follow this artist, she is astounding. Also, I tried to make an unrhyming poem that instead focused on description...Free verse is the name of the genre, thx Flo for reminding me lol
Midge Jan 2019
Deep down the theater is a mystery
Of the phantom who lives in misery
A loathsome creature, masked in shame
He lives in the shadows amidst glory and fame

He runs the opera, they must follow his order
Or else, a catastrophe will occur
Opera Ghost, forever shall haunt
Abide in you, I shall never flaunt

The world created an Angel of Hell
Taught him to **** and become cruel
But deep inside is a frightened child
Who yearns for beauty and all things mild

A troubled entity beneath all fright
The Phantom of the Opera, the Music of the Night.
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