night air
like protons
into purple.


ripe sunsets
ferment over
an orange
hued coast


open air
over misty


except scientists
pause to count
seeds in a watermelon.


home is a rug
two pillows
a bed and


is a white-crust
wave without
a known origin.


a park
throughout dusk.


rain has washed
everything this
year: forgot what
not to remember.




gentle night
rustling with
like green leaves.

Glass 8h

lucent (pareidolia noceur)
there's a "wound inside
your eye but follow righteousness,
for there are dante spinae immerse
crux ausage brim chastised"  - 
dichotomy bismuth
alizarin defiled godforsaken
good mornings but consistently
you are my anchor
"till death do us apart" bestowed
charcoals mouth curved into
a smile and icarus cognitive
pedestrian oath to our flood
of gardened rainwater that
cheiloproclitic vower time"
composition sunshowers
because I have devoted
my contagiousness

- G

An artist who speaks the 'truth' shows us what following our dreams looks like.
yne 8h

she have to die a thousand deaths,
for people to laugh a thousand smile.
she have to bleed a liter of blood,
for her name to be remembered.
so never underestimate poets and their poetry,
for the have to underwent direst of circumstances,
to be solely accepted.

In between the past that are being yesterdays 

and the future that carries the burden of hope,

I sewed the truth of present.

I knew earlier that this would happen.

The dreariness realised during the day.

The restlessness realised during the night. 

Unexplainable! You filled the cosmos.

Even if there are many colours,

for my fiery love, 

for my revolutionary vigour and

for the blood I scattered,

you gave red gulmohars.

And in the glimpse of that memory, I live.

For my uncharted wanderings, 

there is no beginning and end without you.

In the parade of failures; I, me, myself being the truth, 

I’m once again searching for the enigma that you are.

Ma Cherie 10h

up in the mountains
in a place called Lincoln
15 degrees cooler where I sit

where sweet raindrops fall
an cascade on the leaves here
an monarch butterflies flit

this is a place
that is so otherworldly
everywhere something for me
when lo and behold
above on a lantern
what do you think that I see?

my loveliest Luna
the moth of my moon
sent to me,
this I am sure

my beautiful Luna
feminine lady
I am astounded at her

if you don't know her
you really should
she only lives here to love

Luna my Luna
thank you grandmother
sent to me from up above,

she is a totem of time from before
sacred of sacred is she
Luna my Luna thank you for coming
thank you for rescuing me,

I will remember your sacrifices
given unselfish for free
I will be looking for all other signs
I will be looking to see

exactly how beautiful
this great big experience is here,
so that I can retell it
in all its true
glory an splendor
undebted to the past
to you again one day.

Ma Cherie © 2017

Wow ; ) my Luna moth is an amazing totem
Porto 11h

A poet's not the one who shouts the loudest, no
Not the one with flowers in their hair, she who declares
Her wishes to those who cross their heart
And write about dying, listening to her
A poet's not one with a crystal ball, Tory Taurus,
Nor one who speaks to glass caverns, taking themselves in
Reflected light, a poet
Is not one who paints themselves green to be seen

Listen, and you're the poet,
Stunt light's tracing fluid in your growth room
And you're the poet
Grow to hate crowds and you're
Write in the silence of apathy and you're
Put your collapses into verses
And you're the poet
You gorgeous night petal, you
Misplaced word
Thank you.

Day 1
I keep listening to sad songs on the train home and seeing you in the simplest things like what seemed like an interracial couple that just went past me on the escalator in the mall we had our last date in. Heck, this whole place reminds me of you. I think I should leave now.
Oh, and I lost count of the cigarettes I've smoked today...

Day 2
I know it's inappropriate to have taken to Tinder right after breaking up but this is my way of moving on...unless you'd rather see me become a complete dead-inside sniveling pile of bones. I'm sorry one of us is such a whore while you practically swore to celibacy after I'd left. Tinder is fun and all....but nobody is you.

Day 3
I think my Tinder admission is just one way I'm trying to forget you and I ever happened by trying to move on as fast as I can. Despite all the matches and all the "chemistry" I think I have with them, I still pause sometimes and think of you every now and then. I just passed by the r&r we used to stop at every evening on the way home from college and get frisky in the backseat of your car. Nothing can ever replace the connection we had. This is all superficial. I feel like telling them all "You know what? This is all bullshit. I still love my ex" and delete that godforsaken app. Tomorrow's a Monday...the day I'd usually look forward to seeing you again after 2 days being away (the weekends) and going for lunch together. Only tomorrow, I'm gonna sit through the 1st dreaded class early in the morning without the consolation that you'll be there waiting for me at the end of it. You're probably somewhere on your own, trying to drown your sorrows through gaming or something I don't know. I hate your racist and bigoted old man for separating us and making me ruin your life.

Day 4
I got a date on Tinder today. He's 2 years younger than I and cute. Also, he doesn't seem like a fuckboy. We're meeting at Sunway tomorrow. Actually, I nearly cancelled out of it halfway after lying in bed and thinking about you

Day 5
Ok. He's a flying fuckboy. I got stood up for being a stupid bumbling pile of nerves. Both of us have that habit - acting stupid whenever we are nervous; you know it. Only, I made a mistake by choosing somebody who can't see through that. Uneducated cunt...he just left me in Sunway Pyramid, said he went to park his motorbike, and never came back. I didn't even have to call to know that. If this is all I get from online dating, I guess it's not for me. Goodbye, Tinder. Maybe this is what happens when one person in a relationship still decides to continue seeing other people after a breakup while the other has practically sworn to celibacy.

Day 6
Sorry I made the mistake of telling you my decision to keep seeing other guys and even show you pictures of them and our texts as I cried on your shoulder like a baby after you poured out how hurt you were about all that's been happening halfway on the way back to my house. I guess I'm now a mega bitch - just like your other exes - despite me trying to not be one. Look. I'm trying to move on as best as I possibly can and convince myself that I've still "got it" - especially after getting stood up that day and ruining my self esteem terribly. I thought telling you of my experimentation with various fuckboys would make you happy that my love life is now shit - like a typical ex. I guess I forget you're not even the typical person or human being, let alone the typical guy. You're a crystal rock among the normal, flat, dull ones.  Sorry I nearly made you get us both killed on our way home just now out of your angry speeding. Don't apologize for making me cry. I deserve it.

Day 7
I'm doing what you told me to do - to move on but never completely. A guy as rare and precious as you will never make it as a mere shadow in my memories like what you feared you'll become one day. Maybe one day when your old man is dead and pushing up - not daisies - but thorns and thistles, there might be that glimmer of hope that we would be back together again. I know the possibility that I have already moved on and probably be married with kids by then still hangs over our heads like the little wooden gong that hung from your rear view mirror over our heads all those steamy rainy evenings in your car. And the possibility that you may have too also exists since we can't tell what the future holds for any of us. By all means, if love knocks on your front door again dressed as someone new, let her in and for God's sake, live again.

But don't forget me.

How my week after we broke up went
Vlassis 15h

So many words I told you
Meaningful and meaningless
wave vibrations through air
with the hope to percept
that I'm not a poet
But you are poetry.

Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International (CC BY-NC 4.0)

( )
(  )
( ★ )
( ★ ★)
( ★★★)
(    ★★   )
( ★ ★ )

★the healing ★
★of writing ★
★late night ★

Healing with creativity
Done by poetry,

The candle Light
Is relaxing,

There's a goat on my roof.
I have no idea why.
I'm not raising goats.
I won't even try.
I can see how he got up there;
Scaled my shed like a hill.
I hooted trying to scare him off
But he is up there crying still.

There’s a goat on my roof.
And he seems to want something
He’s very noisy about himself
And he smells disgusting.
I’ve tried dragging him down
But he gets back up again.
It’s enough to make a cusser
Of any normal patient men.

The goat that’s on my roof
Is material for a comedian.
He’s so damn annoying
He might be a Republican.
He makes a lot of noise
And insists on getting his way.
He’s good for practically nothing
And has little of import to say.

The goat that’s on my roof
Seems to serve his own needs.
i don’t understand goat enough
To know about his greed.
Does he need tastier food
Or maybe a sexy girlfriend?
I  really want this episode
To come to a speedy end.

Next page