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Francie Lynch Nov 2021
I have stared
Far too long
At this blank page.
I've come to the hard realization,
Like a refugee raft,
This poem won't write herself.
Amirraahh Mar 2021
I try to remember that blazing taste,

That bittersweet, that fatal bite of ivory teeth graced

I retrace this adorned place  

With my rouge lips erased

In the dead of human skin,

Will veins spread daisied seeds akin

Warm woven breaths spin

As the feel of your cold finger's burn my bones from inside in

Though I'm bleeding....

My soul, a desolate place

Lost, deserted, enlaced in this fading web spaced  

Forever needing

I feel my heartbeat brake

My eyes drain to a star in forsake

& though I was awake

I let go of my one snowflake

I dream by day

Asking, will thou stay?

Emerald hues of the sky's milky ray are washed away

Day to night to night to day

I fall to pray

Does the body remember nothing?

The touching?

Did love not mean something?

My soul was once blushing

To the rain pour of this moments flow of weeping heart's crushed

In the gentle scent of nectar eyelids brushed

To blood rush

A tender whisper will become the nights command

As hazed clouds dispel the winter darkness to the souls of the ******

We need some peace in this world


With each concrete flower hurled

I wait for the whimpering wind to twirl

In the hush of an enfolded eye's tiny smile, the blood in my heart swirls

For I am a faceless vessel ensuing the blackest voice

A soul trapped in an ephialtes voids

So I dance my pain away to dawn's poise

As she rises beyond the inkwell noise

It's the dusk that heals stained fiends

& a suckled child is weaned

As his mother's heart slowly screams

To the hungry souls dreamed

& I have known the women

I've kissed their cheeks of sin

I felt their embrace within

As beautiful Huwa was gifted a garden

Can we be forgiven?

With the moon up in smoke

Flesh is revealed to the morning sun just as the yellow in an egg yoke

Here I was woke

In an earth of blood filled tears soaked

Another piece of my soul turning to dust

Though rising is a storm of stardust
Vaibhavi Joshi Nov 2020
After a awful night, she woke up
Staring at a person behind the mirror.
The smile on her lips was absent,
Scars took the place of blushes.
The shine of her face was dull,
She was stocking a person in the parallel universe,
With zero enthusiasm and with infinite dejection.
She was downhearted,
Her own expectations killed her.
After a while, she glanced at her soul
And realised ,
what's more prettier than a beautiful soul.
We all have our own untold stories.
Lewis Wyn Davies Sep 2020
Someone send me fifty cigarettes.
Keep me awake far past sunset.
Get the football on immediately
And make it a fiery affair.
Drown out this mop and bucket mouth.
Find me a guitar string to silence a theatre.
Strum all the chords in unison.
Whisper powerfully into the crowd's ear
About the journey to solar eclipse bliss.
Ignore the scattered failures,
Stamps on lamp-posts,
Brash stickers of the past,
Cornered in all that success.
Distraction from the looming task ahead.
Let the teaming rain return to my brain,
Where pie survives in cement,
Jackdaws squawk and talk of walks
Across the kissing couple hills
Instead of pizza orders set for ten.
Counting stock with matching socks.
Clocks are the enemy these days.
But they may be my best friend.
Poem #20 from my collection 'A Shropshire Grad'. Written before a shift at work and inspired by Tom Hiddleston's poetry reading, I was fortunate to have this one read out on local radio.
Francie Lynch Jul 2020
During dinner talk
I hear her say,
His poems are very clever.
She said it loud, and all could hear;
(she said it out of spite)
And some who heard her say it, thought,
Isn't she so nice.

Clever. Clever. Clever.
Clapped inside my head,
For earlier she reproached me
For not reaching out instead.
I should ladle bowls of soup,
Drive the elderly wherever,
Volunteer to save the planet,
Comfort those in need of such,
Or visit with the sick.

Clever.  Cleverer.  Cleverest.
So clever when she spoke;
I find it now so obvious,
She'd not read a word I wrote.
"Your poetry is clever, but you need to do something for the benefit of others... blah, blah, blah." The nerve of some people. My anti-trump ******* poems have been read by millions, thank you ma'am.
EL Borromeo Jun 2020
carve your words on winds
and let the fleeting air
caress the wounds
you courageously cut open;
let them bleed again
and let the fresh scent
send the birds to singing;
forget about the inked papers —
no one reads anymore
and the world forgets anyway
Prabesh May 2020
Yes, we often come across one another at that old library
All these years and you clueless of my intention
Have you noticed I am always in your periphery
I always pick the same book but never will I ever mention
I remember the day you inquired about my favorite book
A simple question, our first conversation, and your curious look
I wish I could have said it was you
The only book I read among the very few
Again and Again
You don't have to do anything. Just his or her presence can change your daily seasons.
Prabesh Apr 2020
The sky cries again in agony
Flashing the lights to conceal its pain
Hammered against the innocent dirt
Losings its fight to get clean again

Let this body soak up its share
For darkness has a way to repair
These wounds that run deeper than seas
The mind says sorry, the heart says please!

So, let the lights slowly dim out
As pain has reached its maximum charts
Can't help but embrace this inner shout
The needle almost seems like poison darts
Just playing with what comes to mind.
Prabesh Apr 2020
Drowning in the pool of judgement syndrome
The cold water soothes my festering burn
Tangled between hours like a ****** palindrome
Air escapes my lungs like the westering sun

So pull me against the gravity if you can
These legs refuse to wake from their sleep
face my tales of depravity a man
Who begs for the ache but runs from the weeps

The fading warmth welcomes this surging numbness
Eyelids now decide to double their weights
Intelligent ones breeding an incessant dumb race
Thy deeds do not outweigh their widening plates

Is it strange that i like my wounds fresh?
Sort of like a hangover that never ends
I hide my intentions behind this skin dress
Reveal one day I must, infliction my only mend
Just poured out my inner thoughts on paper. Its midnight and I just let my pen do my work.
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