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fray narte Oct 4
i wish knowing you're not worth the words is enough to make me stop writing about you.

but apparently, it's not.
Tyler Matthew Sep 28
I remember you well,
your crooked spine,
and heart of a widow
that’s turned so black.

What’s made you bitter?
I wonder, now.
You look back on years, but
you can’t go back.

Have you forgotten
my face by now,
even as I walk by you
in a roaring crowd?

Does it ever occur that
you could be wrong?
For me, the guilt I have,
it screams so loud.

There’re two kinds of people:
one kind forgives.
But that isn’t you, no,
and you don’t forget.

As I lean over to whisper,
“you’ve dropped your crown,”
your look is so telling -
you remember, yet.
Quick write - unsure of the inspiration or the significance.
Äŧül Sep 27
Its oil lit up by tiny sparks,
The night lamp in the corner glows.

Its light fills up this room,
The love flower is waiting to bloom.

The noise is from the loom,
Its expression will mute the gloom.
My HP Poem #1774
©Atul Kaushal
smoking a joint full of crystal cookies
I think of the poets tonight
everyone of them
climbing on each other
reaching for the top of the bucket
trying to escape
and everyone pulling
each other down
with no chance of reaching the top.
I look down into the pail
full of doleful glum
and it dampens my spirits
I want to pick it up
and dump it out
onto the sand.
I want to pull the thorn from their side
I want to release them from their anguish
but no one ever helped a fish
by pulling it out of the river
to save it from drowning
and I fear for their psychoanalysis
being swept away by the tides
of forgetfulness
I fear for without their sorrow
their creativity will be carried
off into a soulless sea,
lost and gone forever.
Faizel Farzee Sep 24
Emotions avoiding me again
Calling out to all momories
My heart bleeds to feel anything
I shakely pick up this pen

Ink rivers of anaesthesia
Singed to these healing pages
Emotions pouring
Like a Stormy winter rain on Sunday morning

Flighted words starting to soar
Cloaked in emotion
like dancing rivers flowing
from my heart it pours

All my heartache and darkness start to dissipate
These pages caging them
Sealing them with all of my hate
All wrapped up with the kiss of fate

Internal demons start to calm
They stopped rattling their cages
The relentless screaming has stopped
Now embedded in these pages.

I inhale the air of life
Rage dispersing
I let go of all the strife
Demons no longer fickle
Silently caged
Calmed to a trickle
When writings is your therapy,
Calms the burning air you breathe
Your water to fire
It's the world and you feel what you see.
Poets are an interesting bunch,
All half mad at least.
I say I love poetry
When the words tear me up inside,
Stealing every breath.
I say it soothes me
Even as it burns me,
Begging to be released.
"We all know we're crazy," I say.
"But we choose this life
Because we can't live without the fever dreams
Or syllables controlling our every move."
The non-poet stares at me,
Ellis Holden Sep 21
The world doesn't need another sad, sullen poet
-But it still made me
Tommy Randell Sep 21

This is the artifice of Poets
Such artifice.

A magician's trick
To make words fly

So those who relate
Are elated by the What-If's

To see poetry
As a great gift to the eye

To make every line
The edge of a cliff

A precipice
For the reader's heart and mind.


This is the drama of poetry,
Such drama.

The Truths being told
All dazzled up in lies

To make an honest rhymer
Seem like a king in waiting

A artist of language
And a dramatist of lines

The empty screen a waiting stage
Every page a hungry table

Where the poet serves
A feast for starving eyes


This is the history of Poets,
Such history.

The mystery
Of entering men's minds

And by the use
Of some old clichéd sophistry

Turn ink into
The precious gold of rhyme

Which down the ages
Has practised such alchemy

THAT desirable occupation
Worthy of all our time.

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