Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
False Poets Feb 2018
there is no value in a poem that reads
M M l i f e s u c k s x x x n o p o e m i g o t


nerve; crap bs, a denial of craft

seek the intelligent intelligible,
kiss the sensational thrill that
emotion harvests with resonating tenses
that beg our brains to differ, sense

this claims,
there is no value in no words is
a hoax cloaked as art by the weak,
make thy metaphors metastasize,
my every cell, a preposition,
preposterous and precious and
comforting in their
privations and provocations

speak to us in alpha and
line our eyes wide,
with pictures at an exhibition
of a faun immobile and beauteous

let me hang on every word of yours and
let it be the raft that sees me happily
unsafe home

take your bs line poem  
shove it down your silent voice

this is not avant garde; this is insulting

p.s.  write me a smile and all will be_____
A Mar 2018
I'm drifting on an endless sea,
All I hear is the rolling waves,
As I drift so quietly,
My hope begins to break.

I'm drifting in this endless sea,
All I see is eternal blue-green,
As I find my heart is silent,
It begins to shatter.

I'm drifting with this endless sea,
All I know is hunger and thirst,
As my old radio crackles,
The last bit of power fades.

I'm drifting on an endless sea,
All I feel is the power of the tide,
As my raft is thrown about,
My body sinks down.

I'm sinking in an endless sea,
All I know is that I'm drowning,
As my breath leaves in a cloud of bubbles,
I begin to die.

I'm floating in this endless sea,
All I feel is fear,
As my hands close around water,
Death is very near.

I'm swimming through this endless sea,
All I see is saltwater,
As my arms desperately stroke,
My lungs taste the air.

I'm treading this endless sea,
All I see is the hull of a ship,
As my arms wave at the crew,
They notice me there.

I'm out of the infinite sea,
All I know is that I'm free,
As a blanket wraps around my shoulders,
I know that it's all right.
A poem on being stranded after a shipwreck.
Purcy Flaherty Feb 2018
Drifting on a raft of dreams
Listing to the birds & trafic
Timothy hill Mar 2017
Shower of hell pours down into your being.

You cast others as dust to your kind of soul.

Shallow stains with only pity.

Ye hold no hate raft only take its place.

You do know you are of strange depitions.

So be kind, and not too overly stern for you shall seek love of beauty.

Death is a font in style with harsh structure.

Huge door, like sentences knock down your barriers let the pure light Pierce threw.

And you will become of some thang new.

Until this day, you are meaner, than a stage full of people with a mild cast of rage.

Sad tears flood, your place you need a life saver yet you shrug at that too.

I met you last summer and you where kind and polite.

Now you are meaner, and denser than effects can construct.

So I'll ask what made you this way?

Was it the death, of your friend that took his life by the "knife blood driping" down as a mother pulls it out.

The fog of that very moment hazed your light.

Now you persit to overwhelm your life with your own made strees.

Yes it was that I miss his friend ship.
Of a old lost friend.
Alan S Bailey Dec 2016
The Raw, Wild West Indeed!

I'm in a raft you gently paddle
The sense of this argument that comes
To me and tells me I've been a wild fool,
Better off smothered, a tool,
That entraps me in this triangle
of guilt, fear, and waves of madness.
I am on the verge of a total meltdown
Because you sing gently and dip your oar
Into the water quietly.

All the time!

It's now finally sundown,
Still the ebb and flow of my nerves
Are unsettled as the world spins around me,
My stomach in a knot I can't breath.
This is the end and *my heads numb,
I can not feel,
There is one thing on my mind and it won't
Go anywhere so it disappears a distant hush.
There is the scent of flowers on your tidy scarf,
It reminds me of the fragrance of too much
Cologne. I try to escape but you hold all the keys,
*I just wish your boring "epic" show of modern
Over perfection would leave me alone!
K Balachandran Feb 2016
A battle ground with limits not marked
full of strife , happiness but an occasional shower,
even if one tries to embellish it with
all of the fluff one can gather,
life is an enchanted land where we chase a myth,
that changes it's rules without any prior notice,
queer too, it punishes one with rewards, sometimes!

But at this moment I forget all that,
find no reason to harp on that, just forget

such lovely, clear blue eyes
eager to get lost in to mine!
even without batting an eyelid,
for a long while,is nothing but rapture, pure!

A moment, hand crafted by love, a magical spell,
spills over, makes one feel a  superman in real world
so let's strive to create a dream boat, for blithe lovers
a raft of love to voyage across the ocean called life.

I'd collect such moments,immortal,pearl like, we gift to us
make a chain, to adorn you my queen, in your honor.
veenus Nov 2015
"The sleeping and the dead are but as pictures,"* she said,
But that's not what it seems like to me.
I've been caught red-handed
With bloodstains on my conscience
And my cousin lying dead on the floor.
They must all think I'm crazy
With the way I'm yelling at the walls.
Voices are telling me
That sleep won't come for me anymore.

"Macbeth does ****** sleep,"
That's what they're telling me now.
"Macbeth does ****** sleep,"
I know I won't get rest, for sure.

I know I've done wrong,
And she's telling me to move on with my life,
But it's hard with royal blood
Creeping up on my guilty conscience.
They look at me like I'm crazy;
My sanity is running low.
Voices scream inside my mind,
I know I've brought sleep to its final rest.

"Macbeth does ****** sleep,"
That's what they're telling me now.
"Macbeth does ****** sleep,"
I know I won't get rest, for sure.
For my 12th grade English class, we had to do a RAFT writing assignment.

Role of the Writer: Who are you as the writer? A movie star? The President? A plant? // Macbeth
Audience: To whom are you writing? A senator?  Yourself? A company? // Myself, the reader/listener
Format: In what format are you writing? A diary entry? A newspaper?  A love letter? // Song
Topic: What are you writing about? // Guilt. ******. Death. Insomnia.
the lone survivor is on
his raft at sea
creaking and swaying
in a tide that can't decide
calmness or turbulence

the sun is out yet
the clouds are endless
together in their gray
unison like a blanket
of dust

his eyes greet the waters naught
but opaque and black
were it not for the navy streams
from the poor muddled light
Might add to it.  Wanted to make a more metaphorical poem.

— The End —