Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Breeze-Mist Jun 2016
My poet, I'm flattered by your attention
But your comments are rather misguided
You are mistaken about my condition
I truly wish your words could be abided
I'm not always quite this fair and gentle
And I'm not, by any means, eternal
Truthfully, sometimes I think I'm mental
Viewed closely, most previous notions fall
I'm not a fair day, I'm a hurricane
Inside my mind, flowers don't stand a chance
I'm sorry if my response gives you pain
But if you find that you still want to dance
I, too, would like to turn another page
And see if we share scenes in this world's stage
Cyrus Gold May 2016
Raise your hand* if
your confidence is reaching its limit
Well let me tell you,
don't dare believe it for a minute

A poet stands at the center
of circles of illusions
Sparked by the fire within
and burnin' institutions

They write about the current state
as far as they can see it,
as well as personal doubts
claimin' that they can feel it

Don't hand your savings over,
'cause now you pay it forward,
but life won't pay you back,

So what you say to that?

"I say we're bein' controlled
by such an evil system;
a metal contract was forced
on lost and bleedin' victims."

"I don't agree with you, man.
We're where we need to be.
With very little control,
we risk to eat for free!"

We risk to eat for free?

"Food's a commodity!
And with overpopulation,
I say this honestly!"

"Don't mean to interrupt;
your notion of depravity
appears dumbfounded and
far from grounded by gravity."

"I say this world belongs
to kings and innovators;
hope of the people is thrown
to the incinerator."

"We're seeking liberators
mightier than the sword.
We work to buy them a pen -
weapons we can afford."

"And when their eyes are wide open
I think that writers see
the world not for what it is,
rather what it could be."

"Yeah! They're talkin' for us metaphorically,
imaginin' utopias for you and me,
questions answered rhetorically."


The world is yours**
and no one else's,
so live to give it more time
through love and being selfless.
The piece could be a bit confusing, but to provide context, the first four stanzas revolve around a teacher asking his students the question (title of this piece). The rest are responses from different students. Fictional.
ebony rosa white May 2016
he walks in awe, and would curse my interest in night
of clear silence and sighs
at promiscuous men's obsession with purity
within his aspect and his eyes
he looks down to my ******* and I ask him why
to which he replies and typically denies

he caresses those who adore lust and then calls them '******' when they are no less
had they been tighter.. but he likes lace?
his hands stroke my raven tress
as he says I am not like the rest
he whispers that he will handle me best
but if I was not pure I know I would be in another place

I stroke his cheek and admire his brow
yet why does this man objectify me as eloquent
so soft? don't reply to my letter. so calm? you haven't met me properly, have you?
deceived by my smile but I am not deceived by yours, o' 'gent'
if only more had visited below
but then again, my heart would still be innocent!
I know Byron's poem 'She Walks In Beauty' can suggest various meanings, but this is my poetic reaction towards how women were admired by promiscuous men because they were pure, but those who weren't were frowned upon.
Arcassin B May 2016
By Arcassin Burnham


Perfect As you are, your the epitome
Of my existence and the flower that grows from my
Dome invading all my space courageously giving me
The upper hand to be your man in all this filth,
In all this rage,
In this wicked world , your my girl,
You might as well get use to it,
Abusing it,
Like prescription drugs,
Slow and vague as a slug,
Enquiry number of hugs,
I'll give you all the love that you need relentlessly
Claiming that you are mine and shouting to the world
That you're the one that has captured my body , my mind
And my soul,
Inside the space of my arms,
Your the one that I'd hold,
When I don't tell you my secrets then you thinks that it's cold,
She said "what are you afraid of" I said "wouldn't you like to know",
If you wanna feel yourself again just wiggle your toe,
Theres no choices in this life for us to make time go slow,
I have everything to live for , don't need a bone to throw,
If you wanna move to this place or this place then we'll go,
Pulling apart puzzle pieces of being a strong minded human being
Erasing things of the past then end up telling all your frienemies lacking
Discipline  and grace as you try to hold it together but it gets
Hard at times to wonder where you'll end up eventually,
I know no one will ever be into me,
And I've been fine with that since a pre-teen,
I got style and grace and creativity,
You're lacking all of the things that you seem to be.
http://arcassin.blogspot.com/2016/05/wouldnt-you-like-to-know.html

Bare with me...
Àŧùl May 2016
I'm all ears,
I'm all yours,
For coming years!
A 9-word poetic response to Aisha Harr's poem titled 'TIP 00'.

http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1653805/tip-00/

My HP Poem #1073
©Atul Kaushal
I went gentle into that good night;
A decision with which I am rather pleased,
For what would it profit me to rage?

When the absolute of the darkness slides in,
And grants me these last few moments
I see no incentive for them to waste.

Dissatisfied men may cry out in indignance,
And let anger and rebellion consume their last breaths,
And frivolously spend their last minutes in livid disdain.

Wild men who chase and pursue the stars in flight
Feel their chests swell with the hatred of submission,
But I? I know that the setting of the sun does not oppress.

Disappointing men reserve all defiance when it is most required;
When others’ blood pours freely and tears spill liberally
They will shackle all insurrection to themselves.

That is, until they are faced with this finality, this ultimatum
That they cannot change, no matter how they rage. Not I. I was content.
And with the last gifts,
I went gentle into that good night.
A reflection of Dylan Thomas' famed poem, "Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night."
- Apr 2016
I'm aware that our drinking might be damaging
to our livers, but
there's something amazing about seeing ourselves
without filters.

The pull you described-
I thought it was imaginary
as I'm not the best judge of my own character
and when you met me, I thought I was a *******.

Sometimes, I still think I'm a *******.

But you've molded me
into something far better,
a form I am proud to inhabit,
a soul I enjoy feeding
and feeling inside me.

Yes, you're an inspiration
and yes, your form and mind keep me awake
at night, imagining
possibilities-

ways to kiss you, adore you, be a better man for you -

(and yes,
I gendered myself

partially because you've made me realize
that my Self is a canon
of hope for others like me
and that I should cherish it)

There's nothing more precious to me
than waking up next to you,
feeling your eyelashes flutter
against my cheek as we rise,
procrastinating leaving our bed
because it's warm and inviting-

or feeling your breath in my ear
as you tell me your stories,
secrets
that I won't ever mention
to anyone-

You'll have everything I can give
in my emotional reserve.

You'll have my joy, pain, oblivion
and all in between.

You'll have time, love, patience, faith,
whatever you need,
my love,
ask
and it shall be granted
For V, in response to "Astrological Compatibility"
Free Bird Mar 2016
Lust is what's superficial,
but for some that's all they can muster.
Love is deeper than the fake facade;
It's not swimming, it's being pulled under.
This poem was written in response to "Is This What Love Is?" by Mouthpiece.
Oh Savoir faire,
the emotions you share
with your heart and your mind
let me know we are truly two of a kind.
This woman you speak of, the love of your life
is a destination you seek when she is your wife.
A goal set in motion by your mother and me
from a memory you have, age two perhaps three
lights the path of your journey
so you're not traveling blind
oh Savoir fair we must be
two of a kind.
Love you Son keep on writing

-Patrick D. O'Connor SR.-
My father wrote this to me in response to stroke story
Martin Narrod Dec 2015
shrug it off and be a boss
the best is yet to come
don't get stuck on 'falling back'
so fall forward if you would
Next page