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Kay-Rosa Apr 26
Yeah, I write poetry.
Poetry is 'lit'.
It's emotion put into words we poets know
can't even begin to express our thoughts.
It's a lyrical dance with rhyme and rhythm and melody
with out the back up.
It's a safe space, where 'Anonymous' can be the most relatable person you've ever experienced.
It's a 'Come-to-Jesus' for some, a 'Join Lucifer's army' for others.
We find poetry through feeling or lack of it;
I found poetry through 'inner pain'.
Some find it through love, hurt, loss, new beginnings and old endings.
So, yeah. Maybe its not super upfront, and decoding the symbolism takes
heart, but, feeling reality will never go out of style.
Ankita Gupta Feb 17
Open the door
Enter the time that lapsed
Draw out the curtains
There is light from the past
Breathe the air
Dance to the tunes slow and fast
Ride the carriages
Travel to the time of chance
sing me a story
sing me a song
sing me old country
it's where I belong
so sing me a story
and I'll come along
sing me a story
an old country song

Are the lights still out in Georgia?
Is the man in black in jail?
How are things in old El Paso?
Sing a song and tell a tale

Did the devil win his fiddle?
How's the Harper Valley PTA?
Did they ever stop that convoy?
Is he loving her today?

sing me a story
sing me a song
sing me old country
it's where I belong
so sing me a story
and I'll come along
sing me a story
an old country song

Is there a red headed stranger?
What went off that bridge in June?
Did the gambler ever fold them?
What was howling at the moon?

Is Donna Fargo still that happy?
Do you smell whiskey in the air?
Is the circle still unbroken?
Is there an angel hiding there?

sing me a story
sing me a song
sing me old country
it's where I belong
so sing me a story
and I'll come along
sing me a story
an old country song
Pick it up
     Slowly dial

Say hello
     Talk awhile

Bring back old times
     Talk of new

Remember the friendship
     That continually grew

Talk for hours
     And reminisce

Talk of old friends
     That you may miss

Now the bill is increasing
     It's time to go

There will be more times
     To say hello

For it is no big task
     To make a call

Just pick up the phone
     That hangs on the wall
So I wrote this poem back in 1987 for my best friend who my family moved away from. Living so far apart was hard for us so the telephone was out connection.  I was 11.
Mr Q Sep 2017
My eyelids refuse to kiss, wide,
they retreat far into dirt and sky.

The bottom lid is too occupied
with the layers of black fudge
frosted below both my eyes.

The top cap, too green to budge,
starts a secret affair with the lady
wearing a fur scarf up on my ridge.

They ***** with needles of hair
to make their once-kin bleed red,
but the only veins that appear

are on the black and blue gem
swaddled in my glossy white quilt,
cracks of lava in its wet soft nest.

My eyelids refuse to kiss.
They fight like street lights built
over the glow of neon signs.

My eyelids refuse to kiss,
but my lashes grow lush.

When the sun rises again,
an eclipse covers them
with a final wink, a touch.
Ceyhun Mahi Feb 2017
At night, after having paid
Money coins we just had made,
We enter the gates of fun;
Playing games of the arcade.

We're covered under neon,
Until the bright times of dawn,
Surrounded by beeps and peeps,
Playing games of the arcade.

How beautiful is this night!
Where each thing glitters at sight,
Fueled by the gushing coins while
Playing games of the arcade.
Heartbreak Motel Apr 2016
I want to live inside a black and white TV.
Magazine and Studebaker Commander.
Country houses and housewifes.
Jewels and red wine.

Roses shall fade, as well as my beauty, but my anger is eternal.

You knows what we say about past? That it's better where it is.
I beg you, take me there. But if you can't...
As Judy Garland said,
"This is the end of romance, I'll go my way by myself, love is only a dance"
O.P
hannah Dec 2015
she always crossed the street so suddenly,
she would stand right on the curb as cars flew past her.
she wanted to drop out of high school.
run away, and just live her ******* life.
she hated being tied down to something or someone.
she taught me life shouldn’t be taken so seriously
and to live in the moment more often.
she was this mysterious, fearless girl
who wanted nothing more than to figure out this huge ****** up world.
h.d.
i wrote this while listening to her play colors by halsey on the guitar
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