keep the doors shut,
keep them closed.
when the wind blows, don’t let them open,
don’t let the doors go.
the knocking sound calls you to open up,
but don’t let careless emotions show!
keep the doors shut!
no matter how many knocks you hear below!

keep the doors shut,
keep them closed.
when voices start to grumble inside,
it’s tempting to let world know.
feeling like a hero?
maybe like that open gate’s a grove,
where people will be safe inside,
where people will find a home!
get rid of all your lies!
your words could never bring them hope!
keep the doors shut!
for they will always choose that rugged road!

-keep the doors shut
because opening them
only lets the darkness in
every time your try to show the light-

-keep the doors shut
because mosquitoes make their hives
right outside the walkway light
and come inside in expert time,
enough to suck your blood-

-keep the doors shut,
for being a symbol is a wanton game,
a desire to be held the same,
praised and pulled in every way!
don’t you love the spotlight gaze!
and the feeling of a voice heard in a moments daze!
your words plastered on some expensive page!
it’s good enough for a pleasant date,
but turns your heart into a bad omen-
Shofi Ahmed May 2017
A song like King David sang and everyone heard
It’s the sweet song sang in every mother tongue;
A perfumed speech is heard sweeter than nectar
wreaths round each patch of earth as part of a tongue
in all different variations, directions it’s singing!
Mathematically comped that rhythmically span
fashion in both or you choose science or arts.
It’s a lyric sang with finest curvy swaying dance
feel the quivers deep down into the atomic level
still the various motions in various directions turn on,  
nowhere near that look drawing a pause!
Delia Darling Jul 15
My heartbeat's gone all wrong
A stuttering flutter of rhythmic butter
Something this organ's been slipping on
And what is the tempo marking, dear?
Quarter note equals freakin’ infinity
It's come to my attention, I fear
I never breathed a note this long
Sarah Isma Jul 14
i was fine,
until you came,
then my world fell from its frame,
though you never talked to me,
nor even spared a glance at me,
so i guessed,
you never cared that much about me,
as weeks were flying by,
and i thought of saying goodbyes,
i wanted to walk away
from your life,
but for some god forsaken reason,
you said: hi, how’s your day?
i thought it was shit but said:
now it’s kinda okay...
back to our story where,
we could have been,
something special,
something sweet,
a pair to be cute to mention
but that’s just me,
in my fantasy,
because i know,
you’re with that girl,
who’s prettier...
than me.
this was actually a song i made, it had a tune and melody but now when it’s in written form i can’t shake off the rhythm and the sound of my ukulele when i read it. however it is, im satisfied with how this piece turns out, a short story about my college love life. Kudos to you, boy.
JC Godfrey Jul 8
Aunt, Dì có
has a bat, Một con dơi
Dì có một con dơi.

She keeps it, Cô ấy giữ nó
In her coat, Trong áo khoác,
When she goes walking.
Cô ấy giữ nó trong áo khoác
When she, Khi cô ấy
Goes walking, đi bộ
khi cô ấy đi bộ

Aunt has a bat, she keeps it in her coat when she goes walking.
Dì có một con dơi, Cô ấy giữ nó trong áo khoác khi cô ấy đi bộ.
This poem doesn't particularly mean anything, it is written in Vietnamese which I personally believe can be very poetic as the 'common' words tend to be short but when compiled into sentences build up a rhythm. I'm honestly not too sure where I got this idea from.
MicMag Jul 5
they say there ain't rhythm
they say it don't rhyme
but people get famous off that kinda shit
all the damn
MicMag Jul 4
is it important to rhyme?
do the cool kids care?
will they give me the time
if the 4th line ends in a different sound than line B?

the nature of poetry's changed
we've given up the rules
we allow a greater range
of thoughts and rhythms and forms and types and schemes and what not

you can even follow tradition
writing old-school poems
but make it special edition
by screwing with people's minds and changing one little structural thing mwahaha

will this trend stick?
can i name this new style?
or should i just pick
whatever words come to mind to wrap up this so-called-poem
and make people wonder what the hell they just read?
Burst Jul 3
Megan Casey
My liefste meisie

You make my heart...skip a beat
Skip a beat
Skip a beat
If you were a song, I'd play you on repeat

You are delicate and true
Luminous, through and through
My sunshine in the morning
My sky so blue

You're the rhythm to my happiness
The tempo, to my flow
Pulse to my heartbeat
And your melody is so.....
So, so sweet
You force my feet
To dance to your tune
In a trance so complete

Your voice is the harmony
I'm the listening ear
Without your frequencies
My hearing would disappear

I truly do
Really really
LOVE you.
Shofi Ahmed Jun 30
If I am gone  
vanish like pieces
into the atom.

It ain’t complain
lets drawback
spur in rhythm.
rob kistner Jun 22
(for Hoppy)

he snapped his shine cloth
and shared his stories

tales of joy
tales of pain
his Memphis blues
his Mis'sippi river

his truth fixed there
in warm brown eyes
deep and turbulent
as that big muddy

his rich voice
broadleaf husky
thick as sorghum
smooth as bourbon
Beale Street bourbon

his weathered face
cut with sorrow
marked and scarred
by years of burden
tears of witness

each sculpted crease
bore testament

cracked hands reach
with suffered care
wrap tailored leather
in polished love

callused fingers
yellowed by habit
roll the rhythm rag
pulling the sheen
with sweat and spit
blood and bone

as if to wipe clear
the broken promises
the failed love
the soul stains
of pickin' fields
of cruel streets
of dark back allies

a harsh wisdom
hard learned

the pop and slap
the tempo'd snap
to please my ears

the soulful cadence
stirs my spirit
lifts my worry
brings a smile

and makes my step
strong as conviction
light as a feather


rob kistner © 2013
(revised 2018)
This is a tribute to a black man we called Hoppy. He had a shoe shine stand in an alcove, in front of the First National Bank in the Ohio town where I grew up.
As kids, my friends and I would sit on the bank's lawn, listening to Hoppy sing and tell his stories. We were fascinated by his tales and his Memphis twang. He rolled his own tobacco cigarettes. We thought he was magical.
I remember the day when Hoppy wasn't there, and we learned he had died. My friends and I all cried - a lot. ;(
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