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Trinkets Nov 23
we have an understanding
you and I
carefully tiptoe around

no touch waltz game of mirrors
and pretending
we do not see
attempts to follow or to lead
all focus on to hide
enough to please believe

I am worthy of the dance
  

inner thoughts printing press
working overtime
writing stories variations
hundreds thousands
locked up overflowing
when any one would do

finding myself
grasping lighters
hiding in my pockets
desperately wanting
something real
a fire all consuming
destroying what is me
to burn all past beliefs

I would grab old stories
by the handful crumpled paper
dismiss all for just one truth
throw them all to fuel flames
for just one scribbled piece
of any story from you


answers in a conversation
surrendered for imagined somethings
the nature of human loneliness
reading only what there is to read

there never would be fires
or firework displays

no darkened smoke
no burning out
no disappointment

just endless inner libraries in decay
Ritz Writes Oct 2023
Sweet and supple golden nectar
Caress my lips, gentle as a kiss.
There is no step that I would not venture;
Nor no succulent sip that I would miss.
A touch of lips
In a state of bliss,
Unable to resist.
Closely rhymed with a kiss; and the tongue in between makes a hiss.
The world around is set ablaze
Stuck together in this sweltering maze.
To wish upon the stars to stay a little longer
And hope for the moon to hold in a little more fonder.
~RitzWrites 🍁
"We don't see things as they are, we see them as we are." ~Anaïs Nin
Louise Aug 2023
Five summers, four lovers
and three checkbooks ago,
I've been here, as I am today.
Same corner, same shade of gloomy day,
and about the same volume of falling rain,
still a one-call-away favorite friend of pain.
Only now I am much more
clever and conniving,
more calculating
and dare I say,
more frightening.
My approaching steps are the pitter-patter
of the storm starting,
the thundering warning of my arrival
is Manila's hour rushing.
Words from my lips
are news you'd rather miss,
however I can't say the same
about my infamous kiss.
I am older, and longer are my to-do lists.
My patience is longer,
but my heart no longer sighs or beats.
Quick cafe scribble
Ankita Gupta Feb 2021
Everyday is spring, Everyday is autumn
Today is Summer, infamously hot and stagnant

Clouds are still, leaves don't rustle
Birds have gone away and all there's left is sun

There are burns from winter, frozen for too long
No summer warm enough to melt, though today tries

Come again someday when there is spring, when there is autumn
Be summer with ice then, and maybe melt away
Arunima Nambiar Jul 2020
At night, stars are trying to being perfect by twinkling.
Moon just keeping his stunning look.
But she who always being herself born with dark circles and having thin spectacles is still writing poetry by using her untidy heart...
Flow with your creative spirit....
Hazel grey Jul 2020
I've been bleeding out words
Realizing that its just a pointless scribble.
I've been reciting poems into the void
Hoping someone would decipher it.
Anshika Raj Apr 2020
Handed down through the ages,
Humanity in hearts and reverance for the sages.

This place is more like a heaven on Earth,
Myriad of religions are taken here birth.

Our emperors were too kind to invade any country,
Million of channels telecast it's documentary.

Jai Hind and Satyamev Jayte resides in our heart,
Our sand handles both a motor and a cart.

The holy Ganga flows from the bottom of Himalayas,
So is worshipped for being called a gift like Matthias.

The Himalayan is fit like a crown on our mother's head,
Climatic variations and monsoon rainfall are so evenly spread.

World's economy has an immense eminence of zero,
Invented by Aryabhatta; Ramanujan- the Maths hero.

Bhagat Singh, Laxmi Bai had been an epitome of strength,
Education is vastly spread and immeasurable in length.

Variety of raiment is seen in every state,
Twenty two languages and each with a feel of sedate.

Vendors working daily amidst tumults on roads,
Poetry scribbled by poet as their respectful odes.

Colours of rainbow is reflected here well,
Luscious cuisines grabs heed by the smell.

Geeta, Qur'an, Adi Granth and Bible,
At different hours, they worship their idols.

Vaisakhi, Christmas, Holi and Eid
we stand together as a pillar in every need.

Writings are not only read in books,
But scripted on walls, painting on hooks.

Folk arts, tribal arts, feet beating on rhythm,
Dance forms are many, depicting their vision.

Here, women are treated equal to men,
Delhi and Mumbai got their place in the list of wen.

We treat our guests as the heavenly God,
One can visit here either by plane or brod.

Weddings are held by following every ritual,
Our ways may differ but our hearts are mutual.

With so much of glory do not mistake it as Neverland,
As this Golden bird does not fly but stays on land.
Ingram Feb 2020
I’ve been trying to string words together
in hopes a poem will be the result,
but all I have is a page of scribbles
as it laughs like an intellectual insult.
Aditya kumar Jan 2020
Wait!
Where are you going?
Can i ask you something?
How have you been?
Sorry i wasn't there
When you were trapped within
When you were suffering
From your darkest fear
Scribbling the past
Along with your tears.

Sorry i wasn't sure
About you and your pain
That your blood
Still suffer those tapered veins,
My touches has now turned into scars
I know you were born
And named as a star.

I deliberately imprinted my thoughts
Into your mind
So that one day
You could be mine
I waited,
Waited for a while
Waited for you
To come back into my life,
Still waiting
To heal your pain
Peace your brain
Trust me
I can make your wings...fly again.
B D Caissie Sep 2019
You may take our words and make them yours.

But our fiery spirit is what makes a true writer soar.

We scribble with our hearts, like so many who’ve come before.

For most it’s therapy for their internal raging wars.

Our words are endless like waves crashing along the shore.

Slowly eating at your conscience receding more and more.

Like the rising and setting of the sun our words will endure.

Therefore armed with our pens it’s you we feel sorry for.
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