Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
How to gain the confidence to complete a simple task?
a bit of a lighter note than other poems I’ve been posting lately…
a twisty verbiage, but stop!
it is not cutesy or frivolous,
buy an awed respect,
for that fact;
the complexity of the monumental
is the sum of:
the bricks, the letters,
the words, the lines, the stanza and
of course, the spaces in between
that makes simple so ****
complex
2-18-25
feeling good
i count the ways,
the little things
that bless my days,
a beautiful sunrise
lights the sky,
each one is special
i don't ask why,
i stand in awe
a vision treat,
such little blessings
can't be beat.
So there's this girl
A small girl with tired eyes
She says she loves me
And I wish that I could believe her
That she was anything more than just
Water flowing through my hands
And when the bucket is empty
I'll still see her, and it won't be the same

So there's this woman
A stressed woman with worried eyes
She sees nothing more than the night before
She asks "Are you okay?"
And I tell her, "No, I'm not."
And we leave it at that.
And the next day
We do the same thing.

So there's this gun
A gifted gun with one beckoning eye
It is darker than anything I've ever stared at.
And when I look into it, I get scared.
Because I want to be whole again,
To feel the sun on my skin
To feel that hair in my face
To feel those lips on mine.
But the sun is killing me.
Because I can't be your sun.

So there's this note.
You don't have to read it
It doesn't have much merit.
I just thought about you
So I found my gift.
My wonderful god given gift.
To leave everyone I care about.
Because the sun gives you cancer.
I hate this poem and it ***** and I'm not that good today, so I'm sorry.
The sun shines
But though it
Hides from time to time
The sun is still shining
But like the stars and moon
It is hidden by the day light
At the height of its beauty
There dies the cherry blosson
To make way to the cherry
Am I making sense with this
As the leaves turn colour and
Fall
The beauty gives way to
The death of winter
Winter when everything dies
And renews its self
This I say that the nature
Is know different from man
One dies and another is born
And so on and so on
This is just the cycle of it all
Now Let's have a ball
In the fall are the stars
Come out of hiding to
Greer the sleeping and the dead
Lets break bread  and be on
Our merry way
This is the cycle of life
And death
The promise that is annoying
But the greatest promise of all
The continued cycle of it all.
Gideon Mar 7
Profundity is found
in the simple, everyday
occurrences that our
human brains apply
immense meaning to.
⸎⟆⥉⦕⫯⟴ Ode to the Count De St. Germaine ⸎⟆
Dearest Count,
I know you watch and listen.
It is through you I set sail upon this ship of thoughts
To you, to whom, I christen.

These polysemic effulgence do, alas, waxen, wane,
but seldom in vain.
In antediluvian silence drawn,
manifests in hyperborean dearth
a logos, sir in autochthonous rebirth.

Their, hierophantic murmurs will obfuscate,
the omphalos of matter, still inchoate,
where perichoresis in vertiginous tide
the fractal that doth  assuredly bide.

A palimpsest of null embrace
where these false augurs drink from hollowed urns,
and time itself forgets to turn.

Perfidious orisons, whisper-thin,
in circumflected aeons spin,
converging on the cusp of naught,
where paradigms in silence rot.
A chrysalis of paradox,
enshrouds the fey, unbridled clocks,
that chime in fugue, then dissipate
beyond the hinge of latent fate...

The pericombobulatory grand design
deliquesces in auctorial decline!

(Syncretic palingenesis unspools,
within the aether’s epistemic pools,
a syzygetic parallax unweaves
the thaumaturgic spoor that time bereaves.)

For naught but vacuous profundities remain,
a simulacrum of the arcane mundane,
where in sesquipedalian grandeur lies
a syllogism clad in grandiloquent guise.

Ouroboric concatenations of antinomian design,
circumvolute within paracryptic paradigms malign,
as obmutescent theogonic vestiges coalesce
in the eidetic zymurgy of aphasic largesse.

Metagnostic palimpsests, fracto-linear and obtuse,
catachrestically wane in hyperchromatic profuse,
whilst locutions, effulgent yet contrite,
obumbrate the paramorphic tautology of night.

A transcendental abecedarium, paralogical and vast,
consanguineous with the inexorable umbrage
of our shared Jungian past,
germinates within the syntagmatic—
Ever relaxed or ecstatic,
Coalesced to pragmatic,
Lugubriously emphatic.

Within this hypostatized ratiocinative mire,
where sophronistic axiom and non-being conspire,
one finds but an echolalic, chimerical gleam,
an ontosemantic palinode to the dream.

The Archetype realized.
The Alchemist mystically re-materialized.

Count, oh Count.
"Wherefore art thou," indeed,
in this : our time of greatest need.
My woeful lack of vocabulary; I can but hope this crude assemblage of words conveys even a fraction of my admirable umbrage.
Anais Vionet Feb 2
Maybe I’m too simple
or too shallow
but I’m not angry.
What’s wrong with me?

I was trying to think
of someone I hate,
Jews, CIS guys, republicans,
palestinians, blacks, democrats,
the left handed, authority figures,
central americans, parents, vagrants,
the usual suspects, but I’m coming up empty

Things aren’t perfect
don’t get me wrong
I’ve got a pug nose
a flat chest
a giant forehead
and too much work to do
but I’m trying my best—

Worse yet, I’ve no plummeting anxieties
no obvious neurosis
—that one could be a misdiagnosis
no painful hangnails
no sad life tales
no addictions to defend
or hated ex-boyfriends
I have no emo hooks to pin my verse.
no current melodramas to cozen and coerce
between you and me, I think I’m off the rails
It’s really no wonder my poetry pales.

Yeah, that’s what’s wrong with me.
.
.
Songs for this:
Gee, Doctor by Dimie Cat
Sweet Lovin' (feat. Anna-Luca & Iain Mackenzie) by Club des Belugas
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 01/11/25:
Cozen = to win over, or coax.
Ma'ya Jan 28
"Pretty".
Blurted my mind when I,
First laid my eyes on you.
The way you laugh,
The way you smile,
The way you stand there pretty.
Is this what I should uhh,
Really be saying about a guy?
I do not know..

But what I do know is that,
It tickles?
The way you call my name,
Oh so endearingly.
The way I am reflected,
In your eyes, only me.
The way you laugh so contagiously,
Over my dumbest of jokes.
It tickles.

And I wish, I knew then.
What started out as admiration,
Became something I fear most.
Because the moment,
My heart voluntarily beats for you,
Was the day I would lose,
A part of me forever.
The part of me that,
Refused to believe in love.

Started to believe,
In Loving Only You.
Counting years.
Next page