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Renie Simone Feb 2021
We see things that other females
don’t pay a tuppence to.
Like a half-burned cigarette tail,
Your osculation of deep, dense rouge—
A secret trusted only by two.
With our own hands, we mimic time
And manipulate the world you once knew.
Falling in love with a writer is a faulty design.

To your heart, we assail
With words plunked to a tune;
In your soul, with great force, we impale.
From a love-front angle of view
You might feel a tad misconstrued,
like a poorly mixed cocktail.
Ricochet from baseline to fault line,
But every time you pull through ‘cause you knew,
That falling in love with a writer is a broken design.

When we close our eyes and slowly inhale;
We hear the laughter of a family in an empty room
And unveil the retold, recycled tales.
Picturing why the dust rests less heavily on one broom,
And can smell the meal Ma cooked when they came home from school.
From the underworld and past the skyline,
We scour everything down to its last detail.
Falling in love with a writer is a grueling design.

To us, your eyes flourish like flowers in June
With lips– silky like cabernet wine.
And although sometimes we forget to say we love you,
Remember that falling in love with a writer can be a beautiful design.
I can't remember what kind of poetry this was inspired by, any helpers? I wrote this in school while I still had Love in June engraved in my head.
quinn Feb 2021
the mouth of the wide vortex is in esse,
made of the same atoms as flowers and
oceans, organs and soundwaves, it demands
physics, laws, follows them with faithfulness
just like one of us. nothing more nor less
is it, no great power does it command:
in disbelief we shoot it from our land
back to its ‘place’, no boundaries transgressed.
how could we believe in those new places
viewed from the jaws of the living threshold?
that it’s all like our home, all vast and old
and developed. if we just go into space,
the secrets we long for would then unfold.
with care, accept the vortex’s embrace.
yeaah i'm just obsessed with portals and other universes!
This path is drenched in blood and tears, with me walking upon it,
My reign shall run for many years, without a question on it,

This path I pave is narrow,
But it's the only one,
To rid of all the sorrow,
I'll do what must be done,

I wish this path were one of love,
And not one of damnation,
For there is a goddess up above,
And I'm riding of her creation,

A crimson flower blossoms in it's search for the sun,
Again this path is one of pain but it's my only one.
A poem inspired by Edelgard Von Hresvelg from Fire Emblem Three Houses(I'm a gamer geek like that.)
Aditya Roy Jan 2021
Is your ruthless heart brave and emboldened
Does your heart not waver, I know it flies
Birds wither in wait of your golden sun
As blithe wings should with the loveliest of white

Let's fly seas that have remained quite unseen
Air of fair clouds and sweetness of blonde curls
In my cold solace, with the warm silver face alone
Moonbeams rain! We soon make worlds of our own

How we clasp nights not meant to stay
Hope that finds ecstasy in this passage
Will soon be gone at the break of bright day
Yet, what is lost is not mourned, only bit aged

Your presence such old memories it brings
If nearer the sun, I'd melt my wax wings
I tried a Spenserian sonnet. Because it is slow, just how I like my poetry to be.
Thomas W Case Jan 2021
I love her enough to write her sonnets;
to use an unfamiliar form to woo her.
Rhyme schemes are like a bee in my bonnet.
If she were cold, I'd be a coat of fur,
wrapping her body in love and heat.
Warming her soul in fuzzy animal bliss.
I long to rub her gorgeous shy feet,
and taste her inner thighs with a soft kiss.
When she's away, I can hear my heart break.
I can taste her salty tears in the wind.
I'm a vampire, this distance is my stake.
Taking her for granted was my deadly sin.
The first tender blossoms ache into bloom;
and I will feed her hungry orchid soon.
Evan Stephens Jan 2021
Rude, infant cloud,
stamping east -
will you carry
something for me?
Bleachy lump, shroud,
linen's careless crease
in bloodless aerie,
trawl a lyric to quay.
White-headed, bowed
beneath high fleece,
insolent taffy, ferry
over salt-rutted sea:
Take them, these words -
before I ask the birds.
ABCD ABCD ABCD EE
Tryst Jan 2021
I look the last this land I leave behind —
Timeless as water, bountiful as sorrow,
Abode today, a memory tomorrow;
Her contours etched untarnished in my mind —
How sweet our first encounter; how unkind
That time which man is wont to beg and borrow
Brought forth this bitter twilight ere a morrow
When all our self-same sunsets will have shined —
    Henceforth sunrise shall tarry ere it greets me;
    The midday sun shall cast a sterner gaze
    As paths unknown reveal their hidden troves;
    Home is the sacrifice for those who journey
    Without return;  We venture through the groves
    Of doubt and fear to set our lives ablaze.
Ron Conway Jan 2021
When brothers and sisters display their ambition,
Disquiet begins with an overlapped mission.
Not likely are they to conceive coalition,
As free competition's the price of admission.

With hindsight perspective, the point of ignition,
Was broken commitment and lies of omission;
That turbulent fireball, conscious volition,
Set flame to the nexus of love and tradition.

The holidays come with attached contradiction,
And multitudes gather like rats in a kitchen.
Their greetings exchanged in colloquial diction;
The better to manage their vasoconstriction.

Relations, though sweetened, still lack in nutrition,
Society weakened, you'll rise through attrition.
                                                       rc
Ron Conway Jan 2021
In every population there are fools,
and those who can't accept a fair defeat.
The weaker minded souls become the mules,
incited by repeated lies and tweets.

Psychology en mass is quite the art;
you influence the least incisive first.
(Would anyone call Chicken Little smart?)
Exhorting to the base invokes the worst.

We shouldn't be surprised, yet here we are.
In shock we watched democracy catch fire.
A wound this deep will surely leave a scar,
all caused by one capricious despot's ire.

Can those who would all verity efface,
return from so profound a loss of grace?
                                                  rc
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