Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Safana Jul 12
You give me all hope
All hope of capableness to
Sing a beautiful song
And, to danced a dance
Most adorable dance
Accolade, given to me to
Nurture our friendship

Jonesing for a cup of love
Oftentimes, you're sweetest
Habile and passion you are
Ahead of my feeling it's you
Read all above stanzas and
Inspire the warmth of love
Path Humble Nov 2014
on the paper
newly minted,
first time printed

causal pausation
assessment momentation
review, the second inclination,
then scrap-heaped,
in much bad company filed
retained, reserved, preserved,
for another go round,
another someday

you look at your hands,
telling them straight,
not good enough,
is not good enough
anymore

do try, so try,
three lines, four stanzas,
elegies and funerals
don't become you,
go into labor,
write labored
and birth free flowingly
knowing,
that all knowing glowing,
of a poem child,
product of
good enough
Bench Yourself

pensive, a quiet time,
yet, burning sensation
in the limbs,
but not in the one
that matters

the eyes function
the fingers flex,
breathing regular,
the words stuck
in an unapproachable place

you bench yourself,
let the backups play,
head in the game,
not today
Maegan deme May 2019
I am the first line
I am a different line
I prefer the first line
Well you’re wrong, the second one is better.
Nah nah you’re both wrong, line five is amazing.
Can we all just agree that line five is full of it?
Yeah I think most of us can, but line two might
Disagree.
I am the last line
Salmabanu Hatim Apr 2019
Here sits a poet,
A constellation  of thoughts,
A colourful sunset of rhythms,
Meteors of rhymes.
With pen in hand, by lamplight,
Only a poet knows
to create order from chaos,
His every word on paper flows,
Spinning dreams, emotions and wishes,
Whence the threads of figure of speech weaves,
A never-ending  tapestry of  poems.
Choreographing each stanza to be awesome,
Dancing over the meter,
Painting each picture to better,
The character,merit and existence,
Of what each poem means.
7/4/2019
rgz Mar 2019
I can see
in the way
that you move

alluring
seductive
and so pure

that for me
you will be
big trouble


I can feel
when you move
in that way

the demon
take over
gracefully

he sways me
enchanted
towards you


For the way
that you move
so freely

I can't help
but to stare
you seen it

and I knew
how you moved
was for me
I did do
a tricube
of tricubes

3x3x3 = 27
2+7 = 9
3+3+3 = 9
9/9 = 1
coincidence?
(no, it's maths)
I want to be a Black verse
Living off the society’s expectations,
I want to be a Free verse
Redefine this hypocrisy called democracy.

When I grow up,
I will be an exposed poem, with stanzas like a book of secrete.
Louisa Coller Sep 2018
Scattered notes from the passive mind,
re-analysed with blissful anticipation,
searching for descriptive ways to be defined.

Imaginative pebble paths give me temptation,
luring my instincts in like a curious cat in the night,
a sinful soul hidden within a blooming carnation.

There are many ways to catch a spark through spite,
I refuse to abandon my kind, gentle morale,
to become a puppet amongst those who refuse to contrite.

When respecting the masterpieces - no matter how small,
fuel awarded amusements I begin to rope in,
leave me crawling but never let me fall.

Cheering, motivation, intelligence and motion,
satisfactions fills me when my eyes are open.
quiel Apr 2018
i can
put words into
lines

and lines into
stanzas delicately
arranged on the
ground--
verses of my
design;

but what
words,
lines,
and stanzas
must i
string together
to make you

mine?
for some reason i can't put up poems ??? i have so much stored already :^(
I don't know the rules. If I go looking
for grace and find it, what will grace

be but penance for my past, a silver
sinew-thread wrapping 'round old
            wrongs, gray hair for the
                        fickle.

I've naught but want for sweet release
from this history. The bombs ignored,
            repeating in gramophone static
                        dripping stiff

as wet bamboo. I remember someone
once sang here, once strung together

chords so sweet they rang like peace-
bells beneath cloudless sky. They've
            rang the bell upon my jaw and
                        done no wrong.

It's not so much unlike one's curiously
cold reception at a funeral. The cold
            and rain ****** at the skin
                        during graveside hymnal.

As long as the earth continues
its stony breathing I will breathe.

That which I cannot help but do.
Stuck between boulders, I sing.

When it stops, I will shatter back
into gravity. Into quartz.
"Rimrock" is a poem from Kaveh Akbar's 2017 collection "Calling a Wolf a Wolf." Akbar's lines are in standard type; my lines are in italics.
Next page