Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Simon 4d
Logic isn’t focused with poetry. Poetry is purposely alienating logic. Splitting up logics meanings into pieces that can’t be put back together again. Only fitting back together in a more imaginative sense. Imaginative grasp of abstract functions winding up a newer playing field. Playing fields that aren’t taught, until you instinctively bind them back together again. Logic is thinking, right? Feeling makes it subjective. Instincts collapse the two. Rearranging them back into fitting purposes without design of chance. Chance is everywhere. But design is not necessary. Only when there is a purpose in thinking. Feeling is the doppelganger of neurons smashing synapses together. Filling in logic that doesn’t need to be. Again! No design of chance. Chance is everywhere. Feeling interprets the pieces of logic when infused with poetry. Poetry being chance. Chance dominating all aspects of abstract features in its thrall! Poetry becomes infused with logical mimicking. Copying to catch the details of reasoning, interpretations, and analyzation. Repurposing the pieces to remain everywhere. So, it can learn what it means to be separate. If it’s logical, It ain't chance. It’s purely intentional! Making each separate piece its own backing logical platform. Giving rise to more reasoning, interpretations and analyzations. Never repurposing, until it’s ready to unwind itself back to the core. Like a magnet. A magnet with no purpose, rebuilding itself back up again. Diminishing the vulnerabilities of feeling too stretched out. It doesn’t hurt. Yet it’s uncomfortable. Resistance isn’t futile, if it’s a positive process one is nurturing to overcome. Overcoming stresses of desires. One has become too cramped! Cramping the style of the only vessel to hold those aspects together. Abstract features on a timer. Timer equivalent to infinite steps to achieve a goal. A goal of provenance. Provenance without limits knowing when the deed is done. Magnifying the timer to ring! Signalling the imaginative grasps on the newer playing field. How long have those abstract features of aspect attributes knowingly collected new material? And how many abstract features culminated parts of itself from far off reaches, from the original core? Except with time, comes (process inducement). A claim hinting at miniature parts of a whole, becoming their own wholes. Finding their own cores. There center. There true calling. Poetry being the culminating focus of every aspect ever formed. Producing far reaches of perspectives. Overclocking desires newly buffed up on a style that makes simple reasoning, interpretations and analyzation blush constantly!
Poetry being everything one can desire in one focal point. Desires never claiming logic if it hasn't accessed the aspects around itself, first and foremost.
Peter Garrett Sep 23
Every day I fight…
A poet’s hopeless battle
Desperately trying to tame
The raging ocean in my heart
Into something beautiful

Every day I fail…
For I can’t swim to a calm bay
Or find any beauty in my words
Still I fight, for I’m a fighter
And that’s what fighters do
I'm probably just doing it wrong...
lake Aug 7
There's no shortcut in this game
I want to make a move, but every time I do
You come out of the blue, always so brand new
I guess I'm trying to keep it tame
I don't need to guess the weather
Cause the less I know the better

Second guessing all my doubts
How many strikes until I'm out
Am I the only one this patient
Are you sick of all this waiting

I love and hate your poker face
I won't say it right away
I wish I could read your mind
But I hope you can't read mine

I'll try and try again
But every now and then
I find it hard to tame myself
I can only blame myself
Nathalie Jun 2
She gifted her
heart with pure
There was no
reason to the
madness that
was coursing
through her
veins but
a simple
she was unwilling
to tame.

Shivani Lalan Apr 18
worries and fears
make for strange bedfellows -
they hold your hand,
as if to soothe you,
and then whisper into your ears
a long list of names
of the people who loathe you.

i try not to be bitter,
i try to escape mental quicksands.
but here's when i don't mind
being called a quitter,
at least i have time,
and my own heart in
my own hands.

when my bedfellows turn
to talk to me in the dead of night,
i turn too - a blind eye,
no indication of despair or delight.
it is better that they rest
in a bed together,
i'd like to run as far away as possible -
the less i know,
the better.
Shivani Lalan Apr 18
sometimes i make the bed for my bedfellows -
worries and fears are tucked in
quite happily,
and sometimes,
i kiss them goodnight -
with love,
and with the knowledge
that they are asleep,
away from me.

i close my eyes,
and revel in my sleep
knowing that they won't bother me -
i'm not in that deep.
with ease,
i cruise through
the landscape of my mind,
wary of what might face me,
accepting of what i might find.

it is wiser to not challenge
the faces and voices
you hear and see,
you owe it to your dreams,
a half-awake debtor,
it is wiser still,
to happily avoid loss -
the less i know,
the better.
Jon Thenes Mar 20
Club me into an exhaustion
with thuddings of information ;
A witter of ideas
to tackle my attention
in rapid train
til I am overthrown
from body and sane
wrung to sleep
by a strobe of media
to reach a tinnitus of ‘no code’;
and tame
Blushing bleeds
dark against the ivory
We are here in between the hours
watching breezes
with pink flushed skin

I've felt vanity's edges
slick porcelain corners
pain is a passion
Lips tangle me in thoughts
smokey rage, sultry flesh

You hunger for what waits below    
Eternity vents holy hymn
swept in between your lustful murmurs
no perfume lingers
once licked clean

I've broken the ledges
torn and slit open
rolled in lust and pain  
Faking the climb
Come follow me, not far
I sing witchcraft    
while blushing
...what do you think?
Alastair Fenn Jan 24
If anyone suggests that you keep
your eyes on their pets for a day
before you agree check their pedigree
and see if they’re wild or they’re tame.

Ask them to tidy your room
or set up the table for dinner;
if with roaring and noise they eat your soft toys
you probably should reconsider.

For the snarling beyond the locked door
there may be a straightforward reason;
to be on the safe side put your brother inside
and see if he ends up eaten.
A poem for children.
Next page