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Glistening ‘twixt the earthen beds
and o’er their marbled, granite heads
drifts of pure white fractals spread
to paint with sweet, angelic dread.
For here on chill’d stump, in snow,
before these gathered friends of stone,
I dredge forth my noxious woe;
to bleed in anxious, ram’bling tones.
Footsteps circle through the plot,
traces of my tactless thought,
as from face to face I sought
for answers out of ivory, wrought.
But no such truths could be exhumed
from such ancient, reticent tombs;
and none the wiser, cloaked in gloom,
I fled this terrible commune.
Marisela Veludo Dec 2020
A sense of belonging
Unexplainable and haunting
Relaxation, imagination
Magnificent creation

Each note pulls me in
Emotions so extreme
Time freezes,sadness melts away
No words describe it, nothing needed to say

An ambivalent world
Yet lucidly clear
Beauty in harmony
Truly sincere

Invincible yet weak
No darkness, no fear
The sound of music
Therapeutic, Majestic
Nothing can really beat the feeling of drifting your pencil on paper
Especially when you re-find yourself wanting to articulate your complicated mind
When the emotions ravish past the barrier, the rapids unleash to tell a tale with vigorous intensity in unison with both the pencil and the mind
TyeniWrites Jun 2020
Sitting alone in the darkness
Earphones blasting
Calm and quiet
Feels like a warm home
Aleena Mar 2020
How do you write good poetry
I wonder that a lot
Mainly because all the other poems
That I have ever read
are so much better than mine

How do you write good poetry
Is there a secret trick
Or special formula to use
Or do I just have to rhyme
at the end of every line

How do you write good poetry
I find myself asking
More then I would like
Because I claim to be a poet
That clearly cannot write

How do you write good poetry
Do you need to have a
lovely set of words
Each that is more elaborate and exquisite then the last
all building up to describe the night

How do you write good poetry
In which a unknown reader
Can find meaningful
And not just me

How do I write good poetry
I would like you to give me
The answer to that question,
please
MicMag Jul 2019
When I feel myself
Beginning to fret
When fear or depression
String me along
The best way to stop it
To jam up the angst
Is to set loose the hands
To break into song

Take note of my thoughts
Tune into my feelings
Pick out a rhythm
And let it ring true
I try but can't quite
Put my finger on why
But my hands 'round this neck
Sure cast out the blues
Qashdina Jun 2014
My stretch marks and scars
make me reluctant to even look at myself,
I feel like those lines on a cover of a book you’ve read. With Smudges And coffee marks.

I see my insecurities unraveling,
Like a cigarette slowly burning,

Slap each line with glitter,

Cause life's much better if you douse yourself with a little bit of glitter right?

And if all else fails
At least I’ll shine for the sun
Jack Shannon Dec 2018
A flush creeps to my cheeks, it's been weeks and weeks now. I'm tired of these vicious conceits, continuous defeat as we struggle over who gets to inevitably keep their sanity... her apparently as she slashes my name again and again, once twice thrice called her a friend now. It's all over, supposedly no animosity any more, can't call her a two faced evil... person, thats not civil or nice, it's not me am I right? What's this stinging feeling in my eyes, I can't, I don't know just make this emptiness stop, a pit forming in my stomach and as I rise to the top I could just drop my self into it, all the jokes, all the smiles, all the confidence I never had anyway disappears before it was here even for a day. Big girls don't cry, but then again the songs lie, I sit here surrounded by people who judge the sound of my tears hitting plastic, they think it's fantastic to see a guy like me brought to there level. Big guy, just means another foot to fly as I fall from the sky, after being dropped from so high. Get it together Jack you're not having a panic attack. You're not anxious. You're not depressed. Even if you were no one would be impressed by your pain. Just pick yourself up, roll a ***, pack your bag and run home. And start it all over again.
A free-form stream of consciousness poem I wrote whilst crying on a train after a mess of a break up.
Val Vik Jul 2018
heavy tears for days . . .
cleansing my inner spirits
. . . rain eternally . . .
I need no rainbows
Haiku #4
Sara Kellie May 2018
Can't wait to see the old man Wednesday week.
Give my update on exposing the freak.
I'll have to 'create' by Wednesday tea, so me Shan & Lloydy* can watch T.V.
I told Deb Simo, I count as best friend, but didn't consider how all this would end.
As one told another and the news spread.
The obvious outcome, my husband is dead.
What would I do without my old Mum who guided and led me to be with this ***.
By listening to Mum and taking advice, this peado
has had me not once but now twice.
Oh didn't I tell you, when I was fourteen, he took down my knickers, did something obscene.
Now that my marriage has all ended bad, I've now got a boyfriend as old as my Dad.
And if you think that's a joke, here's one, he's probably due another stroke.
Three years of bad luck, what will I do next.
Send him vile messages, all via text.
It can't be long now, and when all is done at least me and Shan have had lots of fun.
Now his family all know, they smirk and they grin. Best just do that than risk say something.
But what will he do. He'll tell them they're through unless they come clean and point at us two.
As we'd always planned, "best get on our toes". He's not ******* stupid, he already knows.
So time to move on and find some new friends.
For me, you and him this is where it all ends.

Poetry by Kaydee.
Written many years ago and based on events that may or may not have been happening at the time. A time when my truth was out and I lost everything.
*denotes same person
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