Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
August 14h
i've tried to capture the color of your eyes in my poems
so many times that the words are blending together
and darling,
i'm writing the same thing
with different syllables and rhymes
and you know they all mean i love you
Lunar Oct 19
On days like these,
It isn't distance that
Keeps you away from me,
But time.
As I look at your life
Through images
And hear your voice
Through recordings,
I can't help but think
If you're real
In this world with me.
Three hours isn't that far ahead,
But slowly waiting for time
Is quickly making me miss you
Much more than I thought.
Right answer to a wrong question
It's the type three error
The most dangerous error
If you ask a wrong question in a given situation
And implement the right answer
The result may be a nightmare
Put yourself a right question in a given situation
Before getting the right answer
In real life, under certain circumstances, we ask ourselves some questions without giving much thought and may get right answers. We may act accordingly to find the results are catastrophic. The reason being we didn't pose right questions relevant to the circumstances.
periwinkle Sep 13
daisy for your thoughts?
annh Aug 29
Three Scottish hags brew up a political storm in a...cauldron.
Inspired by Suri Ben N who got me overthinking about brevity, Shakespeare, alternative storylines, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, and the existential milieu in general.

‘We do on stage things that are supposed to happen off. Which is a kind of integrity, if you look on every exit as being an entrance
somewhere else.’
- Tom Stoppard, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead
Nat Lipstadt Aug 23
Warning! This poem is too long for certain elderly gentlemen.

A blue haze morn, pleasant in the transition
from the ides of sensual summer to the
broken, busted curled dead leaves that now
decorate the half & half scorched, mottled lawns,
that soon enough will fall to full-on browning!

All this my eyes see when first I wake, only
the calm morn waters unchanged, thank god,
for the mind is fermented, the brain full on,
three, count ‘em, three born baby poems, all
simultaneous being birthed, triplets from one
****** working overtime, yet, only paid the hourly wage!

The mind interweaves the three, and yet subdivides,
only I, the landlord of the brain, failingly and flailing
struggle to keep track of these wild tenants, each:
a curvature, a tangent, a sibling and a stranger to
each other, sharing  a common single parentage!

Poem #1

Poem #1, a bright child, yet, poorest in vocabulary, more humming
than recites, but below its tuneful melody one just perceives, a refrain
born in the refracted sun rays that first opened our  eyes to this day, in
great gratitude, a morning prayer, a mourning poem, bidding adieu to the great  nighttime where the conception and inception inseminated within the ****** of the brain, and welcoming the warmth of day that cracks our body’s outer egg shell with praises of hallelujah that this one word poem gives so easy, in glory!

Poem #2

The toes wriggle, the eyes rapid-blink, the mouth yawns revealing
a still sleeping tongue, the stomach rumbles a basso tune reminding
everyone that their continuous sustenance comes from it alone, no
matter what those other body part snobs claim! An Uproar ensues
(bien sûr!), everyone roused, slumber a thing of the past, a cacophony
of disharmonious noises, no Greek chorus this, purely 100% American,
each party convinced of its self-worth, its own vitality, a ball park of
loutish fans, hawking vendors, an amalgamation of colorations, a
tapestry of humanity skin colors, though in a single voice upon this all
agree and shout “**** the Umpire!”

Then the bladder whispers “uh,hey people,” and all grow silent knowing
who’s the boss, and the man, stumbles from bed, wondering silently what
the heck that huuge racket was all about and how come no one else heard it?

Poem #3

A subcommittee of the senses convene a meeting and on the agenda, in
no particular order are the following, items of varying importance, but
needing speedy resolution:

The always very touchy skin asks: what shall we wear
today, it is warm outside and overly cold inside, should
we go short or long, stay in our overnight dressage, or
get a fresh accoutrements (clean Tee and sweatpants)
just to celebrate having made successful passage to day?

The aural receptors (who always insist on being addressed
in the plural), state that can wait! first let’s us determine what
music we shall receive, that must match the nature outside
and the nature within?  A Joshua Bell violin concerto, or some
retro greatest hits from the 60s, 70s and 80s?  Let’s vote..

The Gallic nasal passages (Les Passages, as they snobbishly prefer) sniff
in derisive decision, non! to yesterday’s clothes, a shower and a shampoo
dear skin, a nasal necessity, let’s try to remember to use deodorant today
please, and no more feral cereal and milk, something more fragrant s’il vous plait!

The Buds, as the tasting cells preferred to be called, said indeed,
some fresh cafe au lait in a proper bowl, to accompany les croissants frais, une baguette au beurre, and do not forget the red crisscross jar of Bonne Maman (Orange Marmalade/Confiture d'Orange)

The Eyes, waited and listened, and then proclaimed, all well and good,
but realize that after all this, we are the instructor, the instrument panel
without which you cannot operate in concert, let us see what we can see,
in the closet, in the kitchen, read the playlists, prepare the necessaries
for bathing, check the thermometers and then we will decide!

Then, the Mighty Brain, said “folks, we’ve been busy all night and tho
first light has already penetrated, we are going back to bed, as we are exhausted by all this noise herein encapsulated!
Process in weariness.

Peanut butter and jelly.
Ice and drool.
Duck tape my eyes.
Alex, yeah she's cool.
Always alone like Constantine.
Ol Johnny boy.
I think I'm gone.
And very annoyed
I didn't think I would leave.
I didn't think so.
I didn't know how to complete.
My rowing team...Oh.

Garrett Johnson.
We missed you.
1, 2, 3
How foolish can you be
4, 5, 6
Wages aren't fixed
7, 8, 9
Still we are fine!
10, 11, 12
Past is what we delve
13, 14 , 15
Always want to be a teen
16, 17, 18
Teenage is not yet over, you see!
19, 20, 21
Oh!.. had enough of fun
22, 23, 24
Please close the door
25, 26, 27
We already have one
28, 29, 30
One more and we will be free
31, 32, 33..***!.. it can go on
Let's stop here swiftly😅
A try with numbers!..
Next page