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Louise Jun 23
The way you have a way with words,
I bless every book and every poem
that has ever graced your sight.
I praise the letters you've strung thus far,
if I could, I'd stitch them with my own
to make a blanket of letters that would
cover and protect you in the next winter.
Now I am writing astray,
but from my original pseudonym
I am never too far away.
You are the one writing these poems,
I am just your hands and the veins on them.
"Learn" poem trilogy - part 3 of 3
Louise Jun 23
On one Tuesday, you asked me
why I check the words you use,
why I analyze the things you say,
and you also pointed out
how I see things before you do
And I might seem like a know-it-all,
but ironicaly, I do these to learn about you.
And unlearn my past mistakes and habits,
to learn how to love you better
so I can be worthy of a future with you
and be so good for you.
teach me. help me.
"Learn" poem trilogy - part 2 of 3
Louise Jun 23
The people from your hometown and I
got something big in common;
we always wait for you.
And your words.
They complete and make our days.
If not all, then most days.
We await news from you
like a rooster would wait for sunshine
before it sings in the morning.
Like I would wait for you
to tell me you adore me before I can sleep,
and wake and repeat this all over again.
"Learn" poem trilogy - part 1 of 3
Vachaspathi Jan 2021
The central theme of the universe's biggest trilogy (the birth, the life, and death) is love!
onlylovepoetry Jul 2016
perhaps if you have time,
take a moment to read the
predecessor poem in the notes below first,
in order to better understand this one


the love poetry curfew so lately announced
misshapen, growing without respite, by hate extensions distended,
poet's sanity uncomprehending, for yet another! sabbath desecration,
debating internally, how long should this cessation be extended,
for the pockmarking of earth's face with fresh bloodshed,
continues unashamedly, swiftly apace, these unholy days of dread,
all haggard his mind, hazard his eyes, harden his heart
no muse could sway

but shocking himself,
poet's mirror image stares and dares
with a finger-pointing,
his own specter's absurd challenge of

"and yet, now more than ever "

when children are killed like bowling pins,
there can be no satisfaction in revenge
cannot expiate evil deeds with avenge
measure for measure add-on sins,

and yet,

poet thinks quietly, repeatedly, self-surprisingly,

and yet,
love poetry, now more than ever

asking confusedly, almost ashamedly, out loudly, yet secretly,
how can this be, for there will be again, more painful awakenings,
is it the end of days, of greeting sunrise, with a love for love poetry?
with madness come and confusion everywhere rampant,
'tis a doubtful thought, the carnage having wrought
an insoluble dissolution and can love poetry be any solution?

in poet's Adirondack safe place where life tributes were
birthed, bred and trials borne, a right writ place for unmasking,
a private soul in equal parts of joy and shame,
love and pain, loss and gain,
here the weighing scales bore equal measures
of old bereft, and life uplifting visions of,
what will come, what will be, the unforeseen,
the hopeful yet of

"and yet"

a dotted line of whitecaps  beckons the poet to tread upon,
the glassine bay's waters that lay before him, go, walk on water,
a path to point where and whence the quaking waves
have gathered, calmly begging, Oh poet!
provide  assurance, explanation, comprehension,
querying him as if all sanity, has flightly, unsightly, fled
from the home shores of human sailors, gently asking poet,

"your fellow walking earth-beasts have all sensibility killed,
these times so human terrible, we waters, cannot understand"

poet's rebellious soul all so confused, asking and answering the
waters in his head, the waters that address his eyes,
seeking wisdom words from a place where logic
has been whittled and willed away,

and yet,

love poetry, now more than ever

now is the time when a love poem beyond merely necessary,
poet's eyes cast downward in shame, his thinking, hesitant and wary,
time for prayer, not madness distraction of a love poetry commentary

the waters dissatisfied at his confusion,
part as if by Moses's staff, majesticly powerful rise up,
confronting poet with the sweetest tasking
as if they were the downtrodden and the hurting, asking...

"we storm, drown and take, for such is nature's angry periodic way,
something beyond our control no matter what we say,
to another's dictate and momentum, we must bow and obey,
but you human, have choice, and we have none -
choose love poetry and let it comfort like no other"

and the poet sighed and wrote

this poem

this poem of love,
realized and conjectured,
with inserted verses of

"and yet,"

for though the poet possessed no well of well words
more than these few saddened and impoverished,
wearied, hard scrabbled ones

and yet,

gasping and grasping a potent notion, a portent of what if,
of a world with no love poetry,
a planet that could not ever-overcome hate, dooming itself,
for love poetry and all its cousins and associates,
the only method to confiscate
these grill blackened marking silent barbell weights
so let this be ,
this is a love poem,
and now,
this is the time,
to let

"and yet"


Saturday July 16, 2016
and yet
one week ago, July 10, 2016...

there will be no love poetry today
there will be no love poetry today
Sabbath cancelled

there will be the will to love
and there will be poetry


but not here, not today

the load bearing suspension
of belief

beyond busted

the mind

no mas


one killing too many

love poetry seems inappropriately fruitless

there will love
and there will be poetry


but not here

more than pointless,  
human sacrifice ruthless,
a ****** sacrilege

the world profaned and the blood spilling
is in everything and everywhere  

and has driven the love poetry out of this person

maybe tomorrow

may it be tomorrow, we will pass a twenty four

news cycle  
with the bombs gone quiet
the innocents surviving
and the god spark burner inside me will
relight on its own

but not today not here not me

there will be
no love poetry

and this

this is not a poem  

WhoIsCristinaJXO Mar 2020
It seems like pain and regret are your best friends because our nights together seem only to lead to them.

We’ve been lying to each other about our nights spent apart, hiding the evidence behind plastic smiles to spare each other another broken heart.

I know what you did when you left my company for a girl you’ve claimed to have missed. I will not get jealous and call this thing between us quits, but tell me, does she touch you here like this?

I see that she is beautiful, perhaps the most beautiful by far. I see that she makes you feel good about who you are. So tonight, I will ******* until you are too tired to leave because although she’s what you want, I am what you need.

I guess she found out about our secret rendezvous and now she doesn’t want you anymore. Here you are crying and pleading to spend the night on my floor. Begging me to shelter you from the emptiness that presents itself in these cold, lonely streets have to offer.

So, I step aside and lead you to your favorite place, entangled in my satin sheets. But I must warn you, these nights, past, present and for however long we have left mean nothing to me. I’ve been doing this for so long, I promise you I’ve seen it all.

First, you’ll hate her, then you’ll want me; then you’ll miss her and you’ll hate me. I know you so well. I know your routine.
This is all just a game to me. We mean nothing to each other. This is nothing new.

I told you, a long time ago, not to get involved with a girl like me because you are solely a means to escape my present reality.
So, don’t promise me that you won’t regret me like doing a line of ivory, like the tattoos on your skin or like taking the wrong pill. Don’t promise me that when you go back to her that you’ll remember me.

So, I’ll own your soul for tonight only so that each time you **** her, it’s my face you’ll see.

Written by: Helene J.C. Armbrister
This poem was inspired by The Weeknd's debut project: Trilogy. It explores a darker side of my writing.
Miss Flairity
made her
rarity by
knocking whose
shoes were
Flannerys' as
it alleviated
muscle toes
in pajamas
that their
trilogy made
living in
Yokohama with
brass this
mistress to  
rebuild her
brand legal
sophia Dec 2018
the mist is frosty and cold
my finger draws upon it
tales and myths of old
i wonder if they bought it

the lies of loving who i am
slide from off my tongue
i ran and ran and ran and ran
to get away from blazing suns

my childhood calls like a mother
waiting for her precious child
as if she knew the others
had been abusing me with smiles

i told them over and over again
that i was grown and truly an adult
that i truly didn't need my friends
disproved sorely by my childish sulk

the window panes are cold
and it hurts to touch my memories
i felt so young i feel so old
i'm just a heartbroken trilogy

i was a babe and then a teen
i grew into my full grown skin
so hard-hearted and awfully mean
that i couldn't ever fit in

i hated growing pains
they reminded me of my age
that i was always always changing
always always a newly flipped page

it hurts it hurts it hurts
these unbearable window panes
it hurts it hurts it hurts
these horrible growing pains
Nat Lipstadt Jan 2017
a birthday present for his admirer-in-chief, R.A.
Lyn-Purcell Aug 2018
There she awaits-                                            
    In her jewelled palace far from faded-eyes    
A lily sheltered from the blanket of white;
the air perfume-light from the blossoms,  
                      and a yearning heart -

          Lo!                                                  ­                    
            The silver songs of Robins; the heralds of Winters
              twirl free.                                                            ­            
   Lo!                                                              ­
      A Hyperborean wind is roused from slumber
    and spreads its wings. Leaves drift down are
    kissed by frost; lakes, the woodlands placed
  under your trance. And your vision came to
be - a polished world on a fair day.            
                                         And at a pleasant hour-
150 followers! ***! THANK YOU SO MUCH!
I love this community so much! To thank you, I've started
a new free-verse poem, and here's the beginning!
Something that'll (hopefully) be as elegant as my Jasmine Pearls, but with a touch of darkness. Part 2 will come out tomorrow, so keep an eye out!
This is what I've got so far, from the top of my head.
I hope one day I can write an epic like Homer's Odyssey!
Thanks so much!
My Kingdom continues to grow!
Much love,
Lyn ***
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