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Longing for a pureness.
Longing for white hair.
Longing for oblivion to harm just being wandering.
In a valley in a grey dress.

Maybe there's a dimension where people can see what each other's souls have been through.
And everything is just right for all their souls to heal.

I'd be called Isdal, waiting for the ones I loved most in my past lives to come and find me.
And we already know each other and we know we already know.

Looking at the past it all feels very dark.
Looking at the future it's also very dark.
Being in the present it's just ok, I guess.
Just for now.

Always trying to run harder than it's raining.
Trying not to get hit by the drops too hard.
Or just trying to accept you will get soaking wet and sing along...

Oh I'm longing for a pureness.
Longing for white hair.
Longing for oblivion to harm just being wandering.
In a valley in a grey dress.

Will I find it when I leave?
And will you find me?
I'll be waiting.
As I'm waiting here now too.
28-04-20
Amanda Apr 18
I have drank *****
Down to very last droplet
At bottles bottom
I don't drink much nowadays but back in my prime I was never one to turn down a spider
Nat Lipstadt Jun 2014
Lord:

no bequest requested.
no grant, no teach,
no need or greed asked
just a hey listen up,
if your attention is elsewhere

this is an
all-on-my-own
prayer that
my eyes only utter,
my tongue,
self-silenced,
can only watch
and must approve

in fact,
this is more
of a post
than a prayer,
updating you
on the state
of what we Earth temporaries
call the heart, mind, soul
and even our,
your-designed
crafted carrier,
my body

Mine enemies call me
cursed, embittered,
they are right - but fools,
they are
so much more than wrong,
for in this they err grievous,
for they cannot see their own
bile provisioning their end

ask for no interference
from the sidelines
neither from the
sapphire mother sky
that raised me up gloriously
this morning

nor the emerald earth
that this day
both gives and gets
common bounty
gives me sustenance,
as much spiritual
as grained cereal delights

lest you think this
just one more
me-centric rants,
let us recall this prayer,
is his very own,
prayer of gratitude

woman's head
rests on my chest,
her blonde highlights,
highlight our bed
and our
life

take and tuck her tresses
from eyes and forehead,
gentle them into place,
behind her ear,
and my hand journeys on
to the skin,
flesh of her backbone,
where my fingers
spread wide,
five messengers unique,
advising all of the 120 provinces of her
heart, mind, soul and body,
she is my beloved,
and I pray,
I am hers

learning still to
live with my means,
such as they are,
sometime mean,
sometimes extraordinaire

even this skill,
to express

is a gratitude
that though
comes and goes
like summer breezes
that as now we pray,
cools my AM coffee
while studying the
patterned mystery
of the bay's
Ave Maria waves
from that
dock-by-his-name

where my heart, mind, soul
drink wet inspiration
from the still-oak-tree'd-strong-surfaced waters,
the blue glue of
our common delighted,
uncommon existence

this skill,
at this moment mine,
to share and
not to keep,
for have I not,
been blessed,
by comrades-in-arms
that kneel beside me,
asking, imploring
to be stronger yet,
for their sakes,
for them!
I pray for
best they-can-muster
sustenance of peace
of heart, mind, soul
and body

here now,
my shills,
my failing skills
cannot help express
in new ways,
a gratitude
that has a shapeless shape,
no measurement app enabled
for their comfort,
our comfort,
best grasped as
an unbounded divinity,
how so I wish I could pray for them better


focus this prayer
on the good ones,
who so greatly honor us
with a greater-than-a-creator,
gift glorious of
friendship

this walnut crack'd shell,
this container ship of
heart, mind, soul,
here there,
a few leaks sprung,
no nicotine patches
to cover

this dented car,
this dented body,
new dent every day
from only-you-know-where
still gets me there,

but
other than taking care better,
it plods along and houses
the rearrangement of this prayer's words,
and that is what is called
plenty good enough,
self-sufficient

prayers that are too long
go to the back of line,
so here we be,
but here we do not wait!


for prayers of gratitude
are instantaneous fulfilled,
and thus granted even before
they are completed
the love I feel for all of the people, friends and poets in my life that give me
their best, their perspective...they know who they are..
7:32am on the dock by the bay, another blessing for which I don't have the words but keep on trying...they are..see below...
PostScript -  the pleasure of your affection for this writ, palpable and heart pounding but it only reflects the spirit that working wordsmiths share in loving camaraderie so deep in the hidden roots of this place. For which I swear I will never to cease to write upon this favorite optic topic a loving challenge...very humbly do I thank you
Eleanor Rigby Jan 26
The pain untold -
Widen the hopes,
Hide the dreams and roam
Memories unfold -
Until memories are sold.

To that very one
Far from home.

-- Eleanor
Äŧül Jan 18
You will fall in love with me soon,
Haziness will be in your thoughts.
You may then enjoy that swoon,
Sweetness will be in my plots.

You would love my expression,
Kindness is on top of my virtues.
You might not realize my real lies,
Strangeness lies in the truth of my life.

There might come an important time,
Truthfulness of mine will be so banal.
You might seek stability in your life,
With someone that has a better base.

Will you leave me alone then,
Or will you seek respite inside?
Will you forever faithfully be mine,
Or will you pursue infidelity outside?
My HP Poem #1823
©Atul Kaushal
Please don’t post spur-of-the-moment poetry on the internet where thousands of people could potentially view it...

You’re so welcome,
You
P.S.     Good luck with, well, you know what.
Adrian Dec 2019
I took a class a few months back,
it taught me how to drive a vehicle,
the extracurricular activity is Driver's Ed.
I listened well, but I wrote better,
and in the notebooks we were given,
I had written poem after poem,
covering all the whitespace.
About notes for later,
and love that was now
(it still is "now"),
this book is full of literature,
but the actual necessary contents
are one hundred percent
illegible literature.
Found my Driver's Ed learning book to try and study up, learn the laws again. I took one look in, and the page was chalk full of little haikus and poems of other forms. I can't read much of any pages because of my mind that loves writing poetry like an average person loves to doodle. I'll post some of the good ones sometime.
hannah in spring Dec 2019
I'm so drained
I can barely lift my fingers
To press these keys
Yet it's key
That I get this message out
A message about
How tired I am
**** went down and now I'm physically and emotionally drained.
Lillian May Nov 2019
youre my photographer
and im your hepburn(or at some point in a brief glimpse to me we were these) but my face is a little funnier
and neither of us can waltz and
really we aren't even in love like them but
i do however love the sun and the rain in her (hepburn's") old Hollywood voice!
her voice was so picture perfect in that way
and I kinda wanna be in love with you (minus the river and that drift wood dancing cause neither of us can dance much less to your ****** gangster rap and definitely not on driftwood) but I also think that being in love with you would be a surprising amount like waltzing to rap music on driftwood on a river
but if there's a world where hepburn has a 'funny face' then who knows maybe we could find a rhythm
or maybe we'd just get very soaked in river water
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