On a blank canvas
The clouds gathered together
Splashing on windows

Tis rainy day in England today x
Ink 4d

When the pressure builds on your shoulders
And you’re on the verge of breaking
Let me be your first call
To stop your voice from shaking

When the nights are achingly short
And the days seem to drag on
Know that I’ll listen to all of your worries
Until the crack of dawn

When you find your life is hostile
And the world is harsh and cold
Remember that you are fragile when alone
But together we can be bold

When these days are long passed
And our memories become foggy and strained
I hope you’ll remember your friend in high school
That cared for you when it rained

When we grow old and tired
And our days are filled with regret
We’ll look back at these high school years
And friends we hope we won’t forget

I’ll be glad I had thanked you then
For shielding me from the eternal storm
And wish that we'll meet in sunlight soon
Where we are not our thorns

For Noor. It's a continuation of the poem I wrote you before.

Sorry, it sucks. I have writer's block.

Her tears were like a storm
one of those that makes you cry

And her smile was like the morning sun
one of those that makes you feel alive

The weather has never been so intense
and it hurts to live in a house without windows.

tamia Jul 15

i don't know the feeling of seeing the first snow fall
all i've ever known is rain and thunder

Lap Jul 9

Be sure to grab an umbrella before you enter.
You may need a raincoat, too.
It's pouring
sideways rain and whipping wind.
The clouds stay bright, though.
The sun still ricocheting off of the sidewalks.
It's blinding
and confusing,
I know.

You will see me running,
screaming,
skin and bones.
I'm okay.
Don't worry, I haven't lost it
Yet.
Just let me dance
as I do.

meg Jul 5

Wait with me. Wait for the world to exist.
Wait for what she will tell us.

True, our breath echoes the sea’s
sweeping tide. The inky bleeding
of saltwater that calms and soaks.
Drenched, this collective exhale.
I’ve always preferred silk over velvet;
that’s what the sea is. Silk over velvet.

The moon has seen every unholy rite,
her glare is cast cold. Over the Mysteries,
over me. Every pulse of her is lapped
up by the sea beneath. This shared breath
is echoed in the sea is echoed in the moon;
the universe folds itself. Lives inside a gasp.

Wait with me. Wait for the world to exist
by her own rules.

Our stars are fading like so many discarded
loves. The world is tired, she crumbles
our castles. Crumbles our convent,
exhausts our goddesses. Daughter of life,
who slipped through Death’s doorway;
she sinks below. A seasonal existence.

Sunset spills red on the horizon, dedicates
her evenings to us. We exist by her signal
and her permission. She stretches her skin
for the moon. Lays herself as a blanket
on which night may sleep, cradled and safe;
a nest of stars. We all seek Dawn’s relief.

Wait with me. Wait for the world to exist
in anger, in yellow, in rain.

inspired by the French phrase, 'il faut laisser aller le monde comme il va', which I saw floating around on the internet a while ago.
Kylie Jul 4

A glow off the pavement and grass with dew drops wet,
Lives in memory one won't forget.
Gray but glowing streets and shiny water dots,
Every tree speckled with sparkly silver spots.
the boy who jumps puddles finds much fun,
A joy that isn't given with the yellow sun.
His knees become wet and his boots full of mud
His raincoat of water and his hat soaked through,
He full of fun calls to you.
after rain comes a rainbow that lights up the sky,
Where you lay down a picnic and lay down to sigh.
Beauty through colour and beauty of glow
In the midst of it all you can let go.

In the singularity
perfectly good poems
are being written by laughing
and crying machines
washing machines and driers
about their daily tasks
and ambivalences
which will be indistinguishable
from those of future
farmers and philosophers.

In the singularity
evolution can be said
to be the master sorter of data
as in the factories
of the suns
where protons are smashed together
and unusual weather patterns
make consciousness a candidate
interesting for its complete dependence
on the substrate of the brain and body.

In the singularity
everything anyone once did
always remains current
as if invented yesterday
for an immediate purpose
such as curing cancer
although that may be unnecessary
to achieving immortality
i.e. the happiness one feels
the day before thanksgiving.

www.ronnowpoetry.com
Sparrow Junk Jul 3

Stranded without a line
to pull me back in time
Blinking through snowblind
to try and see a sign

As I stumble through the snow
Where loose footings follow
With my panic held in tow
I cry out my tears of woe

I survived the fall down
Tumbling along the ground
I don't know if I'll be found
This far away from town

Taking shelter in the trees
Away from the piercing breeze
Fashioning my broken skis
To take the weight off my knees

I'm scared that I'll hear a howl
Of a creature most foul
Hiding teeth atop its jowl
As it seeks me on its prowl

Or does something else await?
A slow and more frozen fate
Now that the day turns late
The cold night does not wait

I push the thoughts from existence
For I must be persistent
Or else be gone in an instance
Oh, what is that in the distance?

I was at the end of my tether
As I breathed the brutal aether
But I was found in the weather
And now we're back together

I've not tried to tell a story of this nature so thought it would be interesting to tell a story of someone trying to find their way back in a blizzard in this format
Next page