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irinia Feb 3
my lips feel ****
I a bit vile
I feel decisive
I'm burning down
the my oh my
Van Gogh's turquoise
self portrait in the wild:
a woman loves to
toast to cloudburst

I think I might
recycle the devil
for poetry's sake,
tonight it smells
of cinnamon,
of flemish paintings
Odd Odyssey Poet Feb 2022
My love is endless to loving plenty, for itself it does not show,
granted to love a penny. Possessions of man's ***** eyes,
Of their murderous hate— many schemes flesh has to conspire,

A change to thought, (I darest spare, lodged by Christ's
gentle love. I hope to know in the ends of prayer.)

Kind heartened I may prove, with gracious kind words,
As with wickedness stuck in mouths; as it's rotting tooth.
All that are wicked; too hide behind sweetest tongues, and
fairest smiles.

Vile, vile, vile. Oh how the world is so vile,
to us all living in denial. Greed has made them all blind.
Ursula Wolf Sep 2021
Summer nights in your eyes,
Car rides at floating sunsets
You took my rose-hand
And pulled me up onto a pine tree.
You were the bird and I was the cone.
The world seemed to be in love,
But then I fell
And you flew away.
Winter nights in your heart,
Dry leaves at cold-births
You grabbed my shirt
And pushed me into cavity.
SelinaSharday Aug 2021
By Sharday
"Old Fools"
Old crudes.. appearing as Fools gold. The Irony. When you offer joy and laughter.. and all the best to offer in kindly spoken joyful chatter.
When you only offered a sprinkle of smiles and sunshine's. A regular day by short easy breezes to fellow online unknowns you never ever met in the flesh and briefly known online.
shared with them smiles and sunshine of encouraging crispy apple finds.  To wish they smile with glee and inwardly are filled with bitter unrest.. Unknown to most of us. We only  see the clown painted hidden face. A true face of sunken holes filthy craters in mold. The corrupt soul waiting to unlease it's misery soon as the old fool see, your joyful positivity isn't gonna stay for the foolery.
How you can't be captured, in the web of rotten hell where the Old fool dwells. Just wash your hands wipe your virtual feet from where you ventured and never again there enter.
A fool full of liquor  and utterly bitter all of its own. To whom you never did any wrong. Yet the fool will claim you have. Is a stalker web  crawler, harassing fool.. Report the stalkers  harassing's  obsessing's  words of hate.  The fools mouth of polluted lies disguised as crafted blind leading the blind sorrows.
A brief encounter online in 14 days causes a fool to write so much **** poor chatter.
Obsessive, stalker, old fool, not your muse, move on fool.
Psalms 18:2 "A fool takes no pleasure in understanding, but only in expressing his opinion." psalms 18:2
Proverbs 29:2 If a wise man has an argument with a fool, the fool only rages and laughs, and there is no quiet.
Sounds like a abusive deranged so madly insane. Type foolish, type thang. Can't find a away to stop using you in written metaphors. Like his pictures of he wish he had ******.
Keep virtual 911 on hit report speed dial,
this fool seems a virtual danger stranger chillld.
fools online, bitter, people, wounded, stalker, harassers, using hate, obsessed won't move on type fools.
FC Azaele May 2021
Hate to the desires that falls upon the other hands
torn to two
oh, what wicked kings
To crown the serpent,
burning the ancient dove's feathers
Shambling presence, odd pretence
Hatred burning, lust no long deserving
Torn in thorns, seen no more
flickering lights, fuming flames
smouldering walls down across the buried bodies
of them all
Oh, What wicked kings
to **** them all
what hate to the desires that goes on forth
the damning thrones
To death throes for all hoped that lived, now no more
Oh what wicked kings
To where the lands are darks and people do not
strive to roam the streets at all
Oh what wicked kings,
**** them all.
what's this poem about? I don't know.
Sometimes the pen writes for you
belbere Apr 2021
what a wicked thing i was.
i turned back, anyway.

the devil i dealt with 
wasn’t a devil at all,
it called itself her fate,
took my place by her side
and told her it was time to go, 
everyone was waiting 
down below,

the devil she dealt with 
wasn’t a devil at all, 
i called myself her lover, 
and she loved me in kind, 
and when she’d gone
i couldn’t understand
why she’d leave me behind,

if nothing else
i had to see her
one last time,

the devil we dealt with 
wasn’t a devil at all,
it called itself inevitable
yet decided to let us go,
said it would see us again
one day, together 
down below,

i didn’t think to ask her
what she wanted,
if the hands of fate
were warmer than my own. 
if i had kept on looking forward, 
maybe i would know.

what a wicked thing i was. 
i turned back, anyway. 

                                                       ­                                       "was she upset?"

i couldn’t say. 
she smiled the whole time,
and when she disappeared
it was all she left behind.
if orpheus and eurydice was a lesbian tragedy
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