#damp - Hello Poetry

I dread the winter's coming on The trees without their dressings I fear the winter's dark, cold moan Long shadows without blessings Bare tree limbs are upward reaching Where the sunlight seems to fail I hear the sound of great owls screeching Trees look like witch”s fingernails I hate the cold that winter brings Dark, dank weather for each day It seems as if I'll never sing Or see again sun's lovely rays My body aches and hollow feels Furnace and fireplace are roaring on But to me they don't seem real No heat can reach into my bones Oh, winter will you last so long With dreary rain and colder mist Oh, how I wish that you were gone And Spring would put on me it's kiss

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Jan 12, 2020

Jan 12, 2020 at 4:01 AM UTC

julia-b-shaw

Winter

I dread the winter's coming on The trees without their dressings I fear the winter's dark, cold moan Long shadows without blessings Bare tree limbs are upward reaching Where the sunlight seems to fail I hear the sound of great owls screeching Trees look like witch”s fingernails I hate the cold that winter brings Dark, dank weather for each day It seems as if I'll never sing Or see again sun's lovely rays My body aches and hollow feels Furnace and fireplace are roaring on But to me they don't seem real No heat can reach into my bones Oh, winter will you last so long With dreary rain and colder mist Oh, how I wish that you were gone And Spring would put on me it's kiss

20

What of the stories,what of you,what of the words or what of my dew Lies and lies Strangled the fliers Witnessed it, he has admirers Sweetness and tartness ignored Mulberry swallowed but in the heart it sored What would the 'dead lips' pen When it had not the truth,son Curses though slip off Feelings be never any drawf For to hate Once there should have been love's bait tight How dangling and dwindling No shore was he ever kindling Hours and hours It takes no par Touch not that knight He has swords defending with might How barren is he and Knows not any scabbard Those wands of enigma That suits not the noble hands off stigma Suitors of temper Shooters of blood towels much damper Is it your blood ? Shut-up for god's sake Let's arrange him a slumber

0

Mar 1, 2019

Mar 1, 2019 at 10:25 AM UTC

Bohemian_

Dissembled

What of the stories,what of you,what of the words or what of my dew Lies and lies Strangled the fliers Witnessed it, he has admirers Sweetness and tartness ignored Mulberry swallowed but in the heart it sored What would the 'dead lips' pen When it had not the truth,son Curses though slip off Feelings be never any drawf For to hate Once there should have been love's bait tight How dangling and dwindling No shore was he ever kindling Hours and hours It takes no par Touch not that knight He has swords defending with might How barren is he and Knows not any scabbard Those wands of enigma That suits not the noble hands off stigma Suitors of temper Shooters of blood towels much damper Is it your blood ? Shut-up for god's sake Let's arrange him a slumber

27

Once lost in dreams, Insomniac I became. When red petals glittered, Scattered color all around, With eyes veiled under the dark night, Colorless I became. Then words sizzled, Created storm, Tore heart all around, With uncried tears, Voice choked, Damp inside I became. Ghastly winds stripped me naked, Reality I became.

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Feb 6, 2019

Feb 6, 2019 at 12:17 AM UTC

faisal-bolaki

When I Became You

Once lost in dreams, Insomniac I became. When red petals glittered, Scattered color all around, With eyes veiled under the dark night, Colorless I became. Then words sizzled, Created storm, Tore heart all around, With uncried tears, Voice choked, Damp inside I became. Ghastly winds stripped me naked, Reality I became.

14

I want to be this wet white dress hanging alone on the line, on such a gentle Sunday morning. Why do I want to be this dress so badly? Every time I glance it’s way I’m surprised with the jealousy I feel. I must be jealous of its peace, I suppose. It has no need to do anything all day long, except hang there and sweetly dry in its own time.

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Oct 6, 2018

Oct 6, 2018 at 6:06 PM UTC

Annieeske

Stress of a dress

I want to be this wet white dress hanging alone on the line, on such a gentle Sunday morning. Why do I want to be this dress so badly? Every time I glance it’s way I’m surprised with the jealousy I feel. I must be jealous of its peace, I suppose. It has no need to do anything all day long, except hang there and sweetly dry in its own time.

16

I hear the carve of oars, I see your palms enfold the wood, as shards of stars shred a black and glistening wave. I hear the carve of oars, the shore is breached, we reach dank granite stairs, climb a tower in moon gritty light. I hear the carve of oars, you speak, your turgid cheek blue-steel-gray, your gaze grates, my salt raged eyes summon waves and stars. I hear the carve of oars, waves rattle a candle's flame, chill the bed frame, the wet stony room –– the door closes, it scrapes. I hear the carve of oars. I know your lurching gate, the clank as oar lock’s turn. You slip the shore. I hear the carve of oars Copyright © 2002 Gary Brocks

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Aug 28, 2018

Aug 28, 2018 at 8:47 PM UTC

gary-brocks

A DREAM OF MY FATHER

I hear the carve of oars, I see your palms enfold the wood, as shards of stars shred a black and glistening wave. I hear the carve of oars, the shore is breached, we reach dank granite stairs, climb a tower in moon gritty light. I hear the carve of oars, you speak, your turgid cheek blue-steel-gray, your gaze grates, my salt raged eyes summon waves and stars. I hear the carve of oars, waves rattle a candle's flame, chill the bed frame, the wet stony room –– the door closes, it scrapes. I hear the carve of oars. I know your lurching gate, the clank as oar lock’s turn. You slip the shore. I hear the carve of oars Copyright © 2002 Gary Brocks

22

Remembrance into our respective pasts, Gloss over our eyes whilst our perspective drifts apart. I hold my hand o'er the candle to remember the flame. I toss myself from the roof to feel the flight again. The rainsoaked flame wanders through my bones, My home, My dampened heart keeps burning. ~Robert van Lingen

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Aug 5, 2018

Aug 5, 2018 at 7:25 PM UTC

WordsDoMeanSomething

My Damp Fire

Remembrance into our respective pasts, Gloss over our eyes whilst our perspective drifts apart. I hold my hand o'er the candle to remember the flame. I toss myself from the roof to feel the flight again. The rainsoaked flame wanders through my bones, My home, My dampened heart keeps burning. ~Robert van Lingen

8

The moody greys; The rain that stings; A thousand random, Happy things, That makes me want To leap and play; To take in the splendor Of this cold, wet day, And revel in it's quiet gloom- To watch it weave On it's dampened loom- For daylight does not at all compare With this misty, freshened, Dripping air. Though all and sundry Are brought down low By the gift the heavens So kindly bestow, I feel instead Nature's kiss In this, the weather I always miss. So while others may think to complain, And shake their fists at the falling rain, The soothing wind doth caress my cheek; And so, inspired, I thought to speak- Of the drought of sun, And it's absent rays; And this, The perfect, rainy day. But an exaltation, a prayer to none: I do not wish this day be done; Rather I would plead, Sincere, To leave this solemn weather here.

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Mar 30, 2017

Mar 30, 2017 at 4:45 PM UTC

chauntelle-laflen

Perfectly Wet

The moody greys; The rain that stings; A thousand random, Happy things, That makes me want To leap and play; To take in the splendor Of this cold, wet day, And revel in it's quiet gloom- To watch it weave On it's dampened loom- For daylight does not at all compare With this misty, freshened, Dripping air. Though all and sundry Are brought down low By the gift the heavens So kindly bestow, I feel instead Nature's kiss In this, the weather I always miss. So while others may think to complain, And shake their fists at the falling rain, The soothing wind doth caress my cheek; And so, inspired, I thought to speak- Of the drought of sun, And it's absent rays; And this, The perfect, rainy day. But an exaltation, a prayer to none: I do not wish this day be done; Rather I would plead, Sincere, To leave this solemn weather here.

36

Night gathered it's weapons To hunt the purest heart Haunted by the demons Of love, hopes and dreams In the forest of despair It burned very slowly Like the damp wood Annihilation persists From within the core Red from the love

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Sep 14, 2016

Sep 14, 2016 at 5:23 AM UTC

tehreem

She does

Night gathered it's weapons To hunt the purest heart Haunted by the demons Of love, hopes and dreams In the forest of despair It burned very slowly Like the damp wood Annihilation persists From within the core Red from the love

10

My mushroom was watered by your juices fertilised the head grew in your dampness. the seedling grew in anticipation, would it seed in needed spaces or would it be launched to the gravity of its surroundings and fall cold. Could this eclipse of growth be sustained, or in the throws of becoming dehydrated in the over gratification of over consumption wither in needed times and never reach its potential of what was needed. But become withered in momentary over indulgence and go limp in the field of warmth.. This once proud mushroom ever reaching new heights, Its stalk standing once tall but now faltering and lying motionless where once it stood tall. that warm space waiting, wanting its seeds to flourish in this damp place. Know all but dried up, waiting for another flourishing head to seed its dampness where the other fell silently limp.

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Mar 27, 2016

Mar 27, 2016 at 6:26 PM UTC

poetic-t

The Mushroom Now Grew

My mushroom was watered by your juices fertilised the head grew in your dampness. the seedling grew in anticipation, would it seed in needed spaces or would it be launched to the gravity of its surroundings and fall cold. Could this eclipse of growth be sustained, or in the throws of becoming dehydrated in the over gratification of over consumption wither in needed times and never reach its potential of what was needed. But become withered in momentary over indulgence and go limp in the field of warmth.. This once proud mushroom ever reaching new heights, Its stalk standing once tall but now faltering and lying motionless where once it stood tall. that warm space waiting, wanting its seeds to flourish in this damp place. Know all but dried up, waiting for another flourishing head to seed its dampness where the other fell silently limp.

17

It rained everyone was drunk on the idea of cuddling and love Especially when it gets cold the merciless wind surprises your skin all alone with no one to hold It rained and every one was drunk on coupling but I I got trashed with the rain all alone walking on the sidewalk gulping every strand of rain falling for the cold creating a relationship by myself with every drop that touched my skin I got intoxicated with the freeing feeling of freedom I wrote on damp paper with shaking cold hands "Thank you" and watched as every droplet traced its path down my piercing locks

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Nov 6, 2015

Nov 6, 2015 at 7:59 AM UTC

maria-etre

Drunk

It rained everyone was drunk on the idea of cuddling and love Especially when it gets cold the merciless wind surprises your skin all alone with no one to hold It rained and every one was drunk on coupling but I I got trashed with the rain all alone walking on the sidewalk gulping every strand of rain falling for the cold creating a relationship by myself with every drop that touched my skin I got intoxicated with the freeing feeling of freedom I wrote on damp paper with shaking cold hands "Thank you" and watched as every droplet traced its path down my piercing locks

34

Friends, lovers, mothers, love; the things i've never understood. My life a pool of now murky water; it's beauty i've never seen. The fear of experiencing this pain; a damp blocking out all's true and good. I wallow in my endless fears, terror and melancholy awaits in tomorrow.

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Dec 18, 2014

Dec 18, 2014 at 5:06 AM UTC

Cheshire_Leia

Avoidance

Friends, lovers, mothers, love; the things i've never understood. My life a pool of now murky water; it's beauty i've never seen. The fear of experiencing this pain; a damp blocking out all's true and good. I wallow in my endless fears, terror and melancholy awaits in tomorrow.

8

Everything is monotonous. Endless rain falls in my heart, And I dampen anyone Who dares to come too close. If only the sun would find me And dry me out.

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Mar 22, 2015

Mar 22, 2015 at 1:34 PM UTC

scarletniamh

Raining Hearts on Clear Days

Everything is monotonous. Endless rain falls in my heart, And I dampen anyone Who dares to come too close. If only the sun would find me And dry me out.

6

There is a part of me missing, No one I see can tell, beneath this heart, A damp empty room is no longer full, But this was not it from the very start. There is a part of me missing, Like a lump in the sore throat of a singer, Shattering the pitch, breaking of notes, The voice gets carried away, the sound lingers. There is a part of me missing, Unlike any other so it is unique, It looks like your eyes, dances but it is still, Holds me close but I'm cold and cannot sleep. There is a part of me here, It shines as camp fires glow at night, Into the darkness it holds me close And warms me even now and I take flight.

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Mar 21, 2015

Mar 21, 2015 at 5:36 PM UTC

alan-s-bailey

That Part

There is a part of me missing, No one I see can tell, beneath this heart, A damp empty room is no longer full, But this was not it from the very start. There is a part of me missing, Like a lump in the sore throat of a singer, Shattering the pitch, breaking of notes, The voice gets carried away, the sound lingers. There is a part of me missing, Unlike any other so it is unique, It looks like your eyes, dances but it is still, Holds me close but I'm cold and cannot sleep. There is a part of me here, It shines as camp fires glow at night, Into the darkness it holds me close And warms me even now and I take flight.

16

She walks in the rain, annoyed As the hair she combed so perfectly Dances freely with the wind, A tangled mess; wild and unruly She zips her jacket till her chin As she continues on her path It's another feeble attempt to Shield herself from the clouds wrath She walks, sidestepping puddles Her brand new boots caked with muck She reaches the bus stop, cursing The dreary weather in which she's stuck She waits for the bus, impatient As raindrops fall upon her face Oh, how she hates the icy breeze That knocks her hood out of its place! She waits; half drenched, half frozen As thunder roars from the skies As though haughtily boasting about All the umbrellas that it's destroyed Finally, the bus arrives; Her saviour, her salvation!!! Now she braces herself for The long long ride to her destination.

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Oct 17, 2014

Oct 17, 2014 at 6:49 AM UTC

sonali-sethi

A Walk in The Rain

She walks in the rain, annoyed As the hair she combed so perfectly Dances freely with the wind, A tangled mess; wild and unruly She zips her jacket till her chin As she continues on her path It's another feeble attempt to Shield herself from the clouds wrath She walks, sidestepping puddles Her brand new boots caked with muck She reaches the bus stop, cursing The dreary weather in which she's stuck She waits for the bus, impatient As raindrops fall upon her face Oh, how she hates the icy breeze That knocks her hood out of its place! She waits; half drenched, half frozen As thunder roars from the skies As though haughtily boasting about All the umbrellas that it's destroyed Finally, the bus arrives; Her saviour, her salvation!!! Now she braces herself for The long long ride to her destination.

24

Alone, standing among the ***** grave fields, a crystal cylinder, Tower of the Tortured, aspiring towards the void. Marred bars circulate the Tower's depth. The walls of torture outlined and gave deathly void substance. Diamond souls refracted empty light. The hollowed trees crawl their roots, interlacing life and death. Hovering, creeping downward, they swayed suspended. Among the hung and through the trails poised one. Emanating empty vibration with no substance to grasp.. Crumpled story sheets rested upon a shore, lost in oscillation. Stumbling entities unknown to light, covered marsh black, and layered in blight. Rest their starred eyes once in infinite time upon an alien language. Retrieved and returned to the pillar of slime. Fading ash whispers off into the night. No one lived in that tower but the Crystal King of Death himself, Soldier of Fallen Light.

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Oct 1, 2014

Oct 1, 2014 at 12:18 PM UTC

Aranyani

Stories From The Dark

Alone, standing among the ***** grave fields, a crystal cylinder, Tower of the Tortured, aspiring towards the void. Marred bars circulate the Tower's depth. The walls of torture outlined and gave deathly void substance. Diamond souls refracted empty light. The hollowed trees crawl their roots, interlacing life and death. Hovering, creeping downward, they swayed suspended. Among the hung and through the trails poised one. Emanating empty vibration with no substance to grasp.. Crumpled story sheets rested upon a shore, lost in oscillation. Stumbling entities unknown to light, covered marsh black, and layered in blight. Rest their starred eyes once in infinite time upon an alien language. Retrieved and returned to the pillar of slime. Fading ash whispers off into the night. No one lived in that tower but the Crystal King of Death himself, Soldier of Fallen Light.

23

You wait in the elements, for a man who never comes. You walk to the bus stop feeling hungry. "There's a sandwich in my bag, but I have no box, it must be wet." Ugh. The elderly are getting in the way, The teenagers making too much noise. The bus is packed, It's very steamy, yet cold. You think about his no show. You ponder whether he still thinks about it. But before you know it... Your thoughts turn back to; The way my feet are cold and damp, The way my coat smells like a wet dog, The way my sandwich is soggy, and The way I waited 2 hours for a person who was never turning up. I am Miserable

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Sep 24, 2014

Sep 24, 2014 at 11:24 AM UTC

pussy_plugger_3000

Damp Shoes and Soggy Bread, my Coat Smells like Wet Dog.

You wait in the elements, for a man who never comes. You walk to the bus stop feeling hungry. "There's a sandwich in my bag, but I have no box, it must be wet." Ugh. The elderly are getting in the way, The teenagers making too much noise. The bus is packed, It's very steamy, yet cold. You think about his no show. You ponder whether he still thinks about it. But before you know it... Your thoughts turn back to; The way my feet are cold and damp, The way my coat smells like a wet dog, The way my sandwich is soggy, and The way I waited 2 hours for a person who was never turning up. I am Miserable

18

Dampened darkness created a threshold from day to night; Embracing clouds held greedily, that day, the light. The passage from night to rise wandered stray that day; But ever gleamed the drained abundance of cloudy grey.

0

Aug 10, 2014

Aug 10, 2014 at 9:56 AM UTC

Aranyani

Light Held No Place

Dampened darkness created a threshold from day to night; Embracing clouds held greedily, that day, the light. The passage from night to rise wandered stray that day; But ever gleamed the drained abundance of cloudy grey.

4