#inanimate - Hello Poetry

Life not lived in still stance glued to my tree like altar dreaming of what could of been roaming the Serengeti scorched trails my flesh beating jungle drums blaring head high in a roof of galant green alas the realness of reality revertebrates into my cold expanse I am but a statue of beauty crafted hands of my maker smooth but firm as they caressed my curves connected in that memorable moment standing still in ticking time ever eternal state static

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Aug 12, 2020

Aug 12, 2020 at 2:06 PM UTC

steven-boston

Alas

Life not lived in still stance glued to my tree like altar dreaming of what could of been roaming the Serengeti scorched trails my flesh beating jungle drums blaring head high in a roof of galant green alas the realness of reality revertebrates into my cold expanse I am but a statue of beauty crafted hands of my maker smooth but firm as they caressed my curves connected in that memorable moment standing still in ticking time ever eternal state static

16

If I could speak whispering words what would I tell you? I've been used since birth till death it will continue I've seen spring summer autumn winter too naked to life's elements I do not feel I'm dead to the touch I used to sit in a fantastic forrest flush I longinly long for those days when I felt the wonderful wind Blow throw my spindly hair Oh but it's gone Instead I'm listening to tales and weary woes of wars had Scars left Tales of the neighbours wife and wee jimmys strife What a life The days I long for.. when families come with love and laughter Galant giggles Tenacious tickles Forever times but soon they depart as I'm left enchanted longing for the next encounter But sometimes.. I'm as lonely as lonely gets the lost key never found Shrouded in a coat of sadness Oh how I miss the place that I grew up now I solemly sit on all fours as if the statue of grey friars Bobby planted without roots My only solace Is the families fun My only.. My only

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Jun 8, 2020

Jun 8, 2020 at 7:01 PM UTC

steven-boston

Longing

If I could speak whispering words what would I tell you? I've been used since birth till death it will continue I've seen spring summer autumn winter too naked to life's elements I do not feel I'm dead to the touch I used to sit in a fantastic forrest flush I longinly long for those days when I felt the wonderful wind Blow throw my spindly hair Oh but it's gone Instead I'm listening to tales and weary woes of wars had Scars left Tales of the neighbours wife and wee jimmys strife What a life The days I long for.. when families come with love and laughter Galant giggles Tenacious tickles Forever times but soon they depart as I'm left enchanted longing for the next encounter But sometimes.. I'm as lonely as lonely gets the lost key never found Shrouded in a coat of sadness Oh how I miss the place that I grew up now I solemly sit on all fours as if the statue of grey friars Bobby planted without roots My only solace Is the families fun My only.. My only

45

The soft brush glides my aged papyrus skin, as it tickles every milli-metre of my being. A strange sensation never felt on my flat sheets, like a virgin's first touch. I once stood beauty adorned, by the gaze of a naked eye, sheets of glory ablaze. What is this foreign, flowing femme fatale? My chest heaves and splutters, as it engulfs the expanse, of my silent pleas. I am glued steadfast to the only friend I've ever known. My only escape, to peel my skin forward, and surely, and slowly perish into the timeless silence. But suddenly like the dawn of day, I feel the glow of life reborn, as if a Phoenix rising from the ashes! My weathered look, past and gone like a summers storm, as I stand ridges raised in my coloured coat

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Jun 6, 2020

Jun 6, 2020 at 10:27 AM UTC

steven-boston

Wallpaper

The soft brush glides my aged papyrus skin, as it tickles every milli-metre of my being. A strange sensation never felt on my flat sheets, like a virgin's first touch. I once stood beauty adorned, by the gaze of a naked eye, sheets of glory ablaze. What is this foreign, flowing femme fatale? My chest heaves and splutters, as it engulfs the expanse, of my silent pleas. I am glued steadfast to the only friend I've ever known. My only escape, to peel my skin forward, and surely, and slowly perish into the timeless silence. But suddenly like the dawn of day, I feel the glow of life reborn, as if a Phoenix rising from the ashes! My weathered look, past and gone like a summers storm, as I stand ridges raised in my coloured coat

7

Dear, little, itty, bitty pencil… You are rough, ragged, and pitted, Left with no words to say, but Those that are as dull as your Flattened, grey tip. I commend you for your service, Being used by all, yet left with No way to erase your mistakes. Why are you itty bitty? Have you just been used so much That you lack the endurance Of a sword freshly sharpened? Instead, you’re overdone in the Firey kiln of vocabulary.

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Feb 26, 2018

Feb 26, 2018 at 12:58 AM UTC

JessicaJarvisPoetry

I Used This to Write This

Dear, little, itty, bitty pencil… You are rough, ragged, and pitted, Left with no words to say, but Those that are as dull as your Flattened, grey tip. I commend you for your service, Being used by all, yet left with No way to erase your mistakes. Why are you itty bitty? Have you just been used so much That you lack the endurance Of a sword freshly sharpened? Instead, you’re overdone in the Firey kiln of vocabulary.

14

*** Blue heaven like cotton cozy bountiful of blooming poppy soaked in azurine shade, sensual floral wreaths crawl in. *** *** Sky colored little leaves kiss the spaces in between, snowy laces like balloon strings swing free in a suave stream. *** *** Few flaws have added to the grace we know with time novelty fades in reverse proportion comfort swells peacefully I sleep on the florid bed. ***

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Sep 16, 2017

Sep 16, 2017 at 12:54 PM UTC

postman

Bed Cover

*** Blue heaven like cotton cozy bountiful of blooming poppy soaked in azurine shade, sensual floral wreaths crawl in. *** *** Sky colored little leaves kiss the spaces in between, snowy laces like balloon strings swing free in a suave stream. *** *** Few flaws have added to the grace we know with time novelty fades in reverse proportion comfort swells peacefully I sleep on the florid bed. ***

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I am a pen Safe in a warm hand I can write poetry short stories Even novels And I am always put away safely Ready for the next time. Keith Wilson. Windermere. UK. 2017.

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Mar 17, 2017

Mar 17, 2017 at 6:45 AM UTC

keith-wilson

Me The Pen

I am a pen Safe in a warm hand I can write poetry short stories Even novels And I am always put away safely Ready for the next time. Keith Wilson. Windermere. UK. 2017.

7

*More often than is naught I carry the face of the villain. Snared in this prison waiting for my turn to burn while your fate is not so different from mine. My clocks still yield some ticks and tocks yet before I go there stands a few things you need to know: They told me that your love was fatal, though failed to hear the laughter of irony from behind their heads. They cried tales that you were toxic and I could not save my lips from curling. They said that your presence in mine would design the suffering for those around. I was told that you would leave me up in smoke as if God still plays with dice. Your middling cigarette spends just the beginning of their lives packing yet I waged it my whole life just to spend its remnants with you. Addictive by nature so let me take my pick of a million other lips to secure truth that it is you I am addicted to. I want you to simmer my skin when the world is cold, I want to cast you brighter than a hundred suns hold, I want to steal breath from your chest and place it in mine, I want to make your heart stop like an eight-sided sign, I want you to move my pistons and ignite my core, I want you to saturate me as I lay on your shore, I want to find what it is to go out with a bang, I want to be that picture that fits in no frame. I want to get you out of my head but you are my song on repeat, my hole that’s too deep, my nights with no sleep, my words when I speak. Yet alas I hail from a pack known as Montague while you bear the brand of Capulet. They will never render us free in this life so when my time finally comes to a burning halt, and my life flashes before my eyes, just know that you will be the only thing I see in the next.*

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Nov 6, 2013

Nov 6, 2013 at 6:11 AM UTC

bradley-yencer

A love letter between a cigarette and gasoline:

*More often than is naught I carry the face of the villain. Snared in this prison waiting for my turn to burn while your fate is not so different from mine. My clocks still yield some ticks and tocks yet before I go there stands a few things you need to know: They told me that your love was fatal, though failed to hear the laughter of irony from behind their heads. They cried tales that you were toxic and I could not save my lips from curling. They said that your presence in mine would design the suffering for those around. I was told that you would leave me up in smoke as if God still plays with dice. Your middling cigarette spends just the beginning of their lives packing yet I waged it my whole life just to spend its remnants with you. Addictive by nature so let me take my pick of a million other lips to secure truth that it is you I am addicted to. I want you to simmer my skin when the world is cold, I want to cast you brighter than a hundred suns hold, I want to steal breath from your chest and place it in mine, I want to make your heart stop like an eight-sided sign, I want you to move my pistons and ignite my core, I want you to saturate me as I lay on your shore, I want to find what it is to go out with a bang, I want to be that picture that fits in no frame. I want to get you out of my head but you are my song on repeat, my hole that’s too deep, my nights with no sleep, my words when I speak. Yet alas I hail from a pack known as Montague while you bear the brand of Capulet. They will never render us free in this life so when my time finally comes to a burning halt, and my life flashes before my eyes, just know that you will be the only thing I see in the next.*

34

I am a simple bystander. Upon my slightly rough surface rests libations Libations sometimes full of color and others devoid of any light Along for the ride one minute he or she is calm or quiet Quiet, and the next moody Moody or wildly mad with passion Passion for words sometimes strung in nonsensical or hardly decipherable sentences Sentences forming the harmonious song of social interaction In this I delight. On my course surface games are made, Challenges are placed, Games and challenges are played, and it all ends with uproarious laughter. On my grainy surface words are sometimes written Written along with shapes and symbols Symbols which for reasons unknown increase my value ten fold In the morning I am desired and required Desired and required I am sought In the morning I am loved. I am a simple bystander, In this I delight.

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Jan 7, 2016

Jan 7, 2016 at 10:10 PM UTC

Matthew-A-Cain

Bar Coaster

I am a simple bystander. Upon my slightly rough surface rests libations Libations sometimes full of color and others devoid of any light Along for the ride one minute he or she is calm or quiet Quiet, and the next moody Moody or wildly mad with passion Passion for words sometimes strung in nonsensical or hardly decipherable sentences Sentences forming the harmonious song of social interaction In this I delight. On my course surface games are made, Challenges are placed, Games and challenges are played, and it all ends with uproarious laughter. On my grainy surface words are sometimes written Written along with shapes and symbols Symbols which for reasons unknown increase my value ten fold In the morning I am desired and required Desired and required I am sought In the morning I am loved. I am a simple bystander, In this I delight.

21

Like a beggar feeling for gold in the dark I mosey in the shadows searching for the scent of bliss Blind to everything but my own thought I skirt the edge of light and dark A stuttering heartbeat I rest upon a sturdy form and begin to flutter Slowly I come away from my stupor and tilt my head Upward Illuminated by a golden sphere A moth grasping at God Gripped in the glow I am light Reflecting unto faded stars We Inanimate forms buzzing along to the Dull hum of the universe.

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Jul 14, 2014

Jul 14, 2014 at 5:05 AM UTC

food

My streetlight manifesto

Like a beggar feeling for gold in the dark I mosey in the shadows searching for the scent of bliss Blind to everything but my own thought I skirt the edge of light and dark A stuttering heartbeat I rest upon a sturdy form and begin to flutter Slowly I come away from my stupor and tilt my head Upward Illuminated by a golden sphere A moth grasping at God Gripped in the glow I am light Reflecting unto faded stars We Inanimate forms buzzing along to the Dull hum of the universe.

16

Love, is it the way you make me feel Like you’re the only thing that’s real. Is it the softness of your eyes, Never telling me lies. That soft brown glow Oh, how it shows. You’re the one who always cares When all the world can do, is stop and stare. You’re the one who’s there for me When others just won’t let me be. The guys who came, the guys who past You’re the one that always lasts. Through death, through life You’ve helped through strife. You’ve been here all the while. Stopping those tears and making me smile. Giving me one last chance, one breath more Keeping me from my internal war. Till night, my deary My love. My Friend. My beary.

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Jun 24, 2014

Jun 24, 2014 at 11:22 AM UTC

ThoughtsUnspoken

You're The One

Love, is it the way you make me feel Like you’re the only thing that’s real. Is it the softness of your eyes, Never telling me lies. That soft brown glow Oh, how it shows. You’re the one who always cares When all the world can do, is stop and stare. You’re the one who’s there for me When others just won’t let me be. The guys who came, the guys who past You’re the one that always lasts. Through death, through life You’ve helped through strife. You’ve been here all the while. Stopping those tears and making me smile. Giving me one last chance, one breath more Keeping me from my internal war. Till night, my deary My love. My Friend. My beary.

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