#muse poems - Hello Poetry

#muse poems

1.6k poems containing #muse

Sort

The Expectations of YouI find it strange that when I look into your eyes I'm not met with an endless starry sky. The world around me doesn't freeze or turn monochrome around everyone but you. I don't see an endless sea or visions of a setting sun, no matter my determination. So how do I know it is love if it isn't as the words I've heard all my life describe? / Yet my heart still drops when you walk into the room, even when your focus is a place far off. People say it's like a flutter but this is far too heavy to use such a light word to describe such a feeling. It's painful, but I know it isn't something ominous or bad because it feels right. How do I know it is love if none if my words describe it right as they should? / I get it every time our eyes meet or you tilt your head and smile with your head in the clouds. I get it when you laugh to yourself or say something hardly above a whisper. When you focus so hard you ***** up and let out that silly sigh of aggravation and I feel such deep affection. Yet is it alright for me to say what I feel is love when I can't even tell myself what love is?

69.2k

NineteenThe likes of you I can't describe, / Yet I love to eat between your thighs. / The melody you spake to me

@martin-narrod14

33.2k

Scream of SilenceShow me Silence and I will make it scream. / Enjoy my muse, because this is my dream

@silent-screams2

27.3k

A Poets MuseOut of all these poems I've written of love and longing, / Out of all these years searching in the sea of people, / I still yet to understand how it's possible to have words without a muse

21.3k

WETThe porch is all wet / Heaven's wrath bellows, falls wet / Pours like mad...i'm wet!

@sally-a-bayan12

20.4k

trifecta youth beauty intelligenceyou are may / i am december / kisses exchanged

18.5k

The Brave Awakening: Chapter 1I used to think that all of them were just bodies. She-figures, they came and went, facilitating infinite happiness and following with hellacious heartbreak, aorta explosions galore. They pass. I stay. She goes. I remain. We all take a trip, but she falls asleep while I follow the road, I sing the song, make the lyrics up as the 101 heads West, and I careen against the Pacific. I see silvery-white plumes of whale breaths spouting, they break the rocks of my rock and roll. When the levee breaks, we'll have no place to go- I'm going back to Chicago. / California. Line 5. Verse 1. She is born in Arkansas, in Denver, in New York City, in the back of a taxi cab, her parents waiting for a table at Earth Cafe, 1989. There are concerts, balconies, elevator shafts, and on benches. The gain rises, the volume up and up and up, I offer her a cigarette, I ask her if she likes my dress, I show up with two palms full of a flame, and I say hello. Browsing in high-definition, the water is warm, my feet are planted and I have everywhere to go. Classical emporium of light fill me with ease, greatness, and belief. She asks me if I'm gay. Every great confusion can be proven to be fortuitous with enough time on hand. I kiss in cars, in bathrooms, and barrooms, in hallways, on staircases, on beds, church steps, and legs. I touched a leg, ran my fingers through her hair, my thumbs curved to the height of two ears alongside a size B head. I love art ***** i burn candles, and I swirl the wax around until the walls wear masks of white. I check-in to a hotel. I stop to buy wild flowers on the side of the road, or to climb down a ravine, we open a page into an enormous patch of strawberries, wind-surfers, and the golden Palo Alto beaches. I am in Bronzeville, on my way to Bridgeport, I am riding the train, browsing magazines, and singing new songs in my head. My lips are wet with excitement and the musings of the Modern Art Museum and the gift of a first kiss; behind the statue on Balcony 2, near the drinking fountain, the Eames couch, and two lips meeting anew. Bravery in twos. / Chapter 1, Verse 2. The chorus is large and exciting. New plastic shining coats. Smocks patterned with the Random House children's stories that we played with as children. We didn't wear gloves, or hats, or pants, or our hearts on our sleeves. I was up to my knees in hormones and very persuasive. My fifth birthday was at the Nature Center, you chased me into the boys' bathroom and kissed me with your wet and four year old lips in the second stall from the door. I eased up maybe 2% since then. The speakers are a little bit fuzzy, it's like listening to the spit of someone's tongue cascade the roof of their mouth while they pronounce the British consonants of the 90s. Said and done and saving space.

@martin-narrod11

17.2k

The Finnish Tomb of the Tween HarlotMost peculiarly of most things was that I thought all of this very fishy, daudry, drab, and boresome. This is where I turn on the second table lamp... / In a muster I arrived to the home of my aunt, where at once she drew me into the back of the house, down a flight of stairs made of tusk and bone into a catacomb where she kept a alive collection of wooly mammoths. She said the upkeep wasn't awfully horrendous as she had an invisible backdrop which led to a lion, a witch, and a wardrobe sort of thing. I stood in the gangway behind 10 foot high thigh bones waiting for one of the monstrous red beasts to come greet me, but what arrived was a very large elephant with longer tusks than usual. None of the red sillyness which I had dreamt of seeing in my previous years. / She could see I was not that impressed, and so I was led to another part of her home. Around the corner walked in my uncle in is superb and luxurious dress, reminiscent of 18th century British military fatigues. He said, "I bought the E.T. ride from Universal Studios, but as bringing the whole ride to my home I had them adapt a more suitable version to fit the property. A hangar opened and inside there were four chariots of orange and blue, diamond shaped school buses with their undersides aimed at withholding a V-shaped street. Then in two and two single file order all the classmates of my K-12 years arrived and took seat into the strappings of this 'ride' we were to take. Music played, John Williams even was produced by hologram, and after the ups and downs for several minutes we arrived to what I thought would inevitably be the forest, but rather was what I perceived was a Finnish town. The chariot I was in was stuck in the street, mud, rain, and soot entrenched us. I unbuckled the polyester straps and when I stood I realized that though the seats had built in urinals and toilets they were utterly noiseome to the senses. I followed a local girl to a food mart where I asked how I could find where I was but no one spoke a drop of English.

@martin-narrod12

16.2k

Melody of a MuseHe soars high, floating in her wake / Inhaling every detail of her flowing grace / Her brushes of touch, causing him to shake

15.1k

My MuseYou are truly breathtakingly beautiful. / And I condemn god every time I see you for not gifting me with an artistic soul. / For you deserve nothing less then to be immortalized in art

12.8k

darkened soul* / In my darkest days, I held you beneath my warmth. / You indulged me with your feverish hunger.

12.3k

The Whimsical kneeling to WisdomStories browsed by the bedside of budding of children / Told of all the adventure that awaited us / So I ran amok with my compatriots

11.8k

Muse CrushYou are a flame inside me / Flickering, / Teasing,

@stacey-handler49

11.6k

Workout Inspiration (My Iron Muse)**when i run** / i imagine an airport / and you at the opposite end with open arms

11.6k

Poetry GoddessIn the depths of azure of my mystical dream / The warm summer winds that pull me downstream / On a river of gold that runs through my mind

9.3k

blue irisesi met a pair / of prominent blue / eyes staring at

@starlightning7

9.2k

Watercolour MuseHow fortunate / Our color blends unintentially, / Wildly with thoughts bleeding outside the lines what have we started: again

9.1k

Be My MuseBe my muse tonight, my love. / Inspire me in my dreams. / In poetry, I'll think of you

8.7k

Words Are No Longer Enough. / How I wish I could lay my head / down gently on your thighs,

7.9k

Musing# / *Many days without a muse. / Whatever shall I do?

7.9k

Her Hazel Eyes#19 | 31 Poems for August / The light in her hazel-brown eyes is the kind that gets people mesmerized. / I’ve fallen deeply for the words from a lady who creates love with a simple touch of a pen.

@kaleidoscope-prhyme19

7.1k

Japan: My Love For Sinoia CavesSo I scuttled up, until I found a voice like Japan, I read him his rights, turned out the lights, and laid right back on the sand. They said, "Sir, he was much of a father to me, but we were labeled his kin, right in our family tree." "Oh wow", I said, with a gentle, smooth voice, he went missing last August, but now he wants back you boys?" "Oh yes, he sure is a feral man. We think that's why he dried up and flew to Japan." Right then, the two of them went silent just like two second story men, so I inquired, "What happened then?" "From Monday thru Sunday he took to prayer from the bible, and on every other weeknight he watched Japan's Top Model. He threw gallant parties to a harem of wives, he read each of their palms, and looked in their eyes; some time later, when everyone was about to leave, he'd turn on Happy End and start a wild **** By this time I was tired, the sun began to set, I grew tired of my beach patch and yearned for my bed. Although soporific, I tried to be polite, I said, "Let's finish this conversation some other time." "Of course!", they said, "We're off to bed. We'll see that you'll do the same." Then they stood up quick, and reached down and picked up my chains. The beach we laid on was black top, asphalt and tar, the bed I craved was behind a row of private bars. The two of them, them both, were children of mine, because my memory is shot, this might've been their millionth time. i got locked up in a county that's dry as a beach, like Elizabethtown, Kentucky, where I was raised till 13. No one, not even the warden, knows really why I'm here, even some man from Cell Block Five, asked me last Sunday, why was I here. My beach perhaps, it's love at last, concrete, gravel, and stone- a 6' x 10' room with bars and a porcelain throne. It's mine I cry, each night I die, with glee, with smile, with rite. But it makes the other guys run at me, and try to start random fights. I don't remember the boat I took, but I remember the tour, going to Japan at Epcot Center since I'd never gone before.

@martin-narrod1

7k

Jiminy CricketI smell the air / and taste the breeze. / I sense a presence there;

6.8k

Moth & ButterflyThe butterfly of many talents / talked nothing but of himself... / and never stopped to Listen

@jacquelyn-lowe41

6.7k

Hello PoetryVoting