#poesy
@ovais43
Anyone can turn
Anytime into a monster
Who would look at first
Who is here an Alabaster?
Everyone wants to move
Faster and faster
Who cares about the norms
Who is here that master
Keep up the beats so high
So we can't hear from the sky
Ignoring the rules, baby
Let's focus on all those means of joy
Turn on the lights
Please
Turn on the lights
Please
So, all we can see
What's the truth
All we understand;
is a fist or foot
Have we ever really
Escaped from the shade of boot
I don't wanna see
How lavish is his suit
He's an animal, a capitalist
Whose business walks on loot
Every time he speaks lie
For money, he could die
He's trynna be a God, yeah
Although, he doesn't comply
Turn on the lights
Please
Turn on the lights
Please
So, all we can see
What's the truth
Oct 6, 2020
Oct 6, 2020 at 10:46 AM UTC
All great minds have been called insane .. Superfluous indulgence in petty day's gossip is not where human consciousness is supposed to find it's grave_Indeed ! They know not .. the beauty of the other side ..A place not easily accessible ... A bridge not visible.. The ladder too steep .. Or maybe hidden in plain sight !They see not ! They care not !
They just continue in their petty herds !
Of everyday groceries !
And predictable backbitchings !
How shallow, how very shallow !
Apr 30, 2020
Apr 30, 2020 at 4:47 AM UTC
My Grandma told me,
About a poem she wrote
About a sunset on the
Key West shore
Painting poems to be
Ethereal and bright,
Full of beauty and
Delight.
Which they are,
But
Here I sit,
Writing poems
About how much I'd love
To die.
Or writing poems
About what's inside my mind
Which seems to be
Terrible,
Dark and
Telling me to be
At the end of bights.
Lonely nights I've spent
Spend days travelling down
My brain to my pencil,
Tracing backwards
Symbols to conform to.
Writing these words
Like child's play to
Nightmares.
So tell me,
What's the real meaning of poet?
Sunsets or an experience
Making poetry
Or poesy your only catharsis?
I think or hope it's both
But either way
Like most folks,
I still don't know what the hell
I'm talking about.
Jan 6, 2019
Jan 6, 2019 at 7:43 PM UTC
Morningstar dazzling my chamber
with shades of amber, I arose to the aroma of coffee,
and felt the bleeding ink in my veins
seeking for papyri to scrawl
my enduring love
for poesy !!
©shadeofalonelygirl
Jan 3, 2019
Jan 3, 2019 at 7:30 AM UTC
I am Bic Pentameter
Bic Pentameter is my name
Rhythm is my business
Time management is my game
Short, Long & Sons employ me
To tidy up their verse
The satirists are not too bad
But Catullus is a curse
I have danced with Sappho
Brought Shakespeare home for tea
Swapped pretty tales with Byron
Bounced da Padova on my knee
Marlowe picked a fight for nought
Auden spiked my drink
Wordsworth was insomnolent
He never slept a wink
Yeats, now there's an anecdote
Worthy of the press
The critic's choice by all accounts
The brightest and the best
But listen to me prattling on
To my work I must attend
Performance, prosody, poesy
The rules of scansion do not bend
For metre is all important
When reciting off by heart
The classic works of yesteryear
And I shall play my part
Jan 2, 2019
Jan 2, 2019 at 7:06 PM UTC
Where would a poem be,
without a readers eyes?
The glowing ***** that lead one to pool of soul.
Where would a poesy be, without inquisitive eyes?
The obe’s that pulsate to expand and explore written word.
Where would a sonnet be,
without eyelets that focus divinely?
The optics that have power to shift words into consciousness.
Where, oh where would a poem be,
without gazing eyes shaped like sun?
The vision seeds, that shine to cast their view upon a dream.
Nov 28, 2018
Nov 28, 2018 at 12:02 PM UTC
I'm searching but I can't find
A single life
That wants to deal with mine.
Nov 23, 2018
Nov 23, 2018 at 2:21 PM UTC
My mind is filled with scraps of poetry
The words he owes to me
I will never get back
The fact I failed to submit
Shows I'm only bones
And the range of the water
I have been given
Has out lived the living
But the waves of the yesterdays
Like blue days of a dream
The scheme of things have played out
My food for thought
Was laid out
On the couch where we said
Monsters hide at night in bed
And tell you to give up the dream
Of winning faith and dying clean
And if the thing of things must be
The living clean
The way I live
Or never have lived
Could not hold up the way of the shiv
And if the living hope to live
Or love or all
Then washing over once was dry
Will flood the eyes of beggars choicey
Nov 20, 2018
Nov 20, 2018 at 4:51 PM UTC
I tried to protect you by not remembering when the rabbis were teachers
and preachers we're on the beaches
Wishes were had in between sheets
Catfish spoken riddles but truthfully
Beautiful ripples in *******
So I was going to invite you over for txgiving but all pathology from the dsm-5 was represented. When I say over, I mean to KFC-
cousin Larry had to work but all the coleslaw and breadcrumbs you can swallow. How bout you did you get stuffed by the poultry-geist?
Aug 31, 2018
Aug 31, 2018 at 10:17 AM UTC
Holding ballpen, inks to paper
are comfortable to my hand
writing thoughts that I combine together
that controlled of my optimistic mind.
My feelings more on sorrow
are the topic that I want to write
everyday, later or tomorrow
it will be released by my broken heart.
Your flaws and non-sensibility,
are the reason why I'm gaunt
not physically but emotionally—
I write because of my tired soul.
The voices of my mind, heart and soul
were ignored by the pretending deaf
the reason why I just write at all
and unexpectedly poetry was bleed.
Oct 9, 2017
Oct 9, 2017 at 7:21 AM UTC
Never trust a person
if he said that he'll took
the stars and moon for you—
you deserve his universe
not his syrupy metaphors.
Oct 7, 2017
Oct 7, 2017 at 11:04 AM UTC
She's living inside the dreary area
where she can't capable to visualize
those contrastive timbres of the rainbow
due of being concealed by the dusky clouds
with yelling thunderstorm that splash a words
that more barreled than the body of sword.
Shadows of people are not people anymore
but change into the shapes of cat and dog
murmuring when they see another creature
as they grinned their teeth with I'll nature
especially her that marked as a ghost
invisible when done something obedient
but mostly the essence of the bundled optics
whenever she's walking in the world street.
Considered as the ruler of torment
by being herself against the antique paper
Tongues are used to walk besides her—
saying religious words but in devilish way,
forming a cycle of a world's new theory—
the inequality with other personality.
Oct 7, 2017
Oct 7, 2017 at 11:00 AM UTC
Tiptoe travelling while
going upstairs of the building,
her snowy dress is waving
as she act like a ballerina.
Dancing at the rooftop
corners then go to the area
while sensing at the stars
in the gloomy resplendent sky
that wrought like a shape
of her perish love one.
The soul who cognizance
the presence of paradise—
jealous she, who's troubled
due of lifting the memoirs.
"Am I born just to cry
and suffer for all the years?" ,
she shouted at the atmosphere
with her soaked eyes.
No one answered—
just only the echoes of her voice;
lost, depression and solitary
are what she sensed
until there's a melody of air
touches her tan skin.
The artistic rhythm
whispered that she's not—
said the warm air that
kisses her lips when she pout,
A familiar one that
she experienced before.
"Are you my—" ,
she asked and cut
by the air's cuddle
and uttered,
"I'm yours
and your new
guardian angel."
Oct 7, 2017
Oct 7, 2017 at 10:49 AM UTC
Time to wake up...
to write a poem
Shower, feeling the healing water--
and write a psalm.
Time to be energized by rising sun...
to write a rhyme
Move below blue
and sometimes cloudy skies...
and write a doggerel.
Sit down to dinner opposite deep beautiful eyes...
to write a poesy.
Time to look at the grand star studded sky...
and write a couplet.
Look, I see a shooting star.
Time to make a wish dreaming
of more sonnets to write.
All to illustrate
the portfolio
of a poetess's life.
FOR I
am a walking, living poem.
StarBG © 2017
Sep 30, 2017
Sep 30, 2017 at 10:54 PM UTC
La puerta como siempre abierta
mi latido que mueve los ríos de sangre
y tu al otro lado de la calle.
Volverte a ver desato huracanes,
lleno estos pulmones
y amarro mis ilusiones.
Volverte a ver fue pasajero,
fue como un beso robado,
una foto lejana.
Estabas frente aquella puerta azul,
donde te espere tantas noches,
donde deje mi columna abandonada
y el cuaderno de versos
que los mortales no comprenden,
pero que nuestro amor
un día los vio nacer.
Volverte a ver fue deseo
fue odio, fue rabia,
rabia de saber que no me puedo acercar
por vergüenza, por falta de agallas
por falta de palabras.
¿serán los versos el arma de un cobarde?
y ¿me hace marica llorarte poemas?
Volverte a ver fue inmenso y lleno de emoción
fue recuerdo y también amor,
fue sentir al sol abrazándome
mientras me decía
que aún puedo respirar.
Y que sin dolor no existió amor...
no existió aquella criatura de rubí.
May 16, 2017
May 16, 2017 at 2:41 AM UTC
Pain
Pain
Pain
Pain
Pain.
Pain,
Pain
Pain
(Pain)
Pain--
Pain
Pain
Pain
Pain
Pain pain painpainpain
Pain pain pain
Pain pain
Pain.
Pain with pain
Pine and pain
And sick
Pain-Ill death-clock
Tick tick ticks
Nothing to say
Anymore
Pain pain. Pain
Pain with feathers
How pain and why pain
And will be and never was pain
Pain in your shoes,
In a shower
On a floor
Pain
In a garden
Pain
With your tea
Pain in your eye
As you drive
Along
We must be terrible
We must be heinous
Viscous, meticulous,
We are not.
But pain pain pain
I. Can not sleep
As they sanction drone
Strikes on children
I. can not sleep
As a
Ghostly ether summons
Across lakes in dream
I. Can't think
I. can feel like a Cyprus
Upon a grave
Love love love
Love love love love
Love love love love
Death exists
Life is in brief moments
Where the dead
Drag in front of you
Bleeding, broken
Forever lost in this abyss
Grafted from a tree
In another world
Oh, my love.
Oh my love,
As I know it true
In bent knees at dawn
Whispers evermore in my ear
Beyond graves and atom bombs
Test pilots
Test tubes
Test
Pain in your chest
In your mouth
Rotted flesh
Rotted fits of aging
Agony which
Is pain, exquisite
Like a needle
Precise like
A
Nuclear accident
I. Can't sleep
As things fly above my head
My eye
Leaving me in the dark
Leaving me in a tub
Leaving me in a gas task
Mustard gas and Venus
Drowned in calm water
Out, out, out,
Number 1.
Nitrous oxide
Psalms, palms,
Save little girls
In dresses know
As I walk by a snowglobe
Oh, my love
How
I am sick of questions with an
Answer I know
But not quite
Not, quite
And death will solve
All power
Like forks
In an outlet
u r a beautiful dawn
At sunset
My eyes are tired
It needs to heal
It needs to heal
D. E. A. (D)
In a straw or dollar
O.K.
oh, Kay
Oh, Natalie
I dot the "I" in your
Name in my brain
In my bones leaving me
Aloft in dream,
I dream and weep
I dream and weep
Pain
Pain
Pai. N.
Kiev
Leaving
Pain
Pain. Pain. no. 1
Jul 18, 2015
Jul 18, 2015 at 1:48 AM UTC
Rain clouds, swirling emotions, crowd the horizon,
mind is taken over by wistfulness, sitting on her throne
of pain alone,the poet cradles her heart, to a trance she slips,
wings to a world, everything is possible----
melting heart's alchemy, builds a metaphoric edifice
she wills to live in it incognito for ever
none will discover this secret unless rarely an intrepid reader
without even knocking on the door comes in
perhaps, if a sweet suspicion arises, when resonating
with it's ambiguous core, and gets a mute invitation,
the poem now is a lit house, in the pitch darkness of life
two inhabitants with different visions choose to live,
this house of metamorphosis, with increasing rooms
gets more visitors, who come and stay, at times they wish.
times invariably change, visitors swell or become a trickle,
the house well founded in the strength of a metaphor is alive,
around it's fireplace generations would huddle, find solace,
they hear the beats of thunderclaps and songs of pouring rain.
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 6:12 AM UTC
This poem has been submitted for possible publication. It will be reposted as soon as possible upon final determination. Please feel free to peruse my poesy at your leisure.
Thank you so much,
PrttyBrd
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 6:32 AM UTC
How many times have I brought to the table
My Island flavors?
How many times have you read
my inner thoughts:
how many times will I share them again and again
It all began in 2004 from the moment I walked in
You wasn’t there and I didn’t really care
You ***** more than a female
you took on a huge responsibility
so you went out and brought the singular noun, pronouns
adjectives, plural verbs, preposition and the infinitives
For a New York minute you should have
brought Heather Taffet the grave digger for security measures
My poesy is my poesy
The sun always seems to be a symbol of life.
and life is worth living.
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 6:06 AM UTC