#worldpoetryday
i.
pluck the aching out of my ribs — one by one
as though they were teeth that had sunk —
latched themselves onto these bones,
until it is but a pile of bite marks,
a pile of mildewed flowers —
festering like sins, like punishment.
pluck each bruising bone,
some things belong to my chest.
some, to firelight.
ii.
pluck a rib,
make the sweetest, purest, brand new woman —
all lace girdle and nectarine lips,
stepping out of the outskirts of my skin
as i watch from the other side of an exit wound — the inner side.
maybe in another life, that can be me.
thou shalt not covet.
i close the window.
i zip the skin.
iii.
tonight, i kneel in a confessional —
screaming away all banal sorrows,
screaming away all banal sins.
pull the aching out of my ribs —
it's in its rawest just before the dawn.
pull the aching out of my ribs.
a corrupted sight
for awakened flowers. ringing church bells. hummingbirds.
oh, a corrupted sight.
and mornings will hear its aftermath.
Mar 21, 2021
Mar 21, 2021 at 10:53 PM UTC
you are driving me crazy
running circles on my mind
with protective gears and all
but maybe,
it should be me who needs to wear them right?
you’re drifting recklessly,
switching lanes frequently,
crashing your way through destructively
in a weird orange-coloured car.
Mar 20, 2021
Mar 20, 2021 at 8:06 PM UTC
To judge, to write
to scribble in the daylight
and crumple at midnight
To account for placid instincts
with the strength of an eagle's sight
The blue ink, the golden pen,
and the satchel white
That is all my birth-right
✒️
Mar 23, 2020
Mar 23, 2020 at 12:08 PM UTC
we’re living in a distracted world,
with fantasies that bubbles our mind,
full of barely controlled chaos,
but then i remembered the feeling,
when your eyes locked onto mine,
focusing, listening, hearing, caring,
the comfort and pleasure you once made
is cannot be measured,
not by words, some stranger or even an event.
i am grateful for all you do;
because i can state the fact that,
when my life overwhelms and does me in,
consumes me and destroys me,
you make everything all right,
and on that moment,
you became my everything,
you are everything that i believed was right.
Mar 21, 2020
Mar 21, 2020 at 10:06 PM UTC
Listen.
Can you hear the world
struggling for its breath?
Can you feel its tears
rushing through your lungs?
Do you share its fears?
Lend your breath to the world.
Fill its lungs with raging hope
and see serenity shining through
the eye of the storm.
Remember,
no storm’s meant to last.
This one too is here to upset,
to question,
to teach,
and shall eventually pass.
Mar 21, 2020
Mar 21, 2020 at 4:08 PM UTC
It's the World Poetry Day today,
I hope you'll always keep the poet in you alive
keep expressing your inner self through your words
I'll keep reading them, enjoying them, being grateful for you sharing them
For I learn a lot from them!
~ S.G
Mar 21, 2020
Mar 21, 2020 at 7:22 AM UTC
To the person I see when I look at the mirror,
You are all I had when I felt lonely in a hustling
and bustling crowd, swimming in cold waters.
We have ebbed and flowed, sailing smoothly at times
and through raging storms sometimes that have
made us one hell of an ugly shipwreck.
To the person I see when I look at the mirror,
You are all I have to fight every single day that comes
with a hundred surprises and a thousand plans.
We will get to the other side of the shore and
explore all that the world has to offer, we will go to
the places where the sun shines the brightest, I promise.
To the person I see when I look at the mirror,
You are all I needed when I had a blurry vision
and was tripping over my own thoughts.
We worked on ourselves for countless hours.
You took me into your arms, hushed my mind
and said everything is going to be fine.
To the person I see when I look at the mirror,
You are all I need to stand tall and go about this
life that seems to have a lot of things to teach me.
We will grow and be better than what we
were yesterday; learning constantly, never repeating
our mistakes but making brand new ones everyday, I promise.
To the person I see when I look at the mirror,
You are all that was there in my success and failure
to tell me that I am much more than this.
We doubted our potential and didn’t believe in
our voice, maybe we didn’t have a voice and maybe
we still don’t have one but we never stopped looking for it.
To the person I see when I look at the mirror,
you are all that I will ever have till I breathe my last
and I couldn’t have asked for more, thank you, best friend.
What if we don’t have enough time left on this earth?
Then listen to me, today you are here, you are alive, you are strong,
you are loved, you are capable, you are my miracle and that is enough.
You are enough, I promise.
Mar 20, 2020
Mar 20, 2020 at 5:34 PM UTC
Through voracious eyes devotees, peruse writings, clever literature all styled to thoughtful poetic ways
eloquently, exposing wounds of body and soul, discovered distrust, anger much regret, sadly even fear,
thereto shortcomings in life, of people, their actions, loves and lies promulgated in illuminating phrase.
Technology endows contributors with outlets for venting suchlike occasions using artistry is here.
Passionate poignant experiences most well written, some not are duly shared to attracted communal eyes.
declarations of 'I have cared so much I'm wounded mortally', some bask in lost or unrequited loves last kiss,
several employ inner strength 'whatever happened, I don't care, I'm resilient, I survive', shared with poetic pride
concise verses rework obvious reminders, may motivate suggestion that opportunity shouldn't be missed.
Modest words abundantly profound begin remarks that reassures, with the - I'm here for yous'- symbolic embrace,
in support it is written, 'I know what you mean' and from a great distance - empathise, but I have little to say.
Health issues aren't fixed by artistic pennings, only face to face professional advice forms the strongest base,
Writings from the poetic inner self may become positive steps, for futures not, staring in depressions face.
Much is written with sensitivity oft-times is judged by content, overlooked is why and how it is composed.
For instance suicide educes fear however. dubiety invites, is it fiction or truly despair?
Writing as an art observes, describes, creates imagery, of sadness and joy, escapism, fictional or no.
Poetic creators who web-wide commune through stories, thoughts, secrets, ideas, dreams, let the poetry be shared .
Poetry www Michael C Crowder 12th January 2019 @scorsby
Mar 3, 2019
Mar 3, 2019 at 9:16 AM UTC
you’re worth someone’s scratch
in their book,
every dots, space and the smudge—
as you busy questioning your value
someone’s smearing their ink to make each of your every breath a poetry.
for every word that born—
you blow spirit to them,
brought them to life.
Mar 21, 2019
Mar 21, 2019 at 1:52 AM UTC
The cold air seeped down with no heart,
What was once a sea of beauty and life,
Now had been turned to a grave of white and death,
The city had almost all but stopped living too.
Morning turned to night and yet all was still bright,
Panicking for necessities like bread and milk,
As if they were a commodity like gold and silk,
There was no lease from this grip of icy might.
The Robins so proud with their coats of glorious red,
Out playing like children on a canal iced bed,
Scattering wild seed around upon the snow covered ground,
Bobbing along like cheeky cherubim gathering with a chirpy sound.
A man stands in the not so far distance,
Stood outside clearing snow as it's finally stopped,
I ask and offer myself to give some assistance,
Is seems the final flakes have now dropped.
A path slowly appears as do others now congregate,
Friends, brothers, sister's all one with a common goal,
Time rolls on but we persist as it gets late,
A United effort from one and all like a heart to a soul.
(C) Grant Dickson 21/03/2018
Mar 22, 2018
Mar 22, 2018 at 8:09 PM UTC
i was seven
and i aspired to become a star, because my mom had told me that those scintillating bodies used to be people, but they were no longer breathing. "they are looking after their darlings". i heard but i didn't pay attention. i just needed to share their glow.
i was sixteen
and tears drenched my face every f*cking night,
a few mornings too. i didn't understand if i craved the feeling of protection from a thinking sphere of gas, or if i wanted to turn into one of them. i could be a human whose heart stopped working and ended up shining beside the moon.
i am now eighteen,
my life is a little less of a mess and i would so much rather be a star than a person, for i want to make sure I'll be able to look after every loving soul who took care
of my
weakened light.
Mar 21, 2018
Mar 21, 2018 at 11:00 PM UTC
this is not a story about us,
it's a story about a girl.
a story about a girl who met a boy
and he became her world.
this boy was not ordinary-
he said he was here to stay,
with marble-etched words
he took her breath away.
reached for both her hands with his own,
looked her deep in the eye,
held her trembling body
until there were no tears left to cry.
and she thought it was right,
thought it was love.
she thought her blue-eyed angel
had been sent from up above.
but all of a sudden he dropped her,
and she crashed, hard, on the ground.
she was scared of his marble-etched words
never again will she be safe and sound.
scared they'll trick her again
into a false sense of security,
make her think she's happier with him
than alone she could ever be.
so this story is not about a boy,
it's about a girl made of diamond.
who learned to trust people again,
got herself off Isolation Island.
so here's to the girl
that shows her scars kindly
and learned the dangers
of trusting blue-eyed boys blindly.
Mar 21, 2018
Mar 21, 2018 at 6:29 PM UTC
a lot of people put celebrities
and well-known figures
on pedestals
like they are gods or idols
but if you really think about it
they're just like you and i
as different as we all might be
all of us are more alike
than we realize
Mar 21, 2018
Mar 21, 2018 at 3:27 PM UTC
i'm learning to find beauty in the ordinary
just like in the shape of a shadow
i hope i can learn to do this in myself
Mar 21, 2018
Mar 21, 2018 at 2:15 PM UTC
As in and out one must breathe
in order to survive,
One who writes must also read
to keep their work alive.
Mar 21, 2018
Mar 21, 2018 at 8:38 AM UTC
this world poetry day
is meaningless,
Maya, Charles, Sylvia, Allen
never even thought of it
it breeds more seed of
ego and monstrosity
deep inside those men
to lift their hands and
push us down the drain
to ensure that
we are stuck in between
honesty and reality,
forever.
Jun 29, 2017
Jun 29, 2017 at 11:05 PM UTC
The first 'Like' notification
Literally threw me over the moon
Now I can say I know what 'THE COW' felt
The first 'Humble' comment
Hit me right through my chest
I swear I died and went to heaven
Now I can say HE knows how grateful I am
The first 'Collection' addition
Welcomed me to a new country
Now I can say I know what it's like
To hold multiple citizenship
Since I landed on this planet of words
Its breeze hitting me 'hi' and 'hello'
I can say I hear my name for the first time
And it feels like Poetry
© Belema .S. Ekine
Mar 21, 2017
Mar 21, 2017 at 9:02 AM UTC
Every time I close my eyes it is your face which greets mine. I feel your hands caress my cheeks and comb through my hair in the gentle whips of the flowing wind. Your voice speaks to me in the songs of the bird, telling the endless stories of me and you to the whole world around him. I feel the warmth of your touch in the sun gleaming down upon my pale skin. Then, hearing a call I wake from my dream and find you are not beside me. My heart only imagines what could be, if I had such brash courage to whisper it into your ears. This is the desire of my eyes, to see yours meet mine in look of love that over time will never fade. So we shall never part our paths but instead, intertwine into a beautiful lane to stroll down upon hand in hand.
Mar 21, 2017
Mar 21, 2017 at 7:13 PM UTC
Juggler of my life
I do my best to keep up
But drop the best things
Mar 21, 2017
Mar 21, 2017 at 4:47 PM UTC
A poem,
it's more than
line punches
between words,
a catalyst for emotion,
it longs for your practice,
devotion.
It's the twist in your tongue,
that you want to untie.
It's a log of your thoughts,
that need no rhythm
no rhyme.
As nouns don't always match,
and verbs don't always belong.
but this poem is yours,
it's your voice,
your story,
ideas,
your song.
Mar 21, 2017
Mar 21, 2017 at 3:37 PM UTC
Girl,
Angels do not have wings
Demons do not have tails
What they told us
Are plain *********
We,
otherworldly creatures,
Are larger than the streets we've roamed
Are greater than the books we've read
Are deeper than the oceans we've swallowed
Are longer than the nights we've sojourned
Are scarier than the monsters in our head
Are vaster than all stories
and possibilities
and gloriousness combined.
So tell me, girl,
who needs wings and tails
and a god that fails
When we're grander
Than life itself?
Mar 21, 2016
Mar 21, 2016 at 11:19 AM UTC
It took me one minute after you soaked your words into me
that I broke down and the only thing I could muster up
any amount of courage to say is "why me?".
It took me five days to give in again-
tracing your words like I trace the scars on my wrist
an outline of memory I cannot seem to let go of.
Try to picture myself with anyone else
but it just made me sick inside
so I started to compare you to everything I love.
It took me seven days to take your sorry and wrap it around my lips.
Standing there wondering why I feel so nostalgic
why this ache inside my chest feels so ******* familiar.
The first time we kissed began replaying inside of my mind-
the memories demanding to be heard
and the flashback played as our lips collided.
It took 730 days for you to get it right-
but one night, two separate times you ******* it all up.
It took me one week to act like they didn't happen.
It took all of my strength and I've become nothing but weak now.
Basking in mistakes and self-loathing,
animosity and admiration.
It seems imitation and repetition
are more related than we thought.
I'm having trouble wrapping my head around yours
why it took repeated mistakes for you to realize they exist
realize that a future with me exists.
See, repetition can sometimes be a good thing-
but not the kind that breaks me down
not the kind that tears me apart inside.
I do not want to break
because I do not think there is anything left of me.
This baggage was left on the plane a long time ago
and she watched as everyone took off-
time and time again everyone comes and then goes
no one comes looking for her anymore,
no one even realizes she's missing.
Mar 21, 2016
Mar 21, 2016 at 11:17 AM UTC