#writingpoetry
Your body is a vacation, the perfect
spot to getaway.
Over the mound of your thigh the sun is
high & the fun has yet to begin.
I love how your skin feels between my hands.
How small you make everything around feel.
I apologize for putting you off for so long.
A year or two from now, I won't regret
how fast I packed my bag & left to
come visit.
A year or two from now, I'll tell everyone my favorite place to vacate.
How easy the language was to learn,
To bathe in the sun of your smile &
splash in the ocean of your body.
The weather is always perfect,
The adventures that await beneath your dress.
I apologize for putting you off for so
long.
A year or two from now, I'll still remember the smell of fresh peaches,
Served in thick nectar.
Compliments of being the perfect guest, the first to check in &
the last to leave.
Still viewing the sights, things that'll
last twenty years from now, without
hesitation or worry.
The only thing left to unpack is you
& Memories of you
Jul 3, 2021
Jul 3, 2021 at 12:02 AM UTC
She sprawled out across the sky, bored,
Perfectly sun-kissed.
From a distance she could fit
In my hands.
Day, the name we hold dearest
Day, the name of the memory I placed
her above all else.
I too, lay sprawled out, beneath her.
The intensity of how she makes me
feel,
A region I know well, sweltered &
swollen,
Without walls or halls to contain the
effect she has on me.
She took my hand & gave me the gift of
her presence.
My heart but a burning bush from this
intense percussion, this rapid sensation spreading steadily, rapidly.
A giant in my eyes.
I've climbed the highest building &
collapsed beneath her.
Black & wilted,
I am the wick without promise of
tomorrow
Jun 29, 2021
Jun 29, 2021 at 11:14 AM UTC
I know I'm not alone
Knowing readers like good-feely poems;
Not poems on politics,
But on love and gnomes,
That offer happiness to you at home.
I'll forgo writing verses on death,
My lovely images will ****** your breath.
I'll ink lines about an old flame's door,
The hesitation to knock once more,
To see if she, like me, is free,
And re-ignite the flickering light
That rained down from our starry night.
People want to feel good more,
So I won't write about Civil War;
Or Armageddon on the horizon;
Millions dead with a final solution;
A leader devoid of absolution
For lies without resolutions:
For a sin that should not be.
I'll write about aging well,
Finding water in a dried out well,
Overcoming not feeling well,
Lifting a grandson with Well, well, well!
These be poems that one reads well.
Dec 17, 2020
Dec 17, 2020 at 10:23 AM UTC
Ya Know ...
These Days I'm Getting ... BETTER ...
When It Comes To Using Letters ... !!!
Letters From The Alphabet That I NOW Select ...
To Wage VENDETTAS On IGNORANT Fellas ...
Through My Poems ...
Like THOSE Whose Agendas Incorporate Cellars ...
And ****** Men Just Like ... " Marcellus " ... !!!!!!
Now V's For ... " VIRGE " ...
And The Beginnings of Verse ...
That CLEARLY HURTS ****** PERVERTS ... !!!!!
Or THOSE MUCH WORSE Who USE The CHURCH ... !?!
To Cover And CONVERT Their Acts of DIRT ... !!!!!!!
Into CONFESSIONS In ... " PRIVATE Sessions " ... !?!
BETTER Known As COVERT... So it's BETTER NOT To Trust ...
Individuals Whose Residuals Resemble ... " COVER UPS " ... !!!!
The Type That Result In LOSS of Blood ... !!!!!!!!!
Whether On Foreign Shores Or In Local Street Wars ... !!!
You'd BETTER BEWARE of Heads PREPARED ...
To Walk With TOOLS And Act The Fool ... !!!
Because Their MOODS Are Far From .................. Cool ... !!!
When They Choose To INFUSE ABUSIVE Attitudes ... !!!!!!!!
Are You BETTER Than THEM Or ... Is That YOU ... !?!
An IGNORANT Being Who Causes PROBLEMS ...
And Leaves Folks ... SEETHING ... !!!
To SEE YOU BLEEDING And Taking LAST BREATHS ... !!!!!!
Right NOW I'm Better Than Being VIOLENT ...
But When I'm ................................. " Silent " ..........
It Means My INNER TYRANT Wants To Be An UPSETTER ...
But I'm BETTER Than The Guys And Deceitful Wives ...
Who Live Such ... " CONTRIVED LIVES " ... !?!
That They're FAKER Than LIES ... ?!!!?
So DON'T Be SURPRISED Their Vibe Is DEFINED ...
Like Those FILLED With Opinions ...
SKEWED By Their RELIGION ... !!!
YEAH I'm Back To THEM ... !!!
Those Talkin' Bout' ... " They Human " ...
When Their RELIGION'S Vision ...
IS What DEFINES ... " Div-is-ion " ... ?!?!?
" Muslim, Jew or Christian ... "
It's CLEAR They DON'T Be THINKING ...
of BETTER Forms of ... " Ism " ...
Than Those Like SEPARATISM ... !!!!!!!
WHOSE Book Is ... " TRUTH " ... ?!?
Whose GOD IS ...... " Good " ...... ?!?
Whose Religion's Confused ...
By ... DIVISIVE Crews .... !???!
It's BETTER To Me ...
To Be A SPIRITUAL Being ... !!!
Whose Spirit Is ... FREE ....................................
And SEES NO COLOUR And NO CREED ........ !!!!!
But Wants To See A Time of Peace And Unity ...
For THIS THING HERE ... HUMANITY ... !!!
Something These ... " Factions " ...
DON'T Wanna See Happen ... ?!?
THAT DOESN'T Seem Right ... !?!
So I Wonder ... WHY ... ???
From Women to Guys ...
THESE People DENY ...
A VisIon That ... " DEFINES " ...
The Way THEY ... DON'T LIVE Like ... !?!
Their Visions FOLLOW Books ...
That SEPARATE Like BUSH ... !!!
Or Maybe Like .... " Obama " .... ?!?
A PEACE PRIZE Winner ...
Who Has BOMBS For Dinner ... !???!
I Guess I'm A SINNER To THINK These Things ... !?!
I'm Just BETTER Than BITTER And REALITY's STING ... !!!
In MY Writings...
There Are NO KILLINGS Or LOVE For ... " Bling " ...
I LOVE ... The TRUTH ... !!!
When It's Used To Move And ELEVATE Moods ...
From Trying To Prove Who's BETTER Than Who ... ?!?
Am I BETTER Than ... YOU ... ?
Are You BETTER Than ME ... ???
What Does Being BETTER REALLY Mean .... !?!
I'M BETTER With Letters Than MOST ... BELIEVE ... !!!
But BELIEVE This TOO ... !!!
I'm BETTER For Being A Humble Dude ... !!!
A HYPOCRITE Well ... That's Up To You ... ?
But DON'T You Dwell On How I MOVE ... !!!
This Piece Is Called ... " BETTER " ...
So SHARES Some Views That Now Consume ...
My Rhyme FILLED Moods Through Use of Letters ...
That Become Words And ... BIG VIRGE Verse ... !!!
NO MORE NO LESS So WATCH YOUR STEP ... !!!
BEFORE You Attempt To JUDGE And Suggest ...
... "I'm An Arrogant Head !" ...
Arrogant YEAH ... Sometimes I Guess ... ?
But NOT ... ALL The Time ... !!!!
So DON'T You Try To CRITICISE Me ... !!!
Because I Deal In HONESTY Within My Speech ...
About UPSETTERS And IGNORANT Fellas ... !!!!!!!
Whose Form of AGENDA Deals In VENDETTAS ...
Brandishing ...... " TERROR " ...... !!!!!!!!
I'm Measured With The Letters ...
That I Now Write And TREASURE ... !!!!!
Cos' They Are HOT Like PEPPER ...
When I Put Them Together ... !!!!!!!!!!!
So I Suggest That You REMEMBER ...
That Virges' Words Are CENTRED ... !!!
To DENY What's TRITE So That What I Write ...
Could Be Defined As Being WELL DESIGNED ...
And One MORE Word ... YES ...
............ " BETTER " ............
May 2, 2020
May 2, 2020 at 1:36 PM UTC
Is Poetry a Language of it’s own ?
Someone ask why I write poetry, Another poetry board I frequent had a contest, my first impression was they were lame. But each to his own.
When I’m inspired to write, it becomes a need to purge something deep within, in my subconscious or inner thoughts.
I always believe poetry is very personal to the poet. Poetry is not English or other national language. Poetry is its own Language, it allows you to express emotions, feelings, what We normally struggle with. Our heart, soul, subconscious, maybe a Quantum flash, write our real poems, and often you and others must search for what is being conveyed, But always worth it.
May you be inspired and excited.
Jim Kirk-Wiggins (C) all rights reserved.
LiberiPress.com
[i would be interested in your thoughts on what I said, pro and con] ?
Feb 23, 2020
Feb 23, 2020 at 3:49 PM UTC
Poetry is not written,
poetry is found.
And there’s a secret
to finding poetry,
and I’ll tell it to you,
but only to you,
and the secret is this:
When it is October,
wait for the rain,
and when it rains,
sit
besides the rain,
and when you’ve sat,
search
for words and dreams
in the space between
the drops of rain,
and when you’ve searched,
look
for love and madness
in tiny streams that run
through the cobblestones,
and when you’ve looked,
see
hope and faith
in blurred reflections
of yellow-white lights
on the wet cement floors.
When you’ve done all this,
then, at last,
get up,
and walk into the rain,
hold out your tongue,
taste the world,
and let a little rain fall
on your paper too,
so that the ink runs
like tiny black streams
through paper-stones,
and the words blur
like the lights’ reflections,
and meaning melts,
like rainwater into mud,
and just so,
and only so,
Poetry is Found.
Jan 16, 2020
Jan 16, 2020 at 12:52 AM UTC
Ink wraps its arms around an idea,
Tracing letters that act as messengers
Of hope sent from some remote area,
With defiance towards its challengers.
The ink once it’s written speaks its own voice,
Like a child set free from its parent’s pen.
The pen having etched its lines made its choice
To have its intent not matter again.
Caring for all these children in my head,
They mature the moment that they are penned.
As confidently as they each have fled,
They don’t reflect on me as I intend.
Each word is a child that I have let go,
The ink no more under the pen’s control,
Out in the world seeing what I don’t know,
But into these children I wrote my soul.
Feb 21, 2019
Feb 21, 2019 at 8:14 PM UTC
Writing a poem is like
opening a can of pop
you hope has been shaken.
Jul 7, 2018
Jul 7, 2018 at 10:46 PM UTC
Like Aristotle,
I see the world in moderation.
All the ugliness feels balanced
When I look at you.
May 22, 2018
May 22, 2018 at 1:15 PM UTC
Betwixt words,
Weaving paths of study,
Between lines,
Flowing within its own
Rythms, rhymes,
A birthplace is divined,
A twig of poetree to be,
Becomes in chrysalis,
Being you, evoking.
Mar 17, 2018
Mar 17, 2018 at 12:07 AM UTC
The pressure of love, executed
on every angle, corners wrap
round a trivial error in my mind
thoughts tucked in -strapped
wallowed in the limits of the herth
against these stone walls cold
smudged on my face like a warrior
I wait for the smoke to clear
putting trust over judgment
vibes make music in my belly
so my mind is free of poison
At ease- you dance the hysteria
a groan man -spider in my web
and my heat is growing weaker
my mouth is silent, a monster
a beast, being that in my eyes
I am now troublesome
losing strength to pass by you
and my heart drops to the floor
glaring at the most visiously
beautiful disaster
standing in my way.
(INCREDIBLE INK- TEAM JAGUAR HAWAII)
© 2015 S.T. Rebel of Eden
Jun 28, 2015
Jun 28, 2015 at 10:34 PM UTC
By Ron Koertge
Give up sitting dutifully at your desk. Leave
your house or apartment. Go out into the world.
It's all right to carry a notebook but a cheap
one is best, with pages the color of weak tea
and on the front a kitten or a space ship.
Avoid any enclosed space where more than
three people are wearing turtlenecks. Beware
any snow-covered chalet with deer tracks
across the muffled tennis courts.
Not surprisingly, libraries are a good place to write.
And the perfect place in a library is near an aisle
where a child a year or two old is playing as his
mother browses the ranks of the dead.
Often he will pull books from the bottom shelf.
The title, the author's name, the brooding photo
on the flap mean nothing. Red book on black, gray
book on brown, he builds a tower. And the higher
it gets, the wider he grins.
You who asked for advice, listen: When the tower
falls, be like that child. Laugh so loud everybody
in the world frowns and says, "Shhhh."
Then start again.
from Fever, 2006
Red Hen Press
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 2:53 AM UTC
~INFINITE
Drugs guns attempts and ****** one roll off this urban griots tongue, I'm a sun from the slums that chased redrum funds, I walked the dark path of prison and gore, stopped at the end, then walked back to the beginning to become a verbal detour pointing man women and children in the right direction before the feel the heat and go through spontaneous combustion. The lemniscate ink spiller swings his pen back and forth to counter decapitation scythe swings courtesy of the reaper. I'm a five star general from New York, I was fantasizing on owning islands like rourke, I know the life well chefed ye for color coordinated residuals, ya know that **** that'll make ya lean or have a bobby b jaw with dilated pupils. in order to educate I have to spit with no filter, the life i lived was similar to helter skelter, it wasn't war for race it was war for boy or the contents of a Pyrex being burnt to a gooey paste. I got more friends dead than alive, so i use phonics mixed with Ebonics verse to explain the pain of sending kites to men bidding forever or the pain of following a hearse to release doves and throw flowers over the casket of eternal resting brothers. Money came in...so did those nine elevens saying another life came to an end. The facade doesn't show the downs of the game, you see the foreign wips, the chics, hear about all the chips, high grain ammo and xtra clips, you don't see mothers crying holding daily news clips explaining how her son died because of chips chics and foreign wips, they don't see the cheddar spent on retainers to prevent predict felons from becoming three time losers, The streets don't come with a fine print, it leaves out the particulars.
Infinite the poet 2014
~THE REB
Behind the madness I came to a conclusion of the humen world. The streets caged me in bars with no ability to pull comfort of a drink together with equality in communication with society. Understanding the diversity of life in corners made me believe struting my fist was the way of life. There were no hands to hold onto tomorrow. No space in alleys to run but to dead end vortex duplicity. Uniform authority confined my freedom to be humen. An animal to sociaty but I did no crime. Just to get from one ave to the blv these popo's be trippen down my ****** lines to the creases over my thieghs. Feeling for a high by touch to get that high in a remote area of their private sources. Age nine I stood in the ghettos near home. What I thought was a dream of doom I wome to a high with tracks down my arms proving this confusion. Colors to claim, and colors to flag, I kept pushing away congregations of street wars and bet on my own revolutionary independence. Pistol on my inner thigh I tred lightly in a walk of shame. I found no glory till one day my tears fell on paper. On the walls of East Chapmen Ave California were monumental master pieces of anger and sadness from one end on the wall to the other... I felt something twitch in me... Inspiration of something unfamiliarly bright over the darkness. And for each time I enter back home to family, there was rebirth, and I could not conceive knowledge until one day, the madness got me. I took that pen, and wrote the illustrations of my lack of pigment on every line.. These demons left me in wilderness. No caution about what life had ahead for me. I knew nothing beyond these streets. I lost the innocence in my adolescnce. All the agony and weakness and fears I had hidden for so long, later became exuberant effect. If there was no God, if he didn't love me.. my existence wouldn't have been standing here today to speak behind the madness.
(INCREDIBLE INK- TEAM JAGUAR HAWAII)
© S.T. Rebel of Eden
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 9:14 PM UTC
I have been to the deep blue
Where my faith had tested my fears
Boundries were crossed
And I had raised my own waters
So high, the sun began to disappear
It was dark there in the shallow
My heart was racing, time running
As my body submerged into- suspence
While the deep I faced challenges
Many creature's in Adam's ale
Shark attacks and eel whip lash
Fish that snap and jelly fish stings
Not knowing there are lessons taught here
I earned trust in faith and I rise again
On the pier I lay sprawled
In all my glory to the sky
It started to pour showers of healing
I rose from drowning, losing breath
Now free to continue my journey
In this baptism on my crown
I had been ready for this world
And these storms blossemed rain showers
Over everything I had faced
Will continue to remind me again
It can't remain stromy forever.
© S .T. Rebel of Eden
Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 6:22 AM UTC
Him; his spirit
and smile
is beautiful
and sencire.
Flip the switch,
and for
[a moment],
or for a day,
all the arch of him
disappears.
© S.T. Rebel of Eden
Oct 5, 2014
Oct 5, 2014 at 10:56 PM UTC
If I could find the Proverbs
arranging them accordingly
Inside these lucid creases
I would die happy, just to
concieve metrical composition
... for all time
I'd scribble heartbreaks and
rescue missions of my soul
to clarify empathy of baptism
that my love is more than love
If I had a key with a heart
bleeding at the crown
I would unlock the poison
So much I allowed myself
in suffering
I am languishing
rib cages, shutting in
all my reasoning to breathe...
where to be found another day
I'd scribe in scrolls
of my 15 yrs of sorrows
hoping your eyes can see
I am just as damaged as
a vehicle wreck
Yet a mother of 1
who was lost
on a sad occasion
3 yrs ago when I first
decided to bare my deepest
and thickest out pour
of my poetry,
I wrote about you
Mathias Ti'avasu'e
..I became the whipping
motherless girl beneath Zues..
Conveyed the impression
at first glance
Writing my storms delicately
as when mommy first held you
helped me describe my
inner workings
so that you might understand
… exactly the mother I
could have been
I love you in all of your grace, your
purity, and your precious life.
And when that time comes that
I may write of you
I could find the words I need
to create heavenly for you
and to conquer
... and if this makes perfect poetry,
then why does it still hurt so bad?
© S.T. Rebel of Eden
Oct 5, 2014
Oct 5, 2014 at 3:24 PM UTC
When she tells you
"your ocean is a wave
of titles trapped in pipelines"
she is steeling only truth
from the ocean floor
compassion on the surface
landing on the shore
but in the deep sea she is drowning
purpose lacking to find
surrenity
she; the pebble
looking for a rock
strong enough
to hold the tides crashing
wind bashing, and breathing the storms
along the sands lay fragile pieces of
of crystal stars
that fell down from blue landscapes
escaping from the light
landing on her palms: cringing
damp by collision
the fusion in dispare
reaching these stars back out
to touch home in the sky
after night fall
the gift of giving back
is a bright day coming
where she understands
how to swim back to self
faith to walk on water
and possibilities do exist...
here.
© S.T. Rebel of Eden
Oct 5, 2014
Oct 5, 2014 at 5:59 AM UTC
In the mean time
while it's raining in my head
I will blanket the only stars that lit in your sleep at night
beacause in my nights were restless in all my troubled worries of your burning sun
In the mean time
I will hide what I could not hold back from you all these times
... love
Where I can bring my worth up to strangrh
turn the pages and scibble about some kind of "grattitude" and other beautiful things that I can find
other than scribbling about heart aches and heart breaks of you
In the mean time
I will keep on going on with a weary head dugg down in the gutter somewhere wishing you can suffer all emotions suffered and transffer them unto you
In the meant time I will do the ******* do's and throw away the do nots so I may be at peace with myself
In the mean time when you search for me again like you normal had done before my gesture will change about you in that time
In the meant time I will hate in order to love again
but not for you
In the mean time men will swander compliment of taste of me while I suffer loyalty of mind, body, thought, and heart of you
In the mean time I will dissapoint God by doing my own will as to drowning in strong drink just to have the strength to finally drop you
In the mean time I will confide in air and space to cry and ache and toss and turn to cure this desease
which is you
In the mean time I will learn to forgive how you laughed at me because "I ain't **** and for threatning to get another ***** at me.. **what?!! just for ******* loving you?**
so in the meant time...
in the mean time
I pray that God will help me through this burn
because I am so tired
of loving you.
© S.T. Rebel of Eden
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 6:54 PM UTC
In my head
I am the Russian Roulatte
In a tee *** I beg for trust
When poured out
The foam becomes of your mouth
I do buisness in China
Shipped to Pueto Rico
Make tongues flip as sharp
as a Nurican Dominican
Jitter till hearts stop beating on top of Italian pool tables
I steal breathes from science who believe in what is not in the Bible
I am your Russian Roulette
Make a feline spray a *** spot in here ******
Make a King errect New Your late night star lights when they stu'n
Change the tune in your song
from spittin rap versus to singing to God that you was wrong
I beat the drugs
Put a end to your habbit
So when you feel you cant utter a verse I'll let you howl like a suffering rabbit
Because no one knows how to use me right
I am the only bullet tucked in to take away your life
As soon as I leap forward to your attention you will be adoment to a pension
Stire clear
I am here
No intentions but to terminate erosions
Respect what I may
Careful when you choose to play
You must reconsider the outcome
I am
The Russian Roulette.
© the Russian Roulette S.T. Rebel of Eden
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 6:58 AM UTC
C.O.D.
Love and amity
was an overwhelming flow-
exuberant, really.
A down, predatory, swaddled
thing,
that conjested this valueless space.
Repressing me in it's hurry to maintain us together.
© S.T. Rebel of Eden
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 9:30 PM UTC
Black and ebony wings
of crippled suspension of
-consciousness
enduring into the great extant
-something
while your convoy of words left
in animation of wilted air
dine me your codex
because in your world
this is completion.
© 2014 S.T. Parish Rebel Flower
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 9:08 PM UTC