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Chantell Wild May 15
Sometimes I want to write
But am not sure what
I want to express
Nothing to impress upon you
Except the need to rid myself
Of excess mind stuff
It’s therapy
It’s release
It’s an exorcism
An affair of the mind
One to another
Always wanted a brother
Had a sister instead
Is as it is
Strokes my hair,
My mother, as she tells me
Put your backpack on and go
Just go
Get away from yourself
So I did.
But you know,
One returns to itself
You can’t run forever
Sometimes you just have to
Sit with yourself
And have that conversation
You’ve been avoiding
Sometimes it’s time
To reabsorb your many you’s
And acknowledge your shadow
As being part of you.
See how this Trodden Commoner invites
With his Self cheers the Hero on the Board
As he predicts his proven Time and Sights
Another Inscrutable Win absorb
So much so it becomes the Nation's Theme
With Married Saints you dear Prince do us Proud
Even if your Light condenses to meme
At least those close to you will share your Cloud
I would only wish for your Halo's Morn
That a Wee Signature you could offer,
Poking your eyes from Dimensions and Form
And just see the Heart which knows no other.
Yes, I know. Seven-by-Ten Digits speak same
Most by Tradition. By nature are Dames.
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
Begging you, Sterling Mentor of the Card
Patient and Calm are your Methods in-check
May I take this Learner to Living afar
Bespoke my Efforts and Services are met
For if I noticed this Lack-of-Command
Married to sane Verbs I try to absorb
Even out of Bounty; Trust be at Hand
To remember such Stubbled Skills I bore
This is an Artist-on-High. That which speaks
With Curried Words much tempting to forget
At expense of Duty is no longer meek
And my Salt's Wager now easy to forget.
Bear me Calm. I can adopt to re-learn
The Blue Eagle's shriek which can eat the Worm.
Sara Kellie Jul 2018
So humble
and so demure.
Yet . . . . . . .
. . . . you still freak me the ****
out with everything you do.

You amaze me just so
you'll absorb me, I know.
Then we'll both become one.

I've been erased,
now (I'm) no-one.

Poetry by Kaydee.
By giving too much of yourself to
another you become a non-entity,
drifting without a name or an aim.
Ira Aug 2018
The bird of the Hermes is my name,
And I eat my own wing to keep myself tame.

Through hellfire and fury, your armies are dead,
Becoming slaves of my hellish dread.

Yet the blood flows deep into the ground,
And I, the vampire lord, will absorb it with glee and proud!

The bird of the Hermes is my name,
And I eat my own wing to keep myself tame.

The jackal and casual, instruments of my cleansing light
All burn with there masters own hellish spite.

And the monsters of  kin, vampire and demon,
All meet the same end of hellfire as I once did, all to be seen as heathens by god and real men.

For the bird of the Hermes is my name,
And I eat my own wing to keep myself tame!
HELLSING *****!! Best anime, Alucard is the best character from the Seinen scene. And just in general. So here's a poem that  is taken from his perspective
Shaine Fraz Jun 2016
How fortunate
Our color blends unintentially,
Wildly with thoughts bleeding outside the lines what have we started: again

And again I stroke
And again you absorb
And again this easel-- summoned
And again your vellum-- softened

Perched on a stool,
Vibrant as mangos --ripening
I chose you, the spectrum
Unknown to most

The only museum I go to.
© 2016 by S Fraz All rights reserved. No part of this document may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of S Fraz
celestial Jan 2018
i set my body alight
in searing hellfire and pain
just to feel your warmth again

then i buried myself
in a fading silhouette of you
a glow tinged in cobalt blue

blue like your shirt
as i breathed your ashes in
let them absorb into my skin

into my bloodstream
where our roses become rust
and we disintegrate into dust
sati (noun): a former hindu practice whereby a widow threw herself onto her husband's funeral pyre.
Whereto, Friend, apart this Direction goes
That Greedy Me besuch perpetuate
Must learn this: The Lock and Shackle bestrow
Reconcile that Key for True Joy rebate
And tell, how does your Prime Perception dock
To settle added Keys in Copper, chain
Took you a Lark; Which the Robin does mock
Outside your Cage those Tripe Clowns entertain
That Craft - your Splash - always Sacred devote
Once again calls for Adventure Beyond
Take a Year's Rest; Then to Spangles denote
Would sprinkle Silver Sands for mood abscond.
It was your Decision to sign by Pen
Absorb those Posted Stars Heaven does spend.
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
Äŧül Sep 2018
Happy days are here forever to stay,
Always by our side find them we may,
Parting ways is never a thing to say,
Practically we are fitting each day,
Yolk is this of ours, getting prepared.

Best of both worlds are we two,
Imagine a life together with me,
Rid yourself of that negativity,
This space here is only for our love,
Happiness will always come on,
Delayed it may be but surely it comes,
Always remember that I'm here,
You wanted a mother again, I'm here as your lover.

Thanks for sharing your life with me,
Over the decades of my caring, healthier you will be.

Yes, we shall complete each other,
Of phoenixes, you will be a mother,
Up next is just our Love & only Love.

Part ways never with me,
Overcome health issues,
Overcome them with me,
Just absorb all of my love,
And just imagine my Love.
On 15 September 2018, Pooja Shah completed 22 years of age.
My HP Poem #1722
©Atul Kaushal
patty m Nov 2018
Poets don't pick the time or place, or the state of their lives.  Some write while trying to STAY ALIVE in a hellhole state of abuse. And yes like the homeless man on the street They don't mouth words, they write guts, and gall, and bruises, They write love, and levity and crazy rants or bits and pieces of hope and dreams. Poetry is  the other side of the mirror, the place of sanity/insanity and escape.

Tinny whine
by design
a wind-chime
blowing
words are snowing
trumpets blowing
where's the rhymer
the man who writes lines for two bucks
what the f- - k
Once poets were revered
now they sear through the mind
refined or unrefined, no
loving valentine.
And still I read in awe
chewing on a straw
drinking all the thoughts in
how does one begin to absorb
it all?
The aches the pain, the non-monetary gain,
the romance, and happenstance,
As to the question
Who writes poems like this?
the words were uttered like a breathless kiss

not a reprimand, or justification
supplication to that
unholy state of upper-hand,
on demand, testamentary of
vocabulary signature of solemn state
in which one contemplates tone and
that alone designates the way
one whispers when truly touched
by poetry that says so much.

Who writes poems like this?
I seek to amend,

Only the very best my friend
text is so easy to misunderstand, when one can't hear the tone expressed.  
hugs
Patty
Vivian Alvarado Dec 2017
Please god
don’t let my heart
become unkind
A soul in black
can absorb
the light
But I’m afraid
to tire out
from giving out
and not getting back
To confuse the black
as all forgotten
If I could wear it black
and still be kind
Don’t let it be
my wish
to harden
For the sake
of my self-
protection
If I could find
the room
in the absence
Don’t let my heart
become unkind
And let your greatest gift
become my lesson
of how
the darkness
absorbs
all light
My Eyes, to confiscate those Notes on-board
My Ears, to abduct those shrill Tunes a-light
My Hands, to guide the Maestro of the Word
My Tongue, to speak of their Meaning's Delight
My Mind, to sprinkle the Seeds of their Songs
My Heart, to skip Jolly Tunes with a Jig
My Spirit, to sponge my Past Living Wrongs
My Soul, to sing your Legacy so big
My Hands, to applaud the Kingdom's New Band
My Chest, to parallel Vibes to your Beat
My Legs, to absorb that Brilliant New Dance
My Feet, to seal this Friendship with your Creed.
These Parts sum; Three Sick Sires and a Dame
And how my Laurels want to know their Name.
#emutemusic
Robert Ronnow Aug 2015
You can feel it spinning
                                         fast
the Chinese, Japanese, American and European junk
orbiting at several thousand miles per hour could
                                                           ­                             punch
a hole in your armor, future. Thanksgiving passes, then Christmas.
A nuclear detonation, we absorb that fact. The scientist in us
delays sadness by recording observations. What is is,
sorrow's for tomorrow.

By reducing probabilities to near zero I hope to avoid sorrow.
In yr suburb.
In history when there were many fewer people we still found reason
to cross space, explore, trade and war. Now
                                                             ­                 overpopulation
may not be the problem but food and water shortages
get our attention.
                              I have Korf's fears.
And hear what I want to hear.

Some hear singing, some hear speeches or complaining.
Martin Luther King sang his complaints, dreamed of a brotherly nation
which came to pass, spinning fast, past Thanksgivings, past jailings
into reconnaissance, small wars, drones, renaissance, inventions.
At the border,
                         where the Juaristas fought Maximilian:
Benito Juarez (1806-1872) Zapotec Amerindian who served five terms as president of Mexico. He was the first Mexican leader who did not have a military background and also the first full-blooded indigenous person to lead a country in the western hemisphere in over 300 years. For resisting French occupation, overthrowing the Empire, and restoring the Republic, Juarez is regarded as Mexicoxs greatest and most beloved leader. 

Each soldier chooses what war at what border, or just
                                                            ­                                   shows up
spinning with the planet.
The neighborhood and surrounding nature is orderly.
But always there is implied force, violence holding it together,
                                                       ­                                                       chaos
is contained
kept out of the playground, government buildings, childrenxs games
but lies within
the force maintaining order, a spinning tumor, a gyroscope of
                                                              ­                                                inertia.
The force of the spinning, the speed of the force bring one to one's
      death
seasons, weather, earth.
                                         While the emperor's being beheaded
enduring seeds are discovered and invented, cross-fertilized and bred.
Corn, yams, potatoes, sunflowers, rice.
                                                           ­       Food is life and a good study,
useful discipline
                           daily meditation.
                                                     ­   The fighting man protects the farmer
and the farmer feeds the fighting man.
They elect the governor
                                        who serves the people. Peace out.

Peace and war are transitory manifestations of spinning
electrons, planets.
                               The sun's a nuclear detonation, essential
to spring and planting. Food is life. Seeds endure
if man goes to his daily discipline. If woman is man.
Birth and death
                           together are orderly, the border can be known,
voluntarily. How we live together, by prayer or force,
is our story.

Knowledge
from laboratory to starry corridor keeps us very
                                                            ­                         versed.
Did Juaristas consider the rights of animals not to be eaten?
Not during that spinning.
                                              And perform the history that surrounds us.
All that can be done
is written in the spinning:
"The people of the land, the Indian farmers of North America - like their counterparts in Mesoamerica, the Andean region, and the Amazon - have continuously cultivated maize, beans, squash and other crops for more than five thousand years. One of the salient features of their traditional farming systems is the high degree of biodiversity. These traditional farming systems have emerged over centuries of cultural and biological evolution, and they represent the accumulated experience of indigenous farmers interacting with the environment without access to external inputs, capital or scientific knowledge. In Latin America alone, more than 2.5 million hectares under traditional agriculture in the form of raised fields, polycultures, agroforestry systems and the like document indigenous farmers' successful adaptations to difficult environments."
--Wikipedia,  "Benito Juarez"
-- Altieri , Miguel A., Foreword to Enduring Seeds: Native American Agriculture and Wild Plant Conservation, by Gary Paul Nabhan, The University of Arizona Press, 1989

www.ronnowpoetry.com
William Eberlein Feb 2013
I continue to write.
To spill.
To bleed.
In hopes that you will read,
and absorb,
and comprehend,
what I desperately try
to tell you.
To cry out to you.
To shout to you.
What I want you to see...
What I hope that you will see...
What I need you to see!

But deep down,
deep within,
I know that my voice is silent.
I know that it is futile.

Just as is
my time on this planet.

Just as is,
My love for you.

Just as is,
This breath in my lungs.

Just as is,
the need to speak these words,
that I wish to tell you.
I never felt like kissing another person like this
It is like I am searching
Searching for your warmth
Searching for the enclave that I can rest my body
I want to caccoon myself in your love
And I pray to God that my love radiates off of me and your skin will absorb it
I am crossing my fingers in hope that I finally found a good one
I want this love to be successful

2 years later . . . it was all a joke
I never loved him.
He loved to sit in his depression while he thought I was just a poor foreign girl- child.
**** THAT
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