Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Poetic T Feb 15
Every day is a concussion,
                where I feel that
my thoughts are suffering
                    from blunt force trauma.


Slumped within the confines
                                     of self..
Blood vessels burst in a rainbow
              of fluctuation and I think
                                 was it all worth it.


Should I have let that last thought
                                                haemorrha­ge.

Instead of getting up again and again...

Realising that after the first reaction I should
have stayed down ,Succumbing to the
                                                            even­tuality.  

That I could be what I wanted, what I thought
                 I could become. I was like a flower,

Dying before it blossomed..
                          And all that was left
                              was dead memories
crushed before they could even show
                                            there beauty.

                Now just wilted dreams becoming nightmares.
ryn Feb 2015
Blue clouds gaze the wrapped sun
frozen kisses in my blood
travelling a thousand miles
to meet up with you.

There is none else walking
down this path where memories
wake up and dance
inside my armored heart.

I peeled off each kisses embrace
out of my parched lips.
I shook off the tree,
where your scent had blossomed.

Every step down this scarcely trodden path saw...
Each peel fall with helpless, damsel-like grace.
Brown leaves shone amber touched by fingers of the sun
Invasion of warmth through my greyed bony carapace.

Gentle tremors reverberate within with subtle anguish.
Sweet scented portal that took me back,
To the illusion of time where we once were...
In drunken stupor...laying under a star strewn canvas of black.

Senses that spoke of a great fantastical tale.
You are still here... In this cloying void with no one around...
Only that scent...your scent tugging on my core
Invisible tendrils berthing my feet back on ground.


Alone and wanting don't want to be anymore.
I want to feast my lungs on your skin once more.
I want to vibrate under your touch again,
In anguished anticipation and sweet pain.

I hurl your name to the echoing wind,
Blowing ferociously over the closed passage.
Only to find that I'm but elongating
the distance between our fading wishful stars.

Fading far only to find that I'm lost yet again,
Still harvesting a basket full of ripened hope.
Traversing planes with warped, slanted doorways,
Frantically seeking purchase on knobs with fevered gropes.

Heavy layered breaths inhaled too shallow...
Tracing missteps to decipher what it all meant.
When all is moot...weary, weathered and futile,
Forever I'll be bathing in the familiarity of your soothing, nectarous scent...



Dajena M
**ryn
My first collab with the incredible Dajena M. She had deleted her account and the collaborative pieces she had posted went away as well. But... I found them!!! Yay!

I'm so glad we had the chance to collaborate on such an amazing piece together.
Shofi Ahmed Dec 2017
Every star across the seven skies
Wishes to kiss it is a gold dust.

Not to mention the Moon in the centre
waning and waxing in the open and in secret
keeps unleashing longing to rub
this non-sublunary piece on its forehead.

She knows only then the rough seas beneath
her will calm down in the soft raining moonlight
shedding off such a lucky blossomed forehead.

Oh, if only scarcely they could ever see it
the galaxies since their inceptions longing for it.
Bliss of the eye tucked away from the scene
Paradise lies beneath the mother’s feet!

The mother is fast is for all and is down to earth
She, the mother Fathima descended down
from up above the heaven that pivotal frontier
only all the prophets’ Prophet has seen.
Then was no Adam nor Eve or Jibreel!

Paradise finds its core with its resonant lore
in the shadow of the original feminine Fathima
the immortal hotspot the original physics explored.
Paradise lived and breathe beneath her feet
but she touched down at the heart of the earth
without stepping or touching on paradise
only to give away her stake to others!
No land she would take on her way back indeed
Not in her name, know where Fathima’s grave is?
When people visit Islamic holy city Medina they look for the grave of the holy lady Fathima. It has been the tradition since her death some fourteen hundred years ago. There are two graves where she is buried but which one is her is still unknown It's been said that she preferred her grave to remain unidentified.
Paul Hansford Aug 2018
The first cold letters, alone on the page.
A quick pencil found them,
and the lively and beautiful syllables blossomed.
The pale book felt the pencil,
and the terrifying, hot words entered.
The lines grew, living and sensitive,
gleaming as never before,
and I knew the unheard lines!

First, a tiny and unselfconscious sound.
A noun struggled to appear among overpowering words.
A strong, golden adjective ran out,
a short, fragrant adjective, beautiful in the early spring.
A young verb grew among tiny blue conjunctions,
and a fortuitous adverb understood, instinctively.

The first sentence dreamed of trees, and a sad cloud.
It dreamed a grey rain,
and the tall trees felt the rain.
There was a first and unknown river,
imagined, inconsequential, like snow in summer.
A red bird glided beyond reach,
as if it had never happened.
The soft sounds fitted the lines,
and the quick bird cried,
Remember the short rain!
Remember the sad poem!
This one was a "collaboration" between myself and what would now be called an app on my computer. First I entered lists of nouns, adjectives and adverbs (including adverbial phrases), then clicked to start the process. Please note, the computer did not "compose" the lines, it just gave me some ideas, on which I had to work quite a lot. Streams of sentences poured out onto my printer, most of them complete nonsense, and when I had enough I pressed Stop, and started the process of weeding out the *******, editing the more promising lines, and re-arranging the order. My favourite line is "There was a first and unknown river," which I could never have dreamed up by myself.
Patrick Mar 2018
I am a broken vessel, searching for the soul that has slowly leaked since the day that you went away. There was no warning of rapture, nor apocalyptic gore, that could scare the way you did when you walked through that door.

Your love I felt breath into me the soul I thought I did not contain. But truly spoken, you only awoke it. The love inside I held tight as if my last breath in the dead of night. For dead inside is what I was, a soul repressed with no ever sought rest.

Love I felt but could never own. Know this I did, but even so; When you find love so bold, so blindingly bright, do you turn away? Cast aside your eyesight? Or do you simply stare, perhaps take action, and hope that you can one day hold the love that is the only way to repair?

My soul, my heart, my life, my fight.

All of these I offered you and asked only to share in your golden light. But a fool I was, not just once or twice...But again and again until the flame that once had tempered this bridge destroyed what had blossomed before it could bud.

I was not honest and tried to deceive this paragon of love that I saw in front of me. Instead of my soul, I showed only this mask; The one without substance or mass.

Now here I lay, here I think back. The empty vessel; Broken glass. To love so pure, beyond even Divine grasp. For even God punished, even God became irate, but with you, I felt nothing but a calm sense of fate. If I had only shown you my soul, instead of this mask, I have to wonder: Would we have last?
kerri Mar 2016
the beginning
You dropped a seed.
I picked it up and gave it a home in myself.

the middle
It grew in my heart.
I cared so much for it,
Watered it,
As hard as it was, I even changed the soil surrounding it.
Blossomed into such a beautiful floret.

the end**
You left.
The sacred efflorescence shed its petals.
My soil wasn't enough for you.

Ivan Brooks Sr Jul 2018
Love is a blind *****
And a wicked witch.
She's like a bill collector
And a heartbreaker.

Love is a light
Sometimes she's bright,
Sometimes she's dangerous
And very mysterious.

Love is contentious
Like a strange virus,
She kills at times
At times, she saves.

What's this phenomenon
That moves like the moon?
Love eludes some people
And for her, some will struggle.

To some, she's a white dove
Sent for them from above.
To those not lucky like us,
Love is just like a bad curse.

Love is the bedrock of life
Yet she hurts like a knife.
To few, she works like a lawn mower
And too few she's a lawn blower.

Love to some is like a quick shower
In no time it's all over.
The mystery of love
Is the tale of the black dove.

Love's seed was planted in Heaven
And blossomed in the garden of Eden
A long time ago on this earth,
It was the caveat for Romeo's death.

#IvanBrooksPoetry©
7/22/2018
Love is a long story.
Over-Complicated Dec 2018
A bed we knew very little of, the history was a mystery.
My skin smiled when it met yours,
Radiating peace and security.
My bud blossomed into small roses that were pressed close to your heart.
Between us, a dance
Unlike any other I had ever known. A twist and pull, a push and shout,
Breath intertwined like branches in a cold winter forest.
Your hands fell down my hips, slithering to the beat we had made.
A grin, I felt, behind your curled lips, and a kiss they delivered unto me.
The deep pulse of love entered my stomach and my heart.
It filled my soul with the feeling of you.
And we
We are a drug so powerful that you can never forget the taste we left upon your thoughts.
sophia Nov 2017
my love was like a delicate rose that blossomed so purely during the summer solstice. you’d spot it so easily in any garden that you’d think it was ordinary. as the days went by, it grew more and more unlike every other that loses petals quickly, even before the sun rises. its blossoming red coloured petals never flinched, nor dropped, not even an inch. every year it blooms beautifully just like the both of us.

you are my summer rose.
K Balachandran May 2013
1
Backwater nymph,
queen of serpentine black tresses
flaunting its coconut oil gleam;
envy of  leggy girls from the Western ghat mountains,
and lissome  maidens from the plains,
who can never eat as much fish, even if they wish.
Wearing hibiscus flowers,
on coiffure like hood of a king cobra,
your coral lips  silently speak
of hot peppery kisses,
waiting for me at shaded corners.
Your sultry body in me arouses desires,
that could only be whispered in your ears.
2
On a coconut lagoon when we met,
for the first time and spoke,
non stop, as if we knew each other life long,
I heard music in your words.
Oh! in the tongue you spoke,
I heard the cadence of a nightingale
ecstatic, on its wings above the clouds,
love had prompted us to fly above the storms.
Your  gleaming coal black eyes,
like silver hooks, tug at my heart strings,
that makes music, only I can hear,
you are a free flying lark,
above Kerala's lush coconut coast,
that extends from sea shore to the mountains.
3
*When we relished steaming brown rice,
mixed with clarified butter,
with spicy tuna curry, tasting so dainty,
cooked in bubbling sweet coconut milk,
my eyes like two crazy butterflies
circled your face, a blossomed Champak
.

Mashed cassava and roasted squid,
melted on our tongues,
in a perfect culinary language
any one would understand without effort.
4
Your lips had cinnamon scent,
spice land's boons,
when we kissed we touched heaven
of scents and spicy tastes.
When our eyes fell on each other,
near the ancient synagogue,
the hay days of which is over,
a long jasmine garland coiling your hair,
    marked you different,
from the  the ladies of your neighborhood,
                                          surroundi­ng you.
How well you did pretend
that you have never seen my face before!

You have mastered love's cunning,
and all the wily tricks to cheat
the enemies of our fiery love
my Freudian mind perfectly understood.
Just imagine the brouhaha we would invite,
when we elope, in the last boat,
to *Alappuzha, stealthily at midnight.
Cochin----(Now Cochi) ancient sea port in south western sea board of India, in the state of Kerala, South India,where,Greeks, Romans, Phoenicians, Arabs, Jews and Chinese used to frequent even before 1000 BCE,seeking black pepper and other spices. Cochi, it  is said had one of the earliest emporiums of Greeks,showcasing their best of  wares including wine in  containers called amphoras.
**Champak---A plant of Magnolia family with musky fragrented flowers(Michelia champaca)
*** Alappuzha--The lake district of Kerala
LexiSully Jan 2016
She was a prisoner,
Trapped in the shadows of the night,
Caged in the gloom of the world.

She sang songs of heart throbbing emotion,
And played melodies of continuous tragedies.

She wrapped herself in life's desolation
And felt the pull of never ending stress weighing her down.

But she stood under the relentless pressure,
And never wavered.

She heard tunes of everlasting joy and peace,
And never strayed.

She found her way through the darkness,
And never doubted.

A girl once born in clouded adversity,
Now blossomed in ceaseless exultation.
There is always hope of a brighter future. Just because you may be feeling low, doesn't mean that things won't change for the better.
Masin Dec 2018
I fell,
Hit my head on the pavement
Rain has a pleasant fragrant
My thoughts blossomed in shout
On the floor with my tongue out
The rain flow is heavy
Colliding on my cheek
I admire how it feels
11/30/18
Corthonyax May 2017
Neither here nor there I was
when you blossomed amid autumn.
The well, I heard, had been emptied.
Saddened, I sat on the porch and
watched the orange sky glaze by
like we used to. Come twilight
I reminisced the old days.
You said it would be fine if
reaching out was not an option.
So, neither here nor there I was,
but deep inside I always knew
the dog wouldn't hunt.
Daisy Marrow Oct 2018
I once thought there wasn't any life outside of this town,
but I was okay with that because it had everything I needed.
But what do I know?
We are all so young,
running through parks,
climbing up mountaintops.
Strolling past all the shops
and driving around this town going nowhere in particular,
I thought that it simply could not get better than this.

We loved each other like the stars
I thought that nothing could separate us.
We were sure to last,
but little did we know
that all these days will belong to the past,
and everything that we always did
now live on pages on thousands of papers
and in pictures tucked away in a box of old things.

Happiness was in the air that day
when we all were together once again.
The moon shined bright that night,
lighting the path that we once drove down every day.
This city just seems so small now that I have broken all its walls.

I drive past all the places we left marks on in this city.
The now vacant houses that once held so many memories,
the lunch table where our love blossomed,
the midnight drives to the movies,
getting excited over slushies,
and the lakes we learned to float.
I look back on all these places
and think about all the things we ever did,
I simply thought that it could not get any better than this.

Setting the new year on fire.
Dancing to the sounds of Grease.
Picking peaches in celebration of spring.
Watching all the bands we ever loved.
I would forget all my stress and worries thinking about it all.
Can it get any better than this?
                                                                  
I want to thank this town for all the stories I wrote.
All the times we felt like children.
All the times we rose with the sun.
All the times I felt loved by all the people that were my stars.

As I'm driving through this town and watch it grow smaller in my eyes,
I imagine a time when I was not alone.
I know getting older can seem quite strange at times,
but what do I know?
All I know is that there is just so much to see,
and sometimes the grass isn't always green as it used to be.
But as long as I have these memories,
it couldn't get any better than this.
2018
Inspired by South London Forever by F+TM
Logan Robertson Dec 2018
My lost love
Hated me.
She blinded my daze.
Knights in me would storm
Sunny shores of hers.
Hymns of my love were light
Dark were her fires.
Water colors of our love never bled
Clotted on a unfinished canvas.
Immaterial of me, she blossomed.
Weeds of our life brushed sad.
Happiness gone from our marriage
Divorce, soon, and found.
Lost, like two gold fish at war
Piecing the bubbles to the surface.
Bottom of the tank, I fell ahead
Tails of hers wagged happily.
Sadly I swam away
Towards more ... emptiness.


Logan Robertson

12/17/2018
We were so even in the beggining. The moon sang our song. There were lyrics in our steps. Our world was perfect. Then it crashed, oddly. Like watching a bad movie. We had front row seats and could not, for the life of me, change the script.
Note-Did you notice how every
sentence ends and begins with
antonyms/and or wordplay? In the poem
How I Wish 2019 Brings Blossoms I try this technique again.
Esmena Valdés May 2017
What you know about the silence
that wounded the abyss
in the distance?
What you know about me?
You do not have soul
nor your art spirit
it's air dance dead
so confuse with specters
that already existed
like butterfly flight.
The feast
that you have harvested
in your mind
is worthless,
your knowledge is gross
and your love
a cold stone.

Imagine the world without you.

You do not have soul
nor your art spirit
it's air dance dead
so confused
with echoes
on the summit of nowhere
like dreams
at first sight.
Are not we just dust and water?

What you know about the silence
that wounded the abyss in the distance?
Something's blossomed
in my luck
you left me
without sigh
and fled to the seashore.

What do you know about me if you've never seen me more?
#sigh
Every day the liquid of grievances moistens my cheeks
My special mother like a towel wipes it away
Without her I don’t have another shoulder to lean on
Even though the other shoulder is somewhere for others.

This liquid of grievances blossomed into an ink
An ink that will paint my million wishes without drying.
Wishes that compose a letter to you, my unknown soldier
The soldier whose heroic exploits produced merits he desires not.

I always ask myself many questions without answers
All streaming from why you planted a seed you never desired.
You left me without bidding farewell even to mother
As if you travelled to the next world to join our ancestors.

The only memories of you that I have are your handsome pictures
The pictures your Juliet kept as a memory of her special Romeo.
These twenty miles I have walked without you are like ****
With every step carrying a thousand wishes of meeting you.

Upon my arrival on this earth your Juliet named me after you
And every moment our name is called I see visions of you.
Visions that provide a false hope that I will see you after the call
A hope that you will answer the call of your name in my presence.
The poem  "A letter to my father" is a sad poem about a child whose father left before he was born. It is considered one of my best poems.
ghazal Nov 2018
with nothing to my name i was on the verge of going insane
talking to myself, each syllable ripped away the petals of my blossomed mental health

tear me down
spit on my dirt

fear no one
but god and her
insta: @faithpoetrybook
Eva Aloezos Jul 2018
Race is an illusion,
a baseless scare tactic
constructed by the U.E

Race is a color that blossomed into an idea,
then wilted into a shameless concept

Our world leaders began to warp, uglify, and stretch race
until it was born in the form of;
a ladder of arbitrary social hierchy

each day the sun burns in pain, as he gazes down on us humans,
so brainwashed and toxic
the moon has lost her mystique and desire,
because the ratio of harmony to mayhem is alarming

let us all recite a curse,
to the ill-intentioned idea that brutalized millions:
“Race”
Ivan Brooks Sr Nov 2018
Dear future,
Before the rapture,
I was born here,
There was greenery everywhere.
Before the great wars,
It was the advent of smart cars,
And information technology,
Many people embraced diversity,
In some places in the old world.
Of corse I lived to be old
It was the era of smartphones
And the invention Of drones.
This was before the end,
When beaches still had sand
And the great oceans still had fishes
That we cooked them in nice dishes.

Dear future
I was here,
Before the great flood
We grew our food.
We ate meat
and grew wheat.
The earth had trees
And honey bees.
Flowers blossomed in summer
In case you may wonder
What happened to us,
Earthlings lost focus
And abused nature.
That was the era of pop culture,
When everything was good
And few were in a good mood,
And ninty nine percent were poor,
Few lived in huts without a door
Yet they managed a smile,
And many walked the extra mile.
Even though situations were dire
Few managed to love and share.

IB-Poetry©
26/11/2018
Just invade we wiped out someday,this is my letter to the future.
Triste Nov 2018
I wanna talk about you
And the things I miss about you
But you see, my pen is broken
And my heart has lost its rhythm
The words are crooked
And the paper is nothing but rejection
But let me just write this down
You were the kind of love
I planted on a flower ***
You were the kind of love I watered with silence
And you were the kind of love
That blossomed from a distance
And you were the kind of love that was just as equally painful
And yet it was also as hauntingly
beautiful.
Next page