Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Nat Lipstadt Aug 2018
The Instigation:
Edmund  Black, commenting on “weary weighted,”

I agree with Kim; This is poetry at its best :)“


both of you shush!

there is no “better” in poetry

mine yours theirs, alive or not,

just gasps tears and blood
whimsical smiles and isles
cuts and burns of pained revelations,
hidden in fog,
that words try to delete away,
through the shrouded mists of
human tissues,
unconstrained by the
bounded shape
of the human cell,
our first, our own
self-imposed jail

tissue, too,
baby soft, or,
purple beating majestic bruised blotches
by those weaklings whose
kindness never
fully developed;  
or old man mine whose
skin cells erodes, so poems and light
weary weighted, lightly flake off
for your “betterment”
mostly tho for worse

good humans all await,
in patientce lightly hidden,
residents of dark sunspots
in the glaring existence exposer
of the unlit lighthouse whose time will come

they get it

how we get there unimportant

get there


get there
that is the poetic
mission critical

no path best or style preferred-
no compare just, but,
any path that
lifts and elevates,
to the commonplace

the common place

where all costarred, universal,
where common is the temple mount
of highest praise, holy smoke rising,

a place that
that discloses and closes,
is scribed/described honestly as
a connective,
which is the simplest

call my poems,
blessedly common!

that an honorable,
so gladly accepted
so much more meaning-full
than merely best or better

for that,
I’d gladly weep,
for no praise
ever been

8/2/18 406pm
on the jitney to my isle
the instigation: Edmund black › “weary weighted, I agree with Kim .... This is poetry at its best :)“
Stephen Leacock Jul 2018
The Wolf once had a wife her name was Luna
The devil separated them chaining her to the moon Bounded him on earth
Like the animated cartoon
He became wrathful
Because She lost his groom
He Lost his one and only love
Things that happen too soon around the month of june the following afternoon
The full waxing of the moon
He cries to her on the nights of the full moon
His one and truly love that is called the triple three  of the  blood moon.
Lyrical Dream Dec 2018
His tired mind
was locked in a wicked
cell of illusion,
bounded by a seemingly
impossible freedom

A forced vision
constantly replaying
on the surface
within his skull:

a fear that his world would


Why does he weep without reason?

There was no sadness,

only an empty voice and a mind racing against itself to a nonexistent destination
H E L E N A Jan 4
For so long
It was kept under the covers,
Hushed, shushed, smothered.

I lived the lies,
I tried to hide;
Bury the truth and let it die.

But there was a change,
You seemed so close in range.
So close, my resistance began to wane.

The endless sunsets we've seen
Bounded us for a future that once gleamed
For me ー it was all I ever thought I'd need

From you.
Your meanderings misled;
Brought a new strain of dread.

I'm still smiling.
I've always been, around you.
I was your tool ー your fool.

I knew sunrise was near,
And my heart was full of fear
But there was something you needed to hear:

"I love you."
I did with all my heart,
Even as we were growing further apart.

Even if we were intoxicated,
Even if I made things more complicated,
Even if it was not reciprocatedー

You said we'd see the sun rise,
And your lie to me was no surprise but
Why did I still cry?
For the sun I will never again see, even in the clearest of blue skies.
Nylee Aug 2016
I wonder sometimes ,What is the point of living?
  When the only certainty in this life is that I will die .
  People , things ,time , place will change with time
  But in the end , we will all lie in coffin
  I wonder sometimes , What is the point on waking  ?
  When I live more freely in the land of my dreams
  I am bounded by rules and all restrictions to live my life.
  Is it not better , to keep on sleeping ?
  I wonder sometimes,What is the point running behind time?
  All this time, I have been running behind to catch up for all moments lost,
  But it does not wait for me , when I try to get up from falling.
  And I know, I will never have it in my hand ,at least not for this lifetime .
  I wonder sometimes, What is the point of smiling?
  Life will always find a way to ****** it from you.
  So , why should I pretend that I am happy when I am sad .
  Why keep the pretense ,it all hurts to keep on feeling.
  I wonder sometimes , What is the point of working ?
  There is no one who appreciates and notices the hard work ,
  Everyone looks for mistakes , just to criticize ,
  And for money , which keeps all just for the big game playing .
  There is no point in anything that exists ,
  If you see the way I look the world .
  But that does not stop me from living just the same ,
  And being the cynical and pessimist .
don’t leave me!
(the leaving is in the writing)

she whispers in his ear,
after they’ve climbed into bed,
their tiring bodies both embraced,
soft sunken into, by, a familiar mattress,
after a sophisticates city night out seeing stars,
stars, human and astral,
city lights dusk heightened the vocal sparking,
singers singing songs of love from
radio days long ago

don’t leave me

she intones, a prayerful demand,
equally a command and a begging behest,
puzzling what prompted this pressed request,
spoken with urgency born in her breast

don’t leave me
drifting off and into his thin place,
but tugged back by this cri du coeur,
unsponsored and unwarranted,
nothing recalled that justly provoked,
a statement topping of anguish and fear

don’t leave me
he repeats in a rising questioning inflecting
puzzling riddling unbefitting a mellow-toning sleepy ingredient,
whatever do you mean, I leave you only
to dream, to purify, refresh and deep rest reset,
and return come morning with new poems,
what angst comes to stir this asking,
delaying my adventure to nightly restoration?

don’t leave me
repeated and repeated, dressed in urgency,
for I see the little things,
the wavering walk, the slowing of the thinking,
the walls, black n’ blue, whining about your into bumping,
the instant eagerness with which your body accepts
your voyage to dream places where
one goes and gone and must go unaccompanied,
some who are chosen and some who choose, not to return

don’t leave me
for the signs are ample, a certain weariness
dresses your face and crowns thy graying mane,
the slight labored breathing from steps once
bounded and leapt, the seeing and the hearing,
each slightly weakening, two orchestral instruments,
together off key and lessened in their triumphal vigor,
these words of mine, a royal guard,
keep them in your dreams

don’t leave me
minor missteps in the elongated negated of dying gracefully,
my tuning forks are sensitized,
and any slowing motion
both visible and hearable, and filed under inevitable

I will not leave you tonight,
my body warming as per usual,
your cold feet intruders indicate it’s you have left
for your own nightly visitors, occasional terrors,
you’ve woken me from my allotted sleep hours,
many poems now retrieving and in need of scribing,
while the fingertip digit flys across the digital keyboard,

I am more alive than I have ever been;
the leaving is in the writing,
each poem a steppingstone,

but the poems come fast and furious,
sometimes two at a time, the muses are bemused,
the prognosis is for thousands more and warn:

do not wear out your olive oil anointed forefinger,
the lubricated pointer of the way, wherein is contained

through that index
your body of works in the
“yet to arrive, yet untaxed filling station,”,
must be seen to fruition,
for it is only then that,
only love poetry
is ready for long lasting
eternal realization

5:36am 12th April, two thousand nineteen
Negra Jan 2016
My lips felt warm around that word.
Like when my leg wrapped around you
Insulated by your thick body.
It's like we never had sleepless nights.
In white cold Michigan.
Cold like Christmas season
With a warm mood.

My tongue got twisted as I began to age
I couldn't grasp my leg around you
and I only got shorter, while they said you're getting stronger
This is what it's like to get older.
So I didn't sleep with her anymore.
I couldn't sleep as much anymore.
I stripped the yee
That bounded us together
No mommy no mommy noo
I called her mom
Because I'm an adult now.
I am cold.
They said venture off into this world alone.
But thankfully,
Every time I turn around she still has a hold.

My leg let go of her body
But her hands bleed with a tight grip
And cracks that let me back in.
She said Mommy will always be here
We were one when you were inside me
We are one now because I am always beside you, behind you, before you, because I love you.
I love you Mommy.
Umi Feb 2018
By the soul, it's order and poportion given to it.
The animals come in many kinds, lethal, beautiful as they too
wander upon an answerless world while following their instincts.
But who said that animals could not feel, despite being bounded
to them ?
They too understand the meaning of passion, love, affection and loss.
And each of them differs from one another, even if it may be just
as much as the size of an ant compared to a corn of sand.
Their very desire is too, to stay alive, even if they appear to be
cruel towards one another at times, they cannot be judged by us for
such deeds, as they only follow their intentions, their instinct and
proportion, without showing much signs of selfawareness at times.
Thus I engage myself in a request towards them, for our society
begins to forget one simple thing...
In a distant time, I desire them to teach us how to feel, as they care
more for one another than we tend to, in such a busy, connected,
hasty world where success has taken almost the best of us.
If I here that the nature has come to pine for us,
I would want to return to it.

~ Umi
The Tinkerer Mar 30
The energy of a million suns,
You are powerful, explosive, warm.
You are all of this and more, all at once.

Your strength you resonate.
Acts of power and love.
You seem to supersede anger,
As easy as you mould them into one.

Beyond the weather,
Or the tea of the day.
A depth you carry with you.
With your word and what you say.

To those who shame, diminish or hate.
Stand to them as you do, without fear,
With vehemence, a better world you create.

You persist, be it for a moment, or for years.
All you can handle, and through it all you learn.
You overcome, you see it all through.
For this is what makes you resilient, strong.

You handle pain, you handle love,
You manage again, pick yourself up,
If you ever you fall.
Take the reigns again, you handle it all.
You make it look easy as a hand in a glove.

Fierce as a phoenix in flight,
Fire in your eyes, with peace of mind.
As you've done before,
I wish to see you rise.
To live for yourself, the most fulfilling of lives.
For I hope you do know,
Your limits aren't even bounded by the sky.
This is corny, I know. But this is one way I really do know how to show my appreciation and love for who you are as a friend and as an individual.

You inspire.

- ITS (M)
BrokenPieces Sep 4
I live for the day
that we meet again

A place that feels like home
Where time cease to exist

Destiny is what we make of it
and our love is not bounded by any limits
Where I can finally call out to you without fear

Where heartbreak is not in the dictionary
and one-sided love doesn't exist  
Where all we know of love is happyily ever afters that come true

Where I am yours
and you are mine
A place where Us exists forever
So, grasshopper....
What is love / to someone who is complaining?

Screaming. Wailing /  Proudly prevailing / loudly Reprimanding
Or commanding Bounded feet
Shushing in rushing / Busiest with everyone else's business

Dumbfounded yet Enforcing.
Forcing / mindlessly
divorcing meaning?

Not knowing /  Rather assuming or presuming
To speak not for himself
Instead for us, lauding law, howling for god

What is it without making / any sense? /
Having no reason?
What is love if only a word /
Sung or graffiti tag on walls / Ave. 3rd / blurbs

So to speak / a word / whispers...
Write or read / Flat screen / one dimensional unexperienced /
Word up /  Another billboard's Loud propaganda
"Unt wonder-bar sinfully delicious"
You will OBEY
Says snickers /
Harangue of commands
The replete of a single word / repeat
On and on / carrying calm

And what is forever to an insect? With brief breath
Vampiric      Parasitic     Abuzz
Without purpose but swarm
Wasted waning /  Locust death Landscapes / we barely notice

Cherish just a starving word

So goes my question / Unanswered. Kept
distant. Unproven / underserved
The point is moot /
What is love  / To you?
Without proof Without life
What are eyes without the light ?
What is love if nothing /  If never born
A mind Emotes  /  oceans / swells /

Love ....
The tiniest of tempests
One thought becomes a storm
Felt Like dreams /  Stars for diamond tears
Energy in living form... now asking why / Are we here?
No doubt It is to know love
And so... What is a good word?    

Truth (the word of god)

So jump for joy, grasshopper...
Being loved is like being found.
Finally seeing the awe and the wonder.
The clarity of a mind's eye,
life is the dream the heart you must plunder.
the perfect time is now
because this is love, grasshopper
and we are the tempest and peace
the hearts who think...

This must be love
Thank goodness/  for everything….
Repost revised
Rhoni Marjonelle Jul 2018
He said she was "she"
He said he loves "she"
He said he adores "she"

She says he was "he"
She says she loves "he"
She says she adores "he"

But why does she says
and he said?
Is she really "she"
and he is really "he?"

She and he were bounded by a red string
She and he were fated with lingering
attachments to a "he" and "she"
really, they were meant to be

Bounded by fate and destiny
That...they can see
a knot of friendship
only "them" can unleash

Bounded by fate and destiny
not by love and intimacy
but by morale and respect,
and friendship so unwrecked
Devon Brock Sep 2
Her eyes fold gently
as she takes bits of honeycrisp
from my fingertips -
the first from the tree,
still hard, ****,
warm in the thick after rain,
hinting at cinnamon.

Her usual distractions,
squirrel on wire,
bobbing heads of neighbor girls
on trampolines,
lifting reigns of monarchs
and viceroys, mourning cloaks,
slamming doors,  
jumbled voices beyond the fence,
bright musks of night prowlers
in the grass,
all ceased to beguile.

As if desirous of desire,
she stiffened at the first crack
of my teeth through the flesh
of this first apple,
then bounded across the lawn
and sat before me,
not as a beggar may,
but as an adherent
to the rites of giving.

Bit by bit,
taking each with neither lurching forth
nor brushing my fingers with her teeth,
her velvet black ears lain back,
her brown eyes reduced
to sweet slices of rapture,
she chews each in its time,
savoring each in its time,
not as a dog may,
but as a disciple
to Autumn's way
of giving.
17711 Sep 11
stuck in the middle of nowhere
of which coordinates cannot unveil
and contained by boundaries
of the open sea that is space
shrouded by white temples
and the paintings that linger upon its supported walls
that blanket endless halls

we look to the future
unto the face of change
a visage with no name
never confessing it's chemistry
but it's sustained continuity
breathes life

so we are stuck
within the middle of nowhere
what touches our parameters
bleeding onto our coalescence
as itself
bounded in boundlessness
Next page