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Vicki Kralapp Aug 2012
Dead spiders on the ceiling, just hangin’ around,
swinging on their high trapeze.
With every breeze from the window they take to the air,
doing summersaults with the rythym of the wind.
All poems are copy written and soul property of Vicki Kralapp.
Umi Feb 2018
The glory of the heavens which reflect such delicate blue,
Are alike a protective ceiling, keeping us safe from harm,
Where might this harm come from if above is empty space ?
Well, firstly it manages to brighten up the day more
Secondly it takes care of the sun's deadly rays, filtering,
purifying it in the most noble sense, a breathing sky.
The heavens far above are not without danger, but worry not,
for they are too far out of our reach, thus our eyes are the only,
fragile, valuable sense which is able to grap it's visibility,
Beyond this ceiling is where the stars inhabit, all of the planets too!
But the heaven is which gifts us the wonderful, stunning, warm,
bright colours of sunrise and sunset, thus alone is a reason to
love them furthermore.
In this wretched, corrupt and unrighteous world it is of great
importance to keep track of little things which cheer our way.
It could be a simple word, heaven or just the light of day.

~ Umi
I tried a new style once I hope it is somewhat enjoyable
Draining life to fill it with
watered-down pain, can he feel now? If my teeth make
an appearance, you'll be given your fix of my 'happiness,'
injected through your cranium. I wish I could navigate my
naive wishes, as I'm sinking in my pillows, and the light on
the ceiling is winking at me as I'm patched up, written in 'unhappy'
My uncanny doubts are fancying a feathery gift of sleep,
unlike this fascination with
falling feet to my death of dreams-
It's like I like sadness. I hate it, but I want to cry. I can't anymore. I'm so confused right now with everything in my life, just like this confusing writing.
Dark n Beautiful Sep 2018
A little nod to
Joseph Seamon Cotter, Jr.

As I lie in bed,
Flat on my back;
There passes across my ceiling
Last year’s thoughts and flashing lights of passing cars*

Three hundred and sixty days of things: clusters:
Horrifying stories of battered women and abuse children
Sickening parents with mental issues trended across the globe:
And a new seasons of Law-in order special Victim’s unit on Netflix
Teenagers and adult on a summer cruise: party hard:

Sunday church goers grasping the holy bible so tight to their *****
like a stick of dynamite golden heirloom
Girls under twenty in their fashion nova curves club outfits

Leaving nothing to the imaginations: the old men will live longer:
According to National Statistics estimates: without their pacemakers

As I lie in bed,
Flat on my back;
There passes across my ceiling,
Last year’s thoughts and flashing days of
Mishaps and misery on my job
As this coming year draws nearer, I pray
That I will find a way
Out of this path I have chosen.
Clay Feet Feb 2015
***
***** in the ceiling
Expensive repair.

***** in the glass    
Duct tape

***** of a switch
Stripe the *****

***** of a gun
Someone's done

***** the vein
Relieve pain

***** of lightning
Frightening

***** the whip
Obey

***** my skull
My mind mulls

***** the mirror
Old wives’ tales dither

***** the door
It's  her …

***** of her ***
Beautiful tail
Ends this tight little piece
Quickie
what makes bubbles fail?
the men like to fell
and show themselves honor and they are dis illegal
i love you

said to her
she believes
she gives him hers

he vanishes
the women does
i love you

he believes
she steals and takes
what she demands

she vanishes

people say we are heroes
we will give hand to every weakness
when this asks

they polish it off
and they will be off
bubbles will be downed

downed and not be ever up
tear of orphan girl is downed
planting tree of sad over

up, up till the sky ceiling
it ascends water of answering over heads
making the justice occuring

if every one gives hand
the things will not be bad
and the weather will not be sad
the justice will be the first of the life
My
Four
Schiz(Zoo)phrenic
breaks
with reality
are
me

I can
-hear-
YOU

fluttering. . .
    fluttering. . .

birds communicating
        insects have emotion(s)

hear ~ravens
calling me

footsteps on the ceiling *

and you. . .
appear solid
I could've touched you.
I have had four complete hallucinations whereby everything was nothing real. The brain appears to open pathways that later in life open up without LSD leading to strange voices, shadow people, lights and auditory hallucinations.
Ilion gray Aug 2018
The people
Are going anywhere
where they will wait,
Where the aluminum tops of pop
Bottles crash to earth
Releasing one last
Tiiiiinngg!!!((())))))
A kind of
Musical note...
A single sound through the corridors
Of order-
Watching the wind tease the trees/
Like the fastest boy
On the block,
Subtly walking
Over scattered grey
loose gravel
In the parking lot
Of the park,
Running his
Tiny ***** fingers,
Through
The other boys heads
Dusty and
Stagnant,
Filthy with earth and
Hours,
their
Blood black and  smoldering
Beneath a ceiling of skin,
Every pore
Like a window
Open
Waiting for the
One who knows,
To pass by,
All of them
Believing they
Were chosen.
"duck"
    "DUck"
              .........."DUCK
"GOOSE!!!­"

I watch the wind tease the leaves of trees-
Just this way,
At play,
Aloof
To the price of days,
Each one,
Their own.
Yet, both
The tree
And the child
Are Subtly dying,
Whilst also
climbing,
Closer to the
The sky,
Those ageless eyes
watch
their tiny fingers
stretched high
Reaching beneath
The ribs of wind,
the deepest end
Of the Seas of mid-heaven,
Into the sacred
Waves of secrets
everlasting,
Where
God taught his only
Son to swim.

I also watched,
as the wind teased
The trees that held the leaves-
Each decaying
As they rise
They bend forward like,
golden fields of days
Like sun-beaten blades of grass,
Their giant broken bodies
Like stones
So still,
That at times,
unfortunate seconds
Drifting past
Quietly,
wander
Too long
In the sadness,
Then crash
Violently,
In the silence.

If you ask some of the
people,
They will say
"We are going everywhere,
And yet we have found nothing-
Nothing/
While we wait-"

I have watched the wind tease
Everything,
All that I can hold in my eyes,
There
Where there is life everlasting-
Fingerprints,
Left after
the years wrapped it's hands
Around my neck squeezing
Till my skin began
To die and wither,
Like a brown trout
Tired, and weary
Floating way too
Close to the bank
As the edge of March,
Eat the last days of winter,
Now the evenings
Fall like ash,
Slowly arriving,
Hovering,
Softly
covering my shoulder.
The long night has just begun
Solemn and Subtle, sewn with
years
And hours
Of days that dripping
minutes
Never fill,
Arriving always
at the coldest hour
From the woods
That none
Can enter,
Lest you have reinforced your thoughts
With stolen rays of sunshine
Lest you have mapped
Constellations in the
Shattered glass  
From the broken
Windows of your eyes
I see things from the corner of my eye
I've never told anyone that

shadows
walk
back and forth
on my front porch

a man
a lost woman

the monster under my bed
now lies beside me

when you asked me an important question
I lied to you

be happy
it wasn't to your face

camouflaged in the dark
If I see things
I should be their friend

Your God blessed me with no sound

I'll never hear the shadows
walk around me
ryn Feb 2015
.
•they'd               
come at night•               
these footsteps are               
never light• always                    
heavy and running ar-                      
ound•...they are annoy-                        
ingly creepy..., these aw-                       
ful sounds•every night,                          
after eleven without                        
fail•into rooms,                        

us they would                        
tail• making a                        
din overhead                        
•when all                        
                         should
                        be quiet inste-
                         ad•like barefooted
                          children i would ***-
                          ume...•wandering and
                          exploring into every ro-
                           om•...could they come
                            wilfully•from the cou-
                                ple who live above
                            me•i very much

                             doubt so•bec-
                             ause this much
                             i know...•that
                             the neigh-

bour up-                    
stairs, they're                        
old•frail and meek;                            
never bold•they'd re-                            
tire early•after late, ne-                            
ver a party•now... there                            
the feet go again•drivi-                            
ng me almost insane•                            
on my ceiling now,                            
they're pacing•                        

they know i kn-                        
ow and they are                        
playing•these                        
invisible                        
                        feet•ne-
                        ver would we
                            meet•one thing for
                           sure•this is not a friv-
                            olous tour•determined
                            to tell•that they exist
                              as well•nothing i'm
                               certain but it is clear
                               •i think they really
                              like it here...•

                              •i don't think
                               they're leavi-
                              ng•they're
                 ­              bent on


staying...
.
I live in an apartment on the 2nd storey. My family and I would hear these footsteps every night.

Initially we would dismiss it to be the neighbour living upstairs but that became very improbable simply because the couple who lives above us are far too old to be jumping and skipping in the wee hours...

We have tried ignoring the sounds but they would intensify. We'd hear intentional heavy footsteps, running, jumping between rooms but most of the time they would follow us to whichever room we're in.

Lately these sounds had progressed to rapping on the concrete walls in my bedroom. I could hear them as I lay in bed knocking and tapping on the wall by me.

The thing is... I live in a corner apartment and beyond that wall is the exterior of the building... There is no way anyone could be on the opposite side of that wall...

Creepy much?
.
Ilion gray May 2018
I am yours.
To keep
Or ****,
To own
Or burn
Freeze and melt
And drip down into
Earth.. Yours.
         


Until..
nights are dreamless/
the sky loses its mind
Ascends into shadows of cosmos/
     I am Yours-
Still/
      Because when you kiss me
I forget that I am empty,
I forget that I am a drifter,
Into every morning that bears
A
Dying day..

Because when you kiss me,
Perfect Planets arrive,
Quietly
traveling,
transversely,
From the furthest fields of gods face,
Across His most holy ancient eyelids,
Of eons,
Of galaxies,
Out, from relentless darkness,
Your smile Ignites spinning
Stones/
Sets stars aflame,
Pouring down
Crashing through
Each invisible sphere
Breaking
Down
into the firmament,
Then fall onto the Frozen mountaintops,
I watch
Life  
drip,  
subtly
Through gods fist
into the throat of earth..

If you squeeze my heart..
take it...please,
when you stop loving me..
Keep it,
So be it.
Because you rearranged
the notes,
Adjusted the measure
Of its beating
to the symphony
Of you breathing,
arpeggio,
When my soul
was yours..
inside of you)
                
                                         ( in the distance..)
                          (Everything they built was dying)
                        (Clouds were falling down to                            earth)
(could smell seconds burning)
                    (today the world broke)

                         You enter
                             .........

the barred windows and ***** Walls
shatter,
and collapse/
Angels
wrapped in raindrops
came,
rushing down
Through
The Ceiling.

Because I have found you,
I no longer wade in black
       puddles of hours

In you the earth stands still..
        
Only you can make it turn again.

Give me your hand..
though I walk with wild fires,
flames will never reach you,
I will hide you beneath my skin,
in between my bones/
If ever you tire
Of fear..
tire,
of being alone,
For all your prayers
God did not hear..
I will cast a single stone
Up into the endless ever,
then...
Quietly,
wait at his feet
For an answer..
when The gate opens...
Without gesture,
In silence,
Without question-
I would return all of my years to him..
So that you,
could return to heaven.
Tawanda Mulalu Jul 2018
This was once all that we knew.

A world in parts before we knew

     it

as such subdivisions as this, that and

more beneath that still: there was

once good and evil, god and them,

the rest of us, and

Jesus, simply looking upwards after

he flung himself forth from the dust

to the sky and the light was bleached

off and the colours leaked from our

eyes to our canvases. What more

can I say before we take more

of ourselves away from each other? What more

before you implant me into some other's

body, and the prayer completed,

and I am finally a computer? In

the meanwhile my eyes will look and

my neck will strain as the sun sets and

so does my little life: how long have I

wanted to see you again, o lord, since

my first scream of myself all so long

ago when I left my mother's salt

and was flashed into the flood of your

      world?

How long, o lord, will you have me here

to see your work through these ceiling

songs, such sonorous ringings, fleshy

twists and turns of paint as muscle

and what's that behind the cloud?

     Your finger

appareled in such golden rays?

Endless. When your ships brought such

dark skin as mine across these

times and spaces, what?, where you

surprised of my dreams to see it,

     this,

all engulfed in flames?  And

yet here you are and here I am and

here is the quiet my birth your

glory your joy the brushstrokes

the colours and the full fleshy taste

of my non-belief, leaking into my fingers,

sticky, frisk, and always.


    When I leave these, they will fall

and crumble. It will all go. In the hallways,

as I walk away: several big windows:

     Rome, sunset.

    When I leave these, they will go

and disappear. Into salt. Those large windows:

blue-shadowed branches begin some small slow dance.

     When I leave these temples they will dust

and return to dust the soil of our hands.

And the trees remain beautiful.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Libyan_Sibyl
anemo ne Jun 2018
To what her words were softly spoken,
Weren’t they heard from the pulling ceiling?
It had no way to carry her softly upon shaken ground
he held onto what she last felt then,
past his hearing the searing heart reveled
In the last whimper of sadness
Gone was her feeling
tears had dripped over her face..
..Fallen from his grasp the black veil blew upward
he witnessed the blinds closing, her eyes watching
Overheard with great loudness she was deaf
Silence hurried the rush toward the floors liberation  
a sunlit evening wilted dry in prosperity..
In a timely fashion she was not heard anymore nor seen
The extraordinary pain I couldn’t understand then
If only..
She no longer knows where to go..
She’s gone unnoticed..
I can’t feel her presence anymore
yes, we’ll see another once again
From a pain stricken moment
Left in the vespertine
Along those painless places
Where all that lingers high above the ambience
Will be your very childlike presence
Shown upon in your own exuberant smile
Thenceforth into tomorrow
Farewell till then
I have but one thing to say, please be kind to others as you would like others to be toward you.
And another thing, leap forward out of your comfort zone to help someone from leaping off the marked ledge of ‘enough’. It happens too often and I could say I know the reasons why, for others for their sake if only I could take on their pain. complicated is life huh.

—seeing her fall through hopelessly murmuring what would be her final words to the man striving to hold onto her pleading for her to stay within his grasp, she simply didn’t want to hold on anymore, tired by life’s hard trials. So am I. isn’t everyone
"Don't drink your calories—
unless you want to get drunk."

Her eyes trembled with tears

Weakness stretches out,
not searching strength—
for another soul to be
weak with

A heavy languor spilled into the room
all she can think about
is the patterned ceiling,
which was a book for her to read
while entwined in damp blue sheets
kclantern Apr 2017
i traced my fingers on the ceiling,
coaxing Alpha Centauri
from the corner of the wall.

i dipped my hands into pools of
silver-glassed milk,
forming a droplet of slippery onyx.

i mailed the constellation in a
waxy manila envelope,
yellowed by the moon’s teeth.

i licked the edges with my tongue and
pressed the folds together.

for you
from me.
seconds / I don't even know how to write poems ****
King Panda Mar 2016
soon I found
where you wrote those words
on the back of your hand
soon I found
the black planet
where you reside
soon I found
a child’s sickness
and the comfort it takes
to make one whole
soon I found
that you went with him
with a Salisbury steak
and a name tag that read
husband
soon I found a hole
dug by a badger
I donned its claws with my fingers
I carved a toilet in the corner
I drew your face on the ceiling
soon I found
I was an animal
a boy
alone
soon I found
I was never to be conceived
I was never without legs and feet
I was never meant to
climb out of the black star
soon I found
I would be without you
forever
Pigeon Sep 2015
Oh, I'm a blackbird singing in the dead of night but my voice is shot
I'm a river-stone that's all alone and skipped over more often than not
I'm a bird flying off of a bridge and a pendulum swinging from my ceiling
Because only bidding everything farewell can help the way I'm feeling
laura May 2018
she’s blazing ease
young summer, things
are kinda difficult
when i don’t know how to drive
says he likes my body
and i don’t know how to feel
when i don’t see my body
the same way he does

odd serendipities
the sun stupefying, thick grass
tangles beneath our thighs
and our ceiling is the sky
adrift in a reverie
but it feels so strange
sunday uncanny
playing around with odd satisfaction
delicatefractal Jun 2011
Collapsing on my bed
    in a fever,
the stitch in my side
as a knife wound
seeking to stay its itch.
My exposed torso
    reveals no such distress.
The ceiling, as always,
  holds no release.
And I'm getting sick
  of hearing my breath.
These summer times are what I crave;
Under an open ceiling, a place we can rave.
Those clear skies gave way to stars,
Around a campfire we take back what's ours.
We're out of the way, you'll never find us,
Reclaiming our hearts and souls
in the abandonment that surrounds us.
Just another generation to discover the profoundness.

Wake 'n bake's good to awake
but we don't sleep for dawn's sake.
Soft words linger in the swaying leaves,
Reminiscent of Medina's calm breeze.

This otherworldly stage set a silent scene
as fresh air whispers incantations to my being:
Azure haze of summer vibrancy.

**Some daze inspiration takes me.
Comforted by Aer's eloquence.
Ilion gray Sep 2018
The song of celestial property in the attic,

will burn The ceiling down,

in your head,

where the clouds,
and little shining fireballs,
waft wildly/

you shouldn't see such things,

when you can’t stay awake,

you're asleep.

I sleep,

because I don't want to stay awake.
Only people who have vision,
can be blind.
I'm, afraid of my heart,
What spilled down,
from a mostly cloudy mind,

Where angels hands wash the feet of god.
I'm here,

because I haven't died yet.
You're here,

because God woke you up.

A day will come,

then,
There will be a choice,
To live...
A life,
worst than death,
Or?
Be free of the empty years,
that wait...
Just to watch,
the fools
run to the lips of the sea,

They will lie,  

To live...

Make Believing that they are searching for heaven,

                                                   It can not be found.
Not by mankind,
Because they would paint it black,
With their dark,
wintery,
hearts.

                         Who, will you pray through?
Now there is no language,
and the rain has poured without ending,
Though there are no clouds,
And the sun,
turns-
devours the moon-
And cast the Crushed corpse
down.

                   The cliffs of California,
are burning,

They rage, swallowing
Ancient trees-

The Falcons nest is on fire,

And,

The Anger of the earth
Trembles, through mountains in the South,

Soon,
the Universe will be quiet,
And the song from the sea
will cry for war,

that day/

Not the sun,

Nor the storm,

But,
angels hands
will break the sky,
And take the shores!
Grassblade Dec 2013
Sledding, a white flurry of glitter
Glass trees throw soft needles a-sprinkle
A blissful silver rocket. It all flies by
Sparkles of diamond on the ceiling or sky

Radiant light, its fate to be wrinkled
by the dim labyrinth of this shining prism.
Gray aurora, dancing in the diamond rain

Iron curtains hide the truth
Glass and pains of steel, in a prism of gray
Do you see windows or mirrors?
All I see, a magnificent pane

A merry toast! To all I say cheers,
with a smile worth its years.
Lift your brittle glass as you would lift a curse.
And drink heartily from the once molten, crystal sand.

Drink the guile and drink the hate
Drink the lies of shame and berate
Drink to see that a flower in  gray
is a prism for life, not a fancy bouquet.
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