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WS Warner Mar 2013
Prescient, her essence
Casts a demure persuasion,                
Endowed with verve and vision;
Concept to consummation,
The serenely possessed,
Creator, originator,
Allusion to the eternal azure,
Logos of abstraction,
Word and image collision.

Tonal palette of faith infused reason
Beauty and sublimity,
Serve to season
Verse, canvas and film,
Mediating aesthetic, seminal senses blossom,
Lyrical each permutation,
Seeds of vibrant chroma diffusing the mystical.

Visage and hair,  her figure haunted
With perfection - a work of Art
Nurtured and lived invocation,
The canon of taste;
Crystal for the *****
Devotional fragrance ,
Holistic ethos, melodic invention,
Animated, pure -
The embodiment of redemption.

Transcending form, parenthetically  
(Merely) the decorative,  
Allure, artistry and symmetry
Superlative complexity,
Her erudition satiates, supplanting
Winds of constructive banality.

Purveyor of an uncommon savor,
She collaborates in the peculiar
Pursuit and reward,
Encounter  with depth, explored,
Human and divine, prosaic meets sublime
Igniting within an Eros
Passion for truth, being and Telos.

Visionary of grace and peace
Transforming our earthbound dissonance;
Our caprice,
Hope and abundance, the myth of scarcity,
She narrates the Good.
Pen, lens, color and stage
Vulnerable, unrepressed, effusive
Romantic articulation,
The reservoir deep,
Innately primed conduit of Love.

Beyond plebeian, cosmetic, the trite
Woman of substance, pulchritude
And delight.
Effervescent - her smile exquisite,
Eclipsing suffering,
Wordless expression, understood language.
I am transported, my imagination replete,
Sonya Rose -
Art personified; unabridged, complete.

©2008 & 2013 W.S . Warner
Sam Hawkins Apr 2023
When I pulled my hand from the spaces of the in-between,
lights danced in the pattern of another hand.

But she was not confused by this, as it had happened to her
and also to her of the other hand.

That's when the universe really began to laugh outloud,
and right then we two she and I

in the kitchen
wow
automatic writing. the title is a plural noun.
Tina RSH Sep 2019
My dear old pain is in his death bed
and mourning comes in a haste
sits by my side, sheds some tears
Pats me on the left shoulder
Time flies by, old fellow
and we have to make it quick
so brisk do her tears trickle down
the weight lifted off her chest
by the invisible hand of time
the foe she shuddered to confront
But I hold my beloved pain by the hand
plant a mouthful of dry kisses on his lips
those he splashes with his tongue
Those that fan my fire with urgent pleas
But the scent of his evaporating blood
collaborates with the callous grasp of mourning
and the two unlock our burning lips
Now ruffled with the absence of my beloved pain
I stand back, to bid the mourning farewell
and dig my chest deep enough to bury
all the love I had for the gone soul
of my beloved pain..
Tarryn Klaudia Oct 2012
Smoke collaborates in the air

slowly, silently suffocating

mezmorized by its beauty

get near and be burned

it lasts long, both pain and pleasure

searching for someone tp bring pain to utmost measure

only the brave and strong can defeat this knight

but so easy and simple, for its only a light

blow, blow till your very last breath

trying to defeat it with everything you have left

blow, blow keep on breathing

dont loose your breath

keep on breathing

dont loose the fight. dont let it take over

blow blow with all your might

dont give up, cause it will take your life

once its gone, the pain isnt over

‘your left in the dark, with no direction, with no light

left in the dark, but youve won the fight ?

keep,keep, keep going back, back to the lighter that ignighted that light

once your breath is caught and youve got control

you start again unaware of your morals

you get close and you get burned but youll never know

for you have not yet learned.
R Thakrar Dec 2011
Absorbed by the dreary remains
Of a web of circumstance,
You fumbled in the dark for a door,
An exit strategy.

Whether "can't" or "won't", it's clear you don't understand these tears -
Well, each tells a story of its own:
This one's for best, but never enough -
That one's for brightest, but never on show.

It's a sorry series of unfortunate events,
A spidery path of ups and downs.
Reflective to sensitive others,
They remain opaque to you.

Then the world collaborates,
Confers and corroborates.
The domino network forms a chain,
A bridge to distant decisions.

So long a life donated to the service of man,
Thinking the weight of the world
Rests on two shoulders.
Now, finally. A man. Donated to life.
Feb 2009
K Balachandran Mar 2015
An unknown artist's heart speaks on this subway wall
my mind drifts to the scene of creation, possibly this:
in amazement I look at that cat,at my face she looks up
and understands, this feline inaugurates the incidental show
of spontaneous art, at this street, just waking up shedding sleep
a ball collaborates with her,bouncing around with such verve,
spreading cheer,wholeheartedly, so strange for an object like it
which is not something even intended by anyone
                                                          ­                 Art has a right to happen,
like this, the morning sun, by nature, provides support,
from a long, long distance, the effect electrifies the scene
the cat, looking up by the magic of the moment,sees rays of sun
filtering through the foliage,can she imagine the distance
sun rays travel, to play with her, with such grace?

A lonely man, captures the scene,as a graffiti, within engraved,
one can imagine from the way he looks pleased,
don't you miss the mixed up pigments on his fingers,
unmistakable glee divine of an underground artist
decidedly flashes across his face, not for him,
but to express the pain  unmitigated, all through his life
he'll pack his things,stuff in a small bag and leave this place.
A moment of exhilaration for many, when they see
his essence, spread across the subway train, in colors of protest,
rooted in his mourning art,experience of the hour created,

yes there are consequences for the art,the cat, the illuminating sun,
the onlookers around, including me,are not to be concerned,
only he and his brothers in art, taking part in this attack
for him, this moment of enlightenment,is reward enough
for all the adventures, he had undertaken till now.
Styles 12 Apr 2017
She sits silent
as night collaborates
cursive wind to spoken pines.


Pearl moon silent
she is the main attraction
radiant dream, dark angel lust

thirsting for every eye
  to stare
and burn
for the fortune she hides

as her naked pearl shine
  illuminates forest wonder.

She will glaze the ice
  scurry her light
    in ways
       that trap your tongue

around the rutilant jewelry
you wish you could wear
  leaving night to worship
    her perfect crisp blaze

as your enamored pen
falls into a coma
     too deep
        to speak out.

Her silence is another world
    only imagination understands.
Dhaye Margaux Oct 2015
~~¤~~

I spill my ink on a sheet
But all I can see is red
In shape of hearts

Even my mind collaborates
With my emotion
Brain and heart in unison
Singing same song
Painting same image

I always want to make
A love note for you.

~~¤~~
I have writer's block if it's about a different subject except us.
Chelsea Daley Jan 2015
It's not that I miss you
I miss your scent
I miss the way it wraps me up, tucks me in

I miss your skin
The way it collaborates with mine
To make what we know as a beautiful masterpiece
The map of you and I

I miss the trails that lead us to sleep
The roads that we don't remember taking
Until we doze off to our final destination
Ultimately being morning

I miss the smell of nostalgia
The collaboration of skin

But I don't miss you
Stephanie Jul 2018
She turns a blank paper
Into a marvelous piece of art
When her pen collaborates with her heart
Worst's becomes better
And as she tell prose
She use metaphors of universe
Beautiful like a wild rose
Diving minds into diverse
Magnificent land of her heaven
She accelerated the time when
Sorrows give an innocent soul lament
And though the world has no fair judgment
She wanted to make a world just for all
Even in her own poetry, she could fall
The outskirts of town will have a little
Taste of hope as her heart gets brittle
She realized she doesn't write poetries
For everyone, she designed short stories
With a fair, happy endings
Star BG Feb 2018
One poet collaborates with another,
as words become like *****.
They fight in mind trying to anchor on page.
They move swimming gracefully
tweaked by both writers
whose gender...doesn't matter.

End product, a poem they call their baby.
An infant ditty for all to come and look at
with the possible reply of their love.
Inspired by chat with David
Jeremy Anderson Apr 2020
Structure. Poetry is deemed poetry due to its structure.
Well why can’t my poetry just do what it wants.                              One word over here

One word here
Must everything make sense
An okapi does not wish it were more giraffe than zebra.    
Accepting it is is what it does and in doing so collaborates with life.
But   not us.
Does it botther  u? Does it bother you when I spell bother you incorrectly?
Bother you when My words jump around the page in nonsense.
Am I writing prose or a verse in free verse free of verse   Why can’t I just regurgitate these words upon this page and be loved and accepted for putting these words upon a page

So often are people admired for their sonnets and sestinas
But did you ever find love for structure
                  In
             madness
“Embrace and Release”

In the quiet of night, I pondered—
the art of severing ties, like pruning a tree.
The weakest links, once tightly bound,
now set free, like a maiden’s unclasped bra.

2024 dawns, a canvas for transformation.
Covid’s grip loosens, and clarity emerges.
Meltdowns yield to focus, tears to savings.
My *** life, like New York’s winter, chills.

Raw verses spill forth, unfiltered and true.
Yet my smile softens toward strangers,
and I find myself liking humanity anew.
Trust remains distant, a horizon to reach.

Biblical tales echo vulnerability—
the weaker devoured by the strong.
Have I surrendered my worth for fleeting moments?
No tears stain my words; they remain silent.

As I gaze upward, pondering thoughts,
my brain’s triad—forebrain, midbrain, hindbrain—
collaborates, yet sometimes drifts apart.
Do I know myself anymore? Today, I listen.

Goodbye, old lover; hello, new friends.
Life’s tides carry me forward,
and I embrace the journey, raw and unafraid.
May vulnerability be my strength, not my undoing.
KV Srikanth Mar 2022
Dream compete with dreams
Where do they originate
Some we've seen some a mystery
Both not reality but kickstarts a query

What happens in the dream
We narrate like we see a film
Playing out as it did
Was the time already decided

A powerful illusion
Make you believe it is real
So real that wake up state is an illusion
So we presume from the dreams perception

What is its dimension
Sub conscious fears
Giving themselves an outlet
Hidden desires playing out their prospects

Is it to foretell
An event yet to occur
That would make it a miracle
Fortune tellers would become tenants of our imagery

Some we forget
What happens to that
Fading away half way
Is there a sequel

Time of sleep
Doesn't make a difference
Dreams searching for the resting mind
Collaborates with the unfulfilled mind

Hasn't really meant
Much to anything
Past or future
Cannot be the present because you are dreaming in the present

Their color schemes i wonder
I really can't remember
Black and white or color
Seem to miss it everytime it occurs

Unable to fathom
Being our thinking pattern
Not in a free flow
Many stories merging half way through

Can give you a scare
Elements you fear and aware
Unable to let go
Come back to haunt you

Sequential in nature
Hours of stories told together
Wakes you up with a fright
The sequential dreams might


Source of the dream
Saints write thesis
Answers we understand
Doesn't get rid of our  Dreamland

Dreams while awake
Not yet made their way
Daydream a term for lazy
Hope it remains so and protects us from becoming crazy
on America's Got Talent: The Champions episode,
which starred Youtube phenom Marcelito Pomoy

Words superfluous to attempt
registering apropos accolade
of modest Filipino, whose
dog given gift to belt out
jaw dropping, eye opening,
heart stopping, ad nauseum
vocalization merits deserving

laudatory praise haint no charade,
cuz aforementioned young man
warrants his own
yellow brick road esplanade
his pronounced nonpareil ability
automatically, instantaneously, unequivocally
promotes him to meteoric rise highest grade
way above stratosphere of mere mortals

into pantheon where select angels invade
celestial sphere (think Thomas Kinkade,
whose painting skills indubitably made
admirers of his creations invariably wish
to merge and become overlade
with bucolic, exotic, kinetic...
more picturesque than Grosse and Quade
found with environs of Schwenksville,

yet some idyllic and rhapsodic utopian
place where sounds of nature serenade
said metaphorical description falls short
how his raw emotion
(aching with divine amazing grace)
collaborates, communicates, consummates...,
poignant rappelling, scaling, traversing
across moost rugged landscape unmade.

Ye too must get linkedin
to the following webpage
https://www.youtube.com/
watch?v=hcgvYr2nlrk
heals analogous as mental,
physical and spiritual triage
world wide web inadequate

for Marcelito Pomoy stage
suddenly... melts away
the global hostility and rage
moments ago unbeknownst
anonymous to yours truly,
a veritably unknown
outsize venerated personage
with megawatt smile,

catapulted amongst luminaries,
whereby me feeble and
lame attempts to craft far less
brilliant literary evocations,
nevertheless no overdosage
of audiological exposure
to savor and espy breath-taking

visualization of entrancing
fantastic gracious holy image,
now impossible mission
to decouple myself toward
listening and watching
mesmerizing powerful fellow,
who I admit unwittingly
voluntarily holds me hostage.

— The End —