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n-khrennikov Sep 2018
We will go through many years
When the thread passes through the needle.
The fire of the soul will shine
in the darkness of mind,
and no one around.

With a feather
In the wind I will write forever
that we are alive, you and I.
Where the wind blows
sweet immortal whispers of your name.
n-khrennikov ©
Donall Dempsey Nov 2018

I like to say
your name

when you're
not here

turn you
into sound

conjure you out of
thin air

so that you appear
before me

dressed in sound

memory sketching in
the rest of you

as if sound
was just an outline

and love
colours you in

adding the voice last
so I can hear you say.

"Hello you..!"
and there you are

as present
as present

can be.

I like to say
your name

when you're
not there.
Marya123 Sep 2018
If I could write my life as a poem
For millions who'll read, understand, think
I'd conjure an epic, a mystery
A tale on edge, a tragedy's brink.

I'd weave gripping waves of pleasure
Together with heart-wrenching tides of pain
A sea of battles with no leisure
Of joyful wins going against the grain.

I'd stitch metaphors with gleeful pride
Constructing rhythm with a bit of rhyme
I'd dabble with similes here and there
It'd be my thread on the sands of time.

But when I see my life as it is now
How different it is from my lovely tale
It retains its mystery, some agony
A once-green crop grown dead and stale.

A lost yarn of mistakes and pitfalls
With regret binding the threads as one
Repeated faults with no known structure
A once-free verse that is trapped, undone.

So I'll cast away my dream of a life
In a graveyard as a forgotten goal.
Some dreams never come true, it seems
Just like some lives will never be whole.
Lazhar Bouazzi May 2018
You are the eye
Under whose lids
I bask without
having to ask
“Why should I die?”

And your thighs, ah!
When my eyes
Conjure up your thighs
I become certain
Of one thing:
That the dead will rise again.
LazharBouazzi, May 13, 2018
kevin hamilton Apr 2019
i don’t want to die
in the shade this time
with the haunting phrases
that conjure every nearby demon
still pouring out of me

minerva of a thousand works
and condolences
red was everywhere
when you lifted up your shirt
and the water in your eyes
was boiling like mercury
at the thought
Knit Personality Jan 2015
                          "...better to stand aloof
Far from these slanderous fools who mock my life
Knowing me not..."
                          —Oscar Wilde

How petty I become around the petty,
Giving a **** and ruining my day
About worthless opinions, till, all heady
And quick with rage, I conjure up and slay
With words some holograms of those who rightly
Deserve my total disregard and full
Forgetting, caring not if they contritely
Beg my pardon or talk till their tongues are dull.
Rather, adopt a wise philosophy,
Self, and ignore these sadly bored and boring
Servants of Trivia: for Poetry
Reserve your thoughts: give fools your loudest snoring.
And if you think on them, do it with pity:
Their lives must be just so, so, so, so ******.

Andrew Rueter Jun 2017
Just me
No entertainment
No stimulation
Just me
Then you came by
And installed a cable
Sports, politics, comedy, education
You had a very decent package
500 channels to show me the world
I figured I'd stay home for the rest of my life
And enjoy the romComcast upon me
By the advent of your cables

But there was a destructive storm
Power lines were snapped
And our cable went out
As I stood in the ruins
Of a house that once stood majestic
All I worried about was getting our cable re-installed
So I waited
On your ****** service
My age
Became a Time Warner
And severed strings
Were strewn on the steel scattered around me

Now that I've become a satellite in your life
I could provide you with all the same channels
If you'd just look up
But the cumulus clouds you conjure
Block our reception

As I drift out here in space
I can see everybody on Earth
Except for one man
Who's surrounded by a sea of swirling tsunamis
And a crowd of cut cords
And as I approach the chaos for a better view
I'm incinerated entering his atmosphere
logan wade Apr 2019
the chalice itself had called upon me,
and i brought the poison
which i had poured for myself,
hoping for relief and understanding -
to my lips. they ached
with unrequited apologies
and a curse of madness,
there since my first dawn,
and dusk.

if only i hadn’t decided
to conjure up my doubtful spirit,
and its counterparts -
riddled with doubt and arrogance,
and silent agony -
perhaps i wouldn’t be me anymore.

at first, the venom pleased my taste buds,
fulfilling my curiosity for those thoughts
i’d hidden.
some sweetness.
some reluctance,
but inevitable interest.

if only i’d switched my mind off-
and felt truly present and unfazed-
when infusing the mixture with
all sorts of tempting parts:
dark berries and such…
perhaps if i hadn’t thought so much,
i’d taste the poison as it is.
damaging and threatening
and darkening
as i accommodated my vision
towards it…
but i’d built a strong idea within myself.
fell in love with an idea of the poison,
swam in it like nothing mattered.
formulated it, dishonest with myself
and everyone else.
dissociated myself from everything i once knew,
just for a taste.

i leapt away from my own values
towards the ocean, whose waves
understood my undulating self-image.

i write now, in critical condition,
having realised: my solutions
are all the more powerful,
when i pour the problem myself
jane taylor May 2016
erstwhile a halcyon extant universe incessantly ceaseless
cradled itself in hues of violet phosphorescence
laced with cobalt shimmering stars
perpetually whole it nonetheless
sought to know itself

encompassing all that is bubbling over in effervescent ebullience
intertwined with indescribable catastrophic splendor
it shattered into tens of millions of splinters
of eloquent efflorescent light
shining in the night

each splinter heretofore imbued with sempiternal felicity
began to conjure sumptuous dulcet elixirs
furtively seeking out savory emollients
to mollify the pique of separation
plummeting they fell

into monstrous competition seeking demesne they lost the purpose
of gaining awareness and intelligent consciousness
surreptitious estrangement overflowed
deluging them in excruciating agony
thus an epiphany was born

the carving of the beleaguered fragments inked with tremendous pain
created a transfiguration of splinters to crystals
hence enlightenment commenced as the gems
magnetized together constructing a world
where omnipotence shines

the ineffable beauty formed by the reintegration of crystals
far exceeds the original as they dazzle with universal light
bursting from diamonds etched in deep wisdom
flooding the firmament with kaleidoscopic
rainbow strobes cascading the sky

Stephen E Yocum Mar 2016
In an open-air flower market,
it happened in an instant,
with one solitary scent,
years unraveled and
I was that kid again.

One AM on a school night,
vague street light through
my window, painting
shadowed crosses on
the wall and ceiling.
Even in the depths of night,
a stifling ninety degrees,
our home no air conditioning.
Slight temperate breeze through
open window conveyed
exotic sweet Camellia perfume,
from two large flowering plants,
standing sentry out there.

Too hot to sleep, turning and tossing
on a sweat-damp sheet,
I'd conjure and dreamed of far away
Pacific isles, of cool sea surf and sandy beach,
palm branches sway in fresh, clean breeze,
robust with the soothing fragrance
of thousands of tropical blooms,
Like those standing guard
outside my window screen.

Heat-induced, half sleep,
Horizon Lust loudly calling me.
A few years later I answered that call,
and it was all that I had envisioned it
would be.
David M Harry Nov 2017
I was around fifteen
when I first imagined
myself as your husband
and I distinctly remember
Laughing and tearing up,
just a little,
because I didn’t think it
was possible
for someone like you
to love someone like me.
I did not know how to love...
but there we were
genuinely happy
and in love,
adrift in the aether of
my teenage imagination,
your face was hidden from me.
I return the comfort
of that fantasy and
conjure scenes of our life together.
Spending time with you
comforts me and gives me peace.
Wherever you are, please
know that I love you
and that I am looking for you.
Darling, you are literally my fantasy
and I will not rest until
our love is our reality.    
I cannot wait to meet you.
Have a great day, Love.  
I can’t wait to hear about it!
karin naude Mar 2014
finally i have found what i have lost some three plus years back that indestructible bold unpolished teenage spirit that experienced knew things every single day unknowingly challenging the envelope, and it never broke, but molded and bended to all the magic my mind could conjure up. i stood on the cuff of my future and leaped forward not seeing the staircase but through faith and i flew. i made the mistake of coming down because i missed the misinterpreted notion of belonging to a pride. see when an eagle is raised by ground based eagles who believe themselves to be chickens its difficult to comprehend the new found freedom of the sky it is over whelming and i gave it up, unknowingly.
ever since, i could feel the gnawing emptiness in my soul. the wild wanting to fly and never feel the  conforms of society again. i have been busy with chicken for too long. selling my gracefulness on the cheap.
Elkay Sep 2019
What keeps one's sad heart beating
is a currency of time
we collect short, special moments
and we spend them each like dimes

We try to make them last
to hold onto what we've bought
to conjure all a moment's value
in the form of happy thought

I've run clean out of moments
I'm bankrupt in my heart
I can't afford to fix all that’s
been torn to broken parts
JR Weiss Oct 2017
i can't.

i want to say that i won't
but it wouldn't be true.

if i, instead, say i can't,
i can easily conjure up a choir of whys.

can't pull at you.
can't bust things up.
can't promise greener grass.
can't promise to stay or
that you won't regret
decisions made.

i want to.
so badly.
but i know with you
i am wont to want
so, i'll stay with can't.

i'll turn cold,
i'll steele, and i'll
remember the multitude of whys.

hurry home sad blue eyes;
before a storm brought on by
why not
whips you free and throws us
into unpredictable winds.
Keith Collard Jun 2019
I do not need a grand sepulchre,
Nor be remembered in bronze,
Dont need a sculpted beauty,
To tend me after I'm gone.
No reflecting fount,
Or grand account,
No Angels of death,
No Angel's of peace,
No greek god in bas relief,
Leave me be, let me not be still,
Let the mettalic wings flutter from winter chill,
Let the past be dead,
And my memory make you friends,
Let my memory conjure love,
And not cold to touch,
Let it rival the sunset,
With the dawning wings of the Oriole above.

Bury all our woes from household ills,
Without maintenance--
Without upkeep,
Overgrown on our stroll through the Forest Hills.
Forest Hills cemetery,  Boston MA
" He will not slumber nor sleep...." On the entry arch.
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