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September Roses May 2018
How do I write in a poem that I am
        S C R E A M N G
How do I convey how  f r u s t r a t e d I am
How do I get you to know how
      o              u       i          g
c         n              s        n
                  f
        my mind is right now
How do I explain my writings of a crumbling sanity as poetic licence
      It becomes easy when nobody knows your how much of concealed life you really have
    
           My mother can't worry, She doesn't have such terrible thoughts


The bullets I try to use just ricochet around my skull blending my memories, rattling my thoughts.
My personality has died with my will to live
Purcy Flaherty Jan 2018
From Alan Lomax to the commercial art and the money machine.

At the turn of the century when sound recording 1st became available to the masses, recording a song was an opportunity for common folk to reach out and tell the world something up front and personal, it meant that people were able to put themselves on “The record” A way of leaving a permanent audio statement an epitaph a form of audio immortality ~ life mood emotion captured and bottled for all eternity.
(this applies to earlier storytellers architects and artists too)

A recording was a great addition to "The family album" something more tangible; a window to a real person, with a real life, a message and a real point of view”; a legacy, a blast from the past.
Few people expected art to be re-designed, homogenised, formulated, copied, repackaged covered and played over and over again by artists in the form of "cover music" or become secularized, ****** and constrained by an elite clique or a commercial genre.
Labelling and streamlining art & music mostly benefits the commercial art & music industry.
This multi-billion pound industry has made commercial success through the process of mass homogenisation, product synthesis, marketing, streamlining and then packaging fashion, sound & synthetic culture to sell a product!
So what was originally intended as self expression, a historical record, an archive, a personal message, is now sold as a product containing noise, a vehicle for advertising, perpetuating a genre of nonsense, labelling and re-marketing, so much so that there is now more nonsense immortalised "more white noise" than anything else.
To re-cap ~ I Think that art & songs are a form of expressionism, and like story telling they convey moods and messages from the present and past!
If artists and musicians create more than they copy then they are saying more whilst not devaluing the work of their predecessors!
From Alan Lomax to the commercial music machine.
A culture of cover singers, blinkered snobbery and the hermetic music industry !
Andrew May 2017
The teacher stands before her detained class
And from behind her authoritative podium
She equates abortion to the holocaust
A dangerous comparison in an educational garrison
But the other children nodded their heads in agreement
A benefit of having the ear of youth
Is being able to infect it with your own toxic ideology
What bacteria did this ear infection consist of?
Conservatism? Religiosity? Chastity?
The answer was depressingly simple
I was the only one there unaware of Fox News
I was a casualty of the confusion
The confusion engendered
By venom thoughts placing politic-colored glasses
on the entrenched masses
Entertainment
Used to convey anger and hate
Emotions worth conveying
But not living in
The intents and desires of their vulnerable receivers
become an incongruous disaster

What could I have done?
Minds as still as the pharaohs heart
We live in a society where we're all infantilized by one myth
Good and evil
Looking back on what I did do
I didn't do much
But I did do something
I didn't nod my head like a ******* syncophant
**** is a four-letter word that some eschew,
They claim vulgarity is it's sole use.
They move to hide human expression.
To stifle what can convey hate or love,
Apathy or effort, energy or exhaustion;
Teenage spirit.

To indulge in the discrimination
of such a widespread constituent of our vocabulary
is to incarcerate the most passionate of emotions within us.

So,
Let the subtle word soar.
Savanna Feb 2013
I can tell the truth without speaking
I can admit without looking into saddened eyes
I can dream without sleeping
I can convey a tone with my lips closed in disguise

I can let it all spill out knowing I can hit delete
I can think aloud in silence
I can let out a frantic cry and remain completely discreet
I can interchangeably exercise conformity and defiance

I can turn a wish into a goal with strokes on the keyboard
I can tend to my own wounds
I can create my own articulated rewards
Writing poems keeps my thoughts from swirling into typhoons
ryn Mar 2015
my whispers,
they float over the currents
braving the undulating waves in our overture...
around their necks, hung time-worn pendants

whispers...
struggling to convey my sentence
like wreaths adrift perhaps with hope
like a requiem filled perhaps with remorseful penance
but more like weakened footholds on a slippery *****...

this dream...
only spoke grandly of sprawling blackness
where nothing did gleam
only thoughts heavy but...
oddly weightless

except for...
a repertoire of transgressions...
raucous and obnoxious
mischievous taunts that pull me back
caging me,
enslaving me,
smothering me senseless

that was my consciousness
where second chances exist...
in faint sporadic eruptions
through the heavy curtains of uncertainty's mist

finally awakened by hastened breaths
heavy and laboured
as like previous temporary deaths

I could hear my heart
thumping...
beating...
fighting...
to set its beats apart

breathe deep...
allow the new day's air sink in
rise fully from sleep
wake up
and...
let today begin
Based on a dream.
...your heart is a treasure,
one that I covet,

All the things one wishes a life to convey,
...to have your heart,

Is, -to live every day.
Pagan Paul Nov 2018
.
A cloud falls from the sky,
a lead balloon of precipitation,
and cuddles the ground
like a long lost lover.
Dripping its cargo,
shedding tears along the way,
leaving a trail of damp memory
and a calm balm
for the Earth.

And a candle flickers
on a lonely table,
as a pen drifts across lines,
filling meaningless words
that never
convey the depths of separation.
The flame flares
as a waft, a draft,
creeps in a crack under the door,
adding a poignant touch
to the melancholy of atmosphere.
Gripping the pen with delicate unease,
the hubbub drowns inwards,
doubt rises in ascendancy,
the pen falls,
like a discarded relationship,
and the meaningless words
stop.




© Pagan Paul (21/11/18)
.
My brain is still on meltdown :(
.
It's not the haze of the early morning
taking up your side of the bed
that tells me it's time to pretend
you weren't here again last night.

It's not the gaze of a silent songbird
peering at me through the window
that tells me it's time to act
like I don't know who you were.

It's not anything I can pinpoint
or explain, convey, or describe
that would let you know how much
I wish this wasn't so.
© 2011  J.J.W. Coyle
CA Guilfoyle May 2015
I woke early to silence
but for the whirring of a fan
the stillness before dawn
I wrote these words
though they never convey
the pure heart of morning
or pure the song of the first bird.
J Christmas Aug 2011
I shall love diners after Death
                 Famished from a million mile trek
                           Soft dances, whimsical, flowing
                                    All in time and in step
                                             Effervescent  in its antiquity
          Light penetrates the vociferate soul
                    A blinding silhouette Reveals the true physique
                             casting no shadows
                                  back, at last, back to the harmony &
                                 surrealism of our sacrarium, our home
                                   no more hours to waste away
                            nothing to signifying  
                                            night from day
                 no need to search for words to convey
                  As we began we return just as we should
                   our recrudescence revivifies our sainthood
                                            with No judgment charged upon us
                                         with no reward for the good
                                     neither condemned are the noxious
                                 immoral nor the many many absurd
               For those deleterious malignant calamities
                    must remain incarcerated on Earth
                              from whence it came
                               As we Return once again
                                         soul cleansed in beatific death
                                                The physical abandoned with sin
                        The dead left unknown,
un birthed
Shut in
John Deryck Christmas copyright 2011
Hussein Dekmak Nov 2018
Don’t say it with words

Don’t just say it with words,
Convey it with your wishful thinking,
Say it with your glistening smile,
Carry it with the vulnerability of your tears,
Speak it in the delicate language of flowers.


Don’t just say it with words,
Express it with the tenderness of your heart,
Deliver it through a helping hand,
Whisper it in the murmur of your prayers,
Declare it with the language that is unspoken.

Hussein Dekmak

Copyright
Hussein Dekmak

Copyright
I'm having an affair with words
They take away my breath
Words tell me what I need to hear
Without missing a step

Words work on my emotions
I'm transcended by their displays
There's legitimate anticipation
Within each and every page

When I look away for too long
There is a longing that takes place
The wonder of conclusion
Vanished, without a trace

Words help me to liberate my own ideas
In the subtlest of ways
Or when my faith seems in doubt
I am enlightened by a phrase

Their sense of humor is unequaled
Words teach us and inform
They can be as cold as ice
Or soothing, kind, and warm.

Words hold many of life's answers
To questions that we seek
When written, we can convey
Much more than when we speak

Words empower, words are strong
They help decipher right from wrong
Words can guide you,
Lead you home
Words are your friends
When you're alone

Words can help, or they can harm you
Depending on their use
Words can fool you, or misguide you,
Lie, or tell the truth

What I love, are words' transparency
Written right there in black and white
If misconstrued, words can lead to tragedy
Although the stories' plot is trite

We must take part in the mastery
Of each and every words avail
So that the notions we wish to ration out
Are nothing but...
The finest of detail.

Precision personified
Never at a loss for words
Or ****** with a mouth for war
That's when devastation's heard

Instead, a calming smoothness
Inspiration from inside
This, in my opinion, is the greatest use of words
And the peak of humanities pride.
This writing was an extension of a poem I started many months ago. I truly made a valiant effort to express everything I felt about what writing, and being able to write, means to me. If I didn't accomplish the feat, I did manage to come close. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it.
Q Dec 2016
I like words.
Each is often imperfect alone
But the skill lies
In stringing them together
In just the right order
In just the right way to convey
The galaxy in my mind.

I like words.
They stick smooth to my brain
Like the thinnest decoupage
Every inch neatly covered
Every crevice every crack
Every layer after
Every sheer layer.
Sometimes we find ourselves in the valley of unhappiness
It's a dark place you wouldn't want to be in
It's inevitable and sometimes we need to confess;
We're only here because of our own sin

We do sin for love however,
For love and life is like a maze, a puzzle with only one way
It doesn't mean though that there's no forever
And in the extremity of it all, I know that all is going to be okay

We have troubles trying to find the words to say.
"I love you." are the words we often try so hard to find,
and we tend to find alternatives so our feelings could convey--
but most of the time, love doesn't really need words in mind
Most of time, Love doesn't really need words, you know?
Kiara Malig Oct 2018
I keep forgetting that I am me.
That I am ‘Kiara’,
Smart and immature and competitive and deeply flawed and conceited and shallow.
With no actual purpose.
A being meant to only convey emotions ‘I’ would.
I keep forgetting that I can’t be reckless,
I keep forgetting that I can’t be brave.
That I can’t just one day decide to snap and break no matter how much I want to,
So I sink.

I think of it as a dream, one I cannot escape,
And do not want to escape at the same time.
Pinching myself doesn’t make it any less of a dream,
But I keep doing it to comfort myself.
I keep forgetting that I am supposed to be me.

Sometimes, when my mind gets lost in the storm,
And the thoughtless sails have broken off,
I sit motionless, waiting for the next command,
except I am wearing the captain’s clothes,
Yet I command no one.
As if my body, my being is no act of resilience, instead, a vessel I am not allowed to control.
Here, I stand still. Here, I keep waiting.
I'd say I 'miss you'
But can that possibly
convey the true
sentiment
of how I feel
each day?

I say 'no way'
A torment
is laid
A sacrifice
that must be made
This road before
I've paved
but this time
with new waves

No longer the waves
of goodbye
Yes, it's true
before we tried
Tears were cried
A mountain climbed
But alas,
it was not time
The bells hath not chimed

What is due
is due in due time
And good times
are what await
While I sit here and wait
Though my wait is over
For no more
will I second guess
I know who's best
Forget the rest
It is you I will hold
against my chest

A treasure chest
but not filled
with cliche jewels
and like items
No, instead
filled with what is
truly priceless
What money can't buy us
What each of us
is searching for
Longing for
Like a knock upon the door
or a child wanting more
Not prepared
for what's in store
Like one who's out
begging and poor

For so long
on the 'other' side
But not this time
for that time
has ended
and in the end
all wrong is now right
because I have you
right by my side

No longer that fear
that I kept inside
Wanting to run
Go away and just hide
But no matter
how much I try
(which I admit isn't much)
I can not hide
what I have inside
for you
Yes, it's true
A love that is true
Complete in its virtue
An everlasting truth
So cozy and cute
Like an old couple
smushed together
in our favorite coffee booth

But no toll
at this booth
More like
a 'kissing' booth
A carnival fair
Cotton candy
in the air
Along with the
ever-present
and ever-lasting aroma
of love
that together
we share
Hand-in-hand
Sit or stand
and into each other's
eyes we stare

To others
may not seem fair
But we're too love struck
to care
Our hearts
with each other share
A caring so deep
That a trench
in the sea
still couldn't possibly
in any way effectively
convey what we see
What we feel
What's inside you
and inside me
How we
just 'BELIEVE'
I feel it
Don't you?
I know you do
You feel it too
We've known for so long
What we now know is true

So, here at the end
our story begins
An epic journey
of sadness, heartache and loss
But the price must be paid
And in full payment we made
Day after day
But the cycle we break
Having cost us the cost

All that sh*t we just tossed
No more carrying of weight
Mark your calendars
This date
Because the waiting
is gone
I can finally see straight
Warm inside
Feeling great
And with one foot
First step I take
As we take the plunge
I would dive off of the Sun
or forever I'd run
Do all that must be done
You are now
and always have been
my number one
Never a contest
to be won
It was yours from day one
And will be forever
till time is done

I love you.
Written: November 23, 2018

All rights reserved.
With these unknowns
These powder bones
Slip across't each other
Just to miss their mark.

Ready for the coming seasons
In no particular order
The sun comes up at different times of day.

The moon really is my best friend anyway
Because you're the one who watches over my dreams every day.

Apparently the thoughtfulness that I escribe
Unto these phantom pages coule magnificence readyness.
But they're kind of just random mots that somehow convey the way I feel at the time.
It doesn't even have to make sense.
But it always does in the end.

Au revoir
ryn Aug 2014
Step into my universe
You'll see only words
In my mind, flurry of feathers
Hurricane of riled up birds.

They amass and circulate
Searching to break free
Storm of ink; doesn't abate
Bleed out for no one to see.

Hidden inside my heart
Forbidden words I long to convey
Teach me how to start
With you I foist to play.


Words veiled by silent secrecy,
Cloaked words I long to shout
Bordering the point of heresy
Tabooed words without doubt.

Almost an eternity I've whispered
With care and only hushed tones
Well kept secret undiscovered
Laying quiet under unturned stones.

Thought myself alone when I heard another
One that sings choral to my own
A mournful call that sang together
Grey melodies embodied in skin and bone.

The cravings of my heart
Your words I wish to fill
In my head occupies the biggest part
Our declaration's the only seal.

A vow you and I made
A love we wish to last forever
Dismissing that opportunities evade
Who would need a supporting paper.

Hidden softness within me
Only you can tap and enjoy
The only one that holds the key
Heart and mind meet to employ.


Our hearts, like kings, would've risen
Adorned and bejewelled on their crests
Let us sing in unrehearsed unison
Crowned words we've locked in our chests.



IamMsIves
rhymesmith
Written by Suckers for Rhymes - IamMsIves & Rhymesmith
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