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Antino Art Feb 2018
South Florida
if you were a body part,
you’d be an armpit.

You’d be a bulged vein
on the side of a forehead
forever locked in a scowl
behind sunglasses.

You speak the language of horns
middle name, finger
blood type, combustible

You're a melting ***
that's boiled over the lid
sweating salt water at the brows
eyes red as the brake lights
in the maddening brightness,
you’re torrential daylight
heating nerves like greenhouse gasses
waiting for a reason to explode.

You’re a tropical motilov cocktail
no one can afford
2 parts anger, 1 part stupidity
melting in place, thirsty for attention
full of yourself in a souvenir glass with a toothpick umbrella
You're all image

You’re the curse words breaking out the mouths
of the angry line mob at Starbucks in the morning
You’re the indifferent silence
in the arena at the Heat games leaving early,
showing up late
due to the distance
from Brickell to Hialeah,
West Palm to Pompano
the gap between the entitled and the under-paid
a skyline of condos in a third world country
You’ve always been foreign to me.

You’re winterless, no chill
you attract only hurricanes
and tourists,
shoving anything that isn’t profitable
out of the way like the Irma storm debris
into the backyards of the Liberty City projects,
onto Mount Trash Can off the side of the Turnpike
hidden beneath Bermuda grass, lined with palm trees
you’re cold blooded
crawling with iguanas
blood-******* mosquitos
parking lot ducks and people not afraid to get run over
you get yours, Soflo
and you'll go as low
as the flat roofs of your duplexes
and the incomes that can barely pay the rent to get it
latitude as attitude
temper as temperature
if you were a body part
I swear you’re an *******

south of the brain, one hour
in all directions,
I’d find you.
You’d impose your way
onto my flight to the Philippines,
to Seattle, to Raleigh
You’d follow me like excess baggage,
like gravity,
bringing me back when asked where I'm from:

That area north of Miami, I’d say
(the suburbs, but whatever, we are hard in our own way)
I'd show you off on their map
as if some badge of grit,
certificate of aggression
I know how to break a sweat
walk briskly thru Walmart parking lots, drive evasive
ride storms in my sleep
I know you, I’d say,
“He’s a friend of mine.”
and I’d watch them light up
and recount
the postcards you've sent them
of the sunrise
welcoming brown immigrants
onto white sand beaches
You were foreign to us
yet raised us as your own
in the furnace of your summers
edges sharpened, iron on iron
the forger striking softness into swords
built for survival
I'm made of you

my South Floridian anger cools down
in your ocean breeze

if you were a body part,
you'd be a part of me
a socked foot in an And1 sandal
pressed to the gas pedal
as my drive takes me north
of your borders, far from home
You in the rear view mirror
tail-gating
like a sports car on the exit ramp
the color of the sun
Solaces May 2013
I'll walk you through the rain..

Hold your hand in the lightning..

We will clap our hands as the air cools from the passing lightning,
THUNDERCLAP rumble on through..

Come play with me in the puddles brother..

Lets make a bottlecap boat with a sailor ant and watch it float on through the grassy ant lake..

Lets watch the rain moths fly on through after a good storm.. where do they go? into the dreams of the ones who are sleeping now..

Smell the atmoshere, smell the rain.. Watch as the day becomes filled with orange and sad gray..

Sure its muddy, and a bit cold.. and of course we are not wearing shoes.. But we are having an adventure, there is no time for such nonsense.. Only magic u and i create.. together brother, always together..
M Salinger Jul 2018
The sun dips,
behind the mountain,
behind the treeline,
into the
blue

The way I wish you would.

Your eyes,
the colour of evergreens
drenched in dawn
& gilded

the afterglow,
the embers of the day
fading & strong,
reminding me of another
day, with you
& without you

I know, you know
no one is
perfect,
but, do you
know?

Here?
In Here?

I'm scared this might be the
closest
any one of us gets

Here.
You & me.

Dive into the
fear
so I can take your hand
& walk barefoot
while everyone we love
sleeps,
while the night cools the
earth
& we're drunk off the
scent
of a true midsummer night's
dream

When will you finally
tell me,
certain as the dew
that kisses the morning,
that the only lips
you want mine to
touch
are yours?

Because I can feel your
rhythm,
the way a breeze can tell of a
storm

Lean into me.

As we take in the
beauty
that surrounds us,
so I can put my head on your shoulder
& rest easy
hearing your heart beat

Because mine
beats for
you.

Tell me you'll find me
when the time is
right

Because I'll wait for you.

The endless
grey abyss of winter,
painful & biting & testing
I'll wait for you like
I wait for
spring

Full of promises & possibilities
& life

So dig deep.
Because you are
worth
enduring all this
time
in between.

Because you are the
deep evening sky
& I am the coral clouds
as the sun dips,
behind the mountain,
behind the treeline,
into the
blue
Inspired by the great beauty of British Columbia and how it's grandeur and imposing nature can be reminiscent of imperfect love
King Panda Sep 2017
a little boy sits on
the top of a staircase

his laden, waterlogged
eyelashes droop

his vision fogs
with salt

his heart pulses hot/cool
snowmelt

throughout the body

there are missing
people

no mother
no father

no brother
only boy

locked in house
too scared to sleep

while snowflakes
fall in unfettered

air
there is joy in storm

if one can see it
through the tears

there is comfort
to be had once

the emotion cools
and tree branches are

unburdened from the
weight of ice


movement happens
up the stairs

dear sister
who the boy forgot

was there
places her hand

upon the boy’s
quivering back

"We call it snow
when the parts of God,

too small to bear, contest our bodies"


and angels tell us
to taste the tears

before they freeze
on our red-rubbed

noses
here, taste your tears

says sister.
*they’re salty, aren’t they?
not all these words are mine.
the stanzas in quoted italics are taken from Max Ritvo's poem, Snow Angels.
All of you should read his only collection of poetry titled, Four Reincarnations. It is amazing.
am i ee Feb 2016
out to get the paper
in bare feet…

ahhh...
so sweet

… the dusting of snow
cools my toes
The Arabian Sea
A sprightly sight to behold
The cascading Sunbeams veil the sea in a platinum shimmer
The gusty wind blows
Sparkling diamonds roll up on the ocean waves
The golden Sun unravels the beauty of the bejewelled Sea

The picturesque Mumbai Skyline  
Gloriously, rises up in the evening Sky

The mellowed Sun ,beauteous as an orange Rose
Leisurely dips down at the horizon
The Sky cools down to Prussian blue
The stars glimmer across the sky in the dim lights
It's showtime

Bedazzled
I quietly sit and watch the magical scenes unfold
Thank you all for your support here.

It's IPL (Cricket) time and my sons were extremely happy to meet a few world class cricketers from across the world and country .
Couple of teams stayed in the same hotel as ours.

Had been on a small vacation with family!!
a lake of blood is promised

homes fill with fiber optic prophecy.

"put away your lenses children and sleep under the lamp's shade."

our purple rice growing

Vishnu mumbles and stirs in his sleep.

by the crystal pond, a poison frog sings.

decorating the sand and reeds are skeletons of the old wars.

nearly dust now.

unable to make decisions for the weak or young, the strong or the old.


four seasons yet to pass

attention given to the wolf's lonesome cry.

place your head in sand,
witness the scorpion.

she is
emperor and admonisher.

the tiger breathes in and breathes out its final breath.

lay your belly upon wheat and remove hunger.


an angel's velvet wing cools the fever,
the old sickness of Old Salem.


onions, apples & lemons are sprouting.

there, just underneath the horseman's hood.

quickly, look.
happy birthday sweet prince

tragedy
meGaThOr Feb 2018
Did not have Dante laugh deeper,
to see dead bones
 in front of **** "While pride taught ,
to step on the skulls of food,
When in the shade raised condemned,
From a worm-eaten skull to a filthy bacon
And he wiped it on his bleeding hair:
shouted, the billions of villains in ****;
while they  stepped in front of them!
And he told the lively vengeance,
In the mansion of eternal hopelessness!

Goodbye! ... is to renounce in an agony
The hope that still palpitate;
Feeling that the eyes are blind, that it cools,
The heart in the **** tear!
That make hands, and the soul afflicta
Like Agar in the desert, pray gloomy! !

Is it a ghastly sight of the skulls in ****?
Do not tremble with dread, lift it from its *****.
It was the burning head of a poet,
Once in the shadow of the fair hair.
When the reflection of fiery living
This forehead was beautiful. There are
the shadow s
pallor covered their shadow s in agony;
In these orbits - hollow, denigrated! -
Chris Neilson May 2018
In my kitchen cupboard
sits a chipped mug
'tis no ordinary mug
'tis a big white builder's mug
in green lettering it states
"you, me and a cuppa PG"
a well known brand of tea
it's been there years
the mug's other side
sees a woollen puppet monkey
sporting a purple dressing gown
that's all well and good
in the grand scheme of things
but this scheme has a twist
once the boiling water
leaves a boiling kettle
to hit the bag of leaves
a magic monkey miracle unfolds
as our cheeky simian friend
dissolves his gown of dressing
to reveal an unexpected sight;
you sit and ponder
life's meaning and why
a woollen monkey would discard
his dignity to your chin
but at least he's wearing underwear
all's well that ends well
as the mug cools
so the gown reappears
we can all breathe easy again
as magic monkey mug lives on.
a bit of tea supping fun
Moments Before Jul 2018
She fell asleep in my lap
As I teased her hair
Outside it is pouring
Ssh it was just a nap
And now the heat
Of my hand strokes
The cools of her body
My thoughts and attention
Are poring
Does she notice this kiss
On her head?
In the paracosm she resides
Tonight
This message reaches

Sweet dreams my beautiful
Nine lovely years
Terry O'Leary Mar 2016
The typewriters tap,
with a rat-a-tat-tat,
like a fourth estate rap
to provide us the pap
(that serves as a snack with a rat-a-tat-tat)
in a newspaper scrap
crammed with meaningless ****
from the editor's yap
(spewing flimflamy flak, booming rat-a-tat-tat)
after gashing a gap
in the daily recap
with a snip in a snap-
sounding thundery clap
crackng rat-a-tat-tat and a rat-a-tat-tat.

And the talking heads speak
with a rat-a-tat-tat,
of the news of the week,
tweaking tongue in the cheek
(with a click and a clack like a rat-a-tat-tat),
thus ignoring critique
'cause they're mild and too meek
in the midst of the reek
to report of the wrack (except rat-a-tat-tat)
whilst the pundits (oblique
when protecting the chic
of the upper class clique
at the top of the peak)
chatter rat-a-tat-tat and a rat-a-tat-tat.

The NRA ghouls
plug a rat-a-tat-tat
while their blood money tools
fill the Hill’s vestibules
(where deceit behind drapes drips a rat-a-tat-tat),
spreading folly that fuels
frenzied hands of young fools
bringing guns into schools
(at the drop of a hat there's a rat-a-tat-tat
splashing blood in warm pools)
for now anarchy rules
(which the hype ridicules
'til the temperature cools)
hailing rat-a-tat-tat and a rat-a-tat-tat.

Lawless cops, cutting loose
with a rat-a-tat-tat
spraying bullets profuse
without any excuse
(just a split second splat with a rat-a-tat-tat),
splay a rattled recluse
like a Thanksgiving goose
gushing cranberry juice
from six slugs in the back (with a rat-a-tat-tat).
To redress such abuse,
bend the branch of a spruce
with a neck in a noose
while Death's drums beat diffuse’
rolling rat-a-tat-tat and a rat-a-tat-tat.

War brings freedom to all
with a rat-a-tat-tat
(well, excluding the thrall
with fear, facing the wall
[ often smacked with a bat, throbbing rat-a-tat-tat ],
until feeling the call
to creep out of the kraal
biting back with a gall
[ with a *** for a tat and a rat-a-tat-tat ],
or to mangle and maul
if still able to crawl
and be part of the brawl
in a freak free-for-all,
midst a rat-a-tat-tat and a rat-a-tat-tat).

Holy warmongers praise,
with a rat-a-tat-tat,
any soldier that slays
and all rockets that raze
(the drones zoom with a vroom and a rat-a-tat-tat)
leaving smoky arrays
of gray ghosts in the haze
cloaking mute cabarets
(hushed, the hip and the hop, by the rat-a-tat-tat)
while ol’ Cerberus bays
with mankind in his gaze,
so society prays  
as it rots and decays
(Satan's trumpets of doom blare a rat-a-tat-tat)
until one of these days
in a flash through the maze
mighty mushrooms will blaze
with invisible  rays,
fin’lly braising the craze
of the rat-a-tat-tat,
   and the
            rat-
                 a-
                    tat-
                          tat.
Soleil Oct 2018
Purple soothes you when you feel stuck in confusion
Pink raps itself around you with warmth
Blue cools you down with its refreshing  cold breeze
Yellow shines on you to show who you really are
Red is a lush rose which resembles your beauty
And lastly all of the colors that make who you are.
~Soleil DeLorge~
Enjoy :) S.☀️
WHEN YOU REALLY LOVE.
If you are fond of someone, you will find
that all her deeds can flirt your loving heart.
You watch her fingers when she weaves some work
and want to press her weaving to your chest.

You love her words and wish to kiss her lips
the purest kiss that makes you fly to height.
Her words are inculcated in your soul
as they endow all your celestial might.

When she just looks at you, she makes you feel
the soft and charming eyes are calling you
to save that look which gives a loving wave
that cools your heart like roses by the dew.

You love to catch her hand when in the street.
It sends a spark that gives your heart a move.
You feel the worth of life and why man hopes
to live so long if life can give such love.
BY JOSEPH ZENIEH
____________
BlackMind Aug 2018
It's all so quiet
Silent within its hidden slumber
And dreams a beautiful dream which guides and cools the Windrush on the water.

Its dream song flows through my patterns
Atoms wave like sunkist fields of wheat
So peaceful is its essence
It is silent when it speaks.

Black Mind
Bryce Nov 2018
She had shown to me,
Aurora
Aurora sweet alighted
the excited verdant ions
a scar of atmosphere
the mantle undivided
to give as sacrifice
to give life to snow

Ye not tempt me with it
Burden of beauty
of foggy things in my dreams
at fancy ballroom mirages

Indifference,
to be found in the refrigerated drink section
outside the air is cold and cools oil on gravel
while across town the burning embers of a home
melt the snow into rivers

The fog of dew on the leaves
drunk, speak the lips of the slain
to look up into the blue
and find solace in the rains.
Sean Hunt Jul 2018
When the weather's too fine
we whine
When the weather's bad
we're mad
When is too dry
we cry
When is too wet
we fret
In the hail
we wall
If it changes
we complain
If it doesn't
we go insane
We don't like
a lightning strike
Hearing thunder
make us wonder
what we've done
In the sleet
we crave some heat
and when it cools down
we frown
When it heats up
we've had enough
In the fog
we curl up with the dog
When it's too breezy
we're sneezy
Come the frost
we're lost
When there's ice
it's not nice
and in the snow
we don't go
anywhere
BellonasBride Jan 20
Love is complex
But oh, so, obvious
And when it’s all going right
Is when you both feel godliest
And you dance around each other
Planets around the sun

So, committed to making it work
But when things go south,
He’s just such a ****!
And she’s just such a *****
Self-absorbed, and short tempered
Breathe and she’ll burn you
Third degree with the fire in her eye.

And you’re walking out just to slam the door
To say I’m done
when you brush against her arm
And it’s like water on fire
You can hear the hiss
The chemical reaction brings up tears to the surface of her eyes
You turn around and tell her you love her.
She breaks down, cries.

And like that it’s over and you sit down
Once more point out your flaws and you both say
I’m sorry
‘it’s my fault’ ‘No, it’s my fault’
The magma spills through the fissure in the plates
It cools and creates basalt.
The foundations we will build our life on.

And when we just sit,
Not talking.
Not touching,
And miles away
I imagine our house with the beautiful stone
Pillars.
The pillars with carving that you would have done
With love and precision.
Those pillars that will hold up our hearts
When they drop at the sound of bad news.

Love is complex
But oh, so obviously here
And when you hold me
Everything beautiful I want to tell you
Gets stuck in my throat.
I wrote this to tell you how
You are everything that is beautiful.
for Miley
Randy Oct 2018
Where have I been?
Air cools, steam rises,
Endless circles returning.
Where am I?
As the rain drops,
Dangerous puddles forming.
Where do I go?
Forward of course, out,
Yet unanswered.
Where will I end?
Sheets of gray unknown,
Moving ghostly along.
The title says more than the poem.
MugWumps Apr 12
I'm the *** gas blaster master
Spreading ***** matter like a natural disaster

Silent like a ninja leaving you no escape
This thick invisible cloud rolls across your face

Take a deep breath for a wif and a taste
Don't procrastinate or let this opportunity go to waste

Critic's say my rhyme sounds like ****
It's more like the precursor to the porcelain brown-eyed split

Rising up with the release of ****** heat
As it cools and falls back like a secondary treat

Your hand waves like a fan totally disgusted
Not considering the beneficial repercussions

Super charged positive bacteria increasing the diversity of your bio gut eco system

Scientifically proven to increase your mental health and overall physical condition
Think of it as a pharmaceutical emission

Relax and release the funk with a smile
No need to set yourself on a moral trial

Remember you are sharing little bits of me
Making the world a healthier place to be.
I hope this made you smile
A student of the crowded breeze.
On a whim Raise like the dandelions' seed,
Vibrantly dissent like, in fall, trees' leaves.
An apostle of purpose beyond what one sees for the unknown is nothing and possibility.

Our lessons are on the topic of practical whimsy, in their way; the wind that cools your face also fans a flame and guides the rain.
The Sensei go by many names, I know them from the roles they play:

Boreas shepherds my turmoil,
A tempest;
senseless, cold and violent as if without vision only vengeance.

Notus shows my passion;
A gust to an ember on dry land,
Unreasonable, unpredictable and destructive without a plan.

Zephyr entices my love;
A subtle intimate current for dance,
The beauty of birds and bees flying from flower to flower and branch to branch.

Eurus reflects my way;
A flurry that moves the sand.
The removal of sediment,
the return to foundation born from action mixed with patience.

They can only guide me
I can ride the winds of the odyssey or resign to the winds of dreams
but I know
I Am
A student of the breeze.
Boreas- the north wind in Greek mythology associated with the storms
zephyr- the west wind associated with spring
Notus- the south wind associated with crop destruction (end of autumn)
Eurus-the east wind the associated with opposing Noctus and autum bounty

looking for a new muse to learn new things about myself through someone true to themselves
Chameleon Jul 2018
I've been turning the heat on in the car on smoke breaks.
69 degrees now feels cold.
I always get so exhausted after my brain spirals and washes down stream.
It's like it catches on fire or spins really fast,
and then when it cools off I can barely keep my eyes open.
I almost texted Dan and told him some ****** **** like I loved him and hated myself.
And I almost texted Sam and told him I understand why he tried to **** himself.
But luckily, thank god or whatever it is, I didn't.
But now my break is over and I have one hour left until I can go home and smoke a bowl and dream of being someone else.
Dan is the sweet guy I write about. Sam is a friend who tried to take his own life twice. He's doing a lot better now thankfully.
Fires are for the hopeless soul,
the souls with nothing left in them but broken bits and bones.
They try to drown it out,
but it only feeds the flames,
soon turning it into,
an out of control raging inferno.

Floods are for desperate souls,
drowning any purpose of life,
they are pulled to and fro,
their breath all but dead.

Snow is for the empty soul,
cold and guilty,
void of anything but control.
Yet it covers them,
leaves them in a blanket of protection,
though it leaves there skin red and raw.

Hail is for the restless soul,
the pent-up energy,
the out of control,
the burning craze.
It cools there rage,
yet they can't see far in front of them,
they live in the here and now.
The hail hurts there skin,
leaving them cold and raw.

Earthquakes are for the broken souls,
the ones who worry to and fro.
Their lives are fine,
even great,
until the earthquake comes and breaks.
In an instant, it rips apart,
what had been a perfectly planned life.
It comes and cracks the land,
decimates it without a second glance.

Each of these has claimed our souls,
our lives, our time, our only goals.
and yet I trust you will go,
today with a message of hope.
If you try with all you have,
to fight these things I have said,
though it will be tough,
the journey long and hard,
met with troubles,
and many sorrows,
You. Will. Succeed.
And see the light again.
I haven't written a poem in about 2 weeks (or at least finished a poem, or came out with anything good). It feels really good writing something again.
I am no gardener, but I do know this:
Perennials and orchards need the kiss
Of an early frost, a freezing deep,
To hold them whole through winter’s keep

A bloom in false spring, (winter’s hollow),
Before the heavy snows that follow,
Will have the cell walls bursting, cracking,
Freezing, thawing, expanding, contracting.

So too, must dreams lay dormant still,
Or else becoming Winterkill.
Much as I wish them to bloom, bloom now,
They must lay under the mulch and bough.

I tell myself, “Learn what you can from the season”
Patience, Myopia, Acceptance sans reason -
You are stuck in the wheel, right here and right now,
Hearing naught in the dark, muffled underground.

Yet I am no seedling! I am no tree!
Though my flesh warms and cools just as easily.
So why should I wait? Why be pinned by the cold?
Do I have a choice in the story that’s told?

Could I be a cold crocodile, nose above ice,
Or hibernate warm with the marmots and mice?
Why not come in from the outside to thaw,
And savor small tidbits of hope in my maw?

Could I choose to fly south, or to stay evergreen?
Must I really wait for the melt to be seen?
I wonder, though I’m sure from what seed I have come,
Is it winter that dictates what I will become?
Lyn-Purcell Aug 2018
'Oh, when will you return, my love?' wondered Kourê,
   as she lays on the daybed, in the cradle of                        
          Spring's clime; how the nights and days make                        
her so weary, as the yellowed flames sway idle              
So many flowers sent,                                            
each rich with memory.      
Violets coiling around the triumphal arch;              
His smile after their first kiss under
the flushing dawn.
Starlings who sing ever so sweet;                              
the song of him preaching of her being
                       a bright glory before others.
Crystal chandeliar that hangs from the ceiling;
                            Her on a small bench, his hands massaging
                              warm oils between her fae-sculpted
      feet and toes.
The roses; a rouge kiss in the light of the shade
          The harp; a white daybed draped
                            with a scarlet sheet.
She yearns for a hug from him, bathing ****
          in light, as their hearts beat in sync
                              and reach the sky.
All she wants is a sweet rest, his hand on her
fine head;                                                
            stroking, sighing, eyes shining,              
                  water that trembles between fingers,
happiness linger!
A feather drifts earnest, the glittering of stars,
And now she cools, recalling their sweet        
goodbye as he rides his mare,
            snow cloak shines eternally.
'Yours is a beauty that will never wilt,' he cooes,
placing a rose in her hair.                  
A rose.                      
A rose...        
Her eyes falls on the white rose in the vase,
              lonesome, thornless proud...                  
We marvel its beauty, its earthbound performance                       
 She holds the rose in her hand, staring at its                    
its crowning glory; petalled virtue
By her ivory velveteen fingers                                          
long finger,
               slim thumb-
She plucks petal by petal by petal by petal
as she looks to the day-sky
                      with a dreaming mind
And when the crown is gone,                            
                       her face is touched by a frown                        
                and the ***** stem,
                                    marred by her sensitivity-
                                            ***** of its own beauty-
                                                    for her hand's sake,
her yearning for her lionesque lover,              
                                         and aurorian prayers?          
The stem falls, ***** and bald on the ground
    as she closes her eyes, saddened...
She cannot bear the sight of snow-kissed            
flowered bays without the sun,
                   her hymn-
                                  her shield-
Know the true secret behind the red, red rose  
As none know of its venomous mantle    
this Rose lingered in the vase only to be
defiled.
Taken advantage of only to
                            be dumped-
A laughing stock as another more beautiful
                            flower will take its place
Boiling with vengeance, the stem is hale,
jade with envy-
                                               barbed with thorns, a poisoned desire
                      to shield its body,
Its pride, its crown stolen-
                                     From snow to blood-
                                                    its pain turned crimson,
No longer will tears of dew fall!
'It matters not,' Kourê thinks, 'another rose will bud.'
For they, like many perennials and sentient life,
                          are conscious of its limited beauty!
'Mine own beauty and his will last forever.'
From the light beyond,
she sees him.
                                       Her sun that rides the mare!
She runs into his embrace- a pair of happy doves
Her fingers in his gold curls
as he bends the knee,
The air lovingly cold at this display!                  
Ever so content!
                                          Blessings upon the lily in the snow!
Upon her hands, the blood of a rose,
that swears vengeance upon her
for it will be the catalyst!
Blood for blood!
                                  The rose will rise and curse
them with pain ten-fold...
Final part of the free-verse!
Hope you enjoyed it!
I came up with a little sad myth behind why the rose has thorns. Why the white roses are truly red. What did you think? I have roses in my garden but I don't pick the petals, they're too pretty!
What did you think of Kourê? Do let me know!
Love you guys! Thanks so much!
Lyn ***'
b mafika Nov 2018
Deeper than love, deeper than me
deeper and deeper and deeper she pleads
maybe too deep that I think she's a freak
maybe too deep in the deep-end again
so deep, this time, I come across her weak
hold her close
feel her breathe
chest rise, and rise collapse
at my feet, eclipsed
in her eyes they rinse and hang me
so short lived, I wish
she could still be, I wish she believed
the same wind shaking trees
chopping waves, cools the sea, shifting clouds
til sunray-bounce off your melanin hip
- mountain range in you, snow-capped
dissolving into sea salt-spray
perfume on Cloth
grapes under foot.
I can never confuse one season for her.

-b mafika
Adaptation of a written rap
Umi 3d
Feeling a small breeze,
The loud thunder rushes by,
As the wind is gaining speed,
And heavy rain cools the ground,
A flash blinds my tired eyes,
The king of the storm,
Lightning, dances from cloud to cloud,
When underneath it,
A painted world is washed away.

~ Umi
Elizabeth Brown Nov 2018
Pain disfigures into numbness in the silence that screams at me
like so many crazed thoughts.
A heated state cools into quiet resentment.
Regardless of how I feel, how you do,
this night has changed us irreparably.
How can you say these things are equal?
Where do you get off?
Your half-sung apologies fall heavy on deaf ears.

Can you feel me ignoring you?

You think I let you down?
I needed to do something with my hands.
You
have shown to me
the inconsistency of love.

Nothing is unconditional.
If it were, I wouldn't even be here fighting with you.

Those words, also labile,
were the truth in the moment,
regardless of tomorrow.

I may love you,
but I hated you then.
Cece Aug 2018
All I wish for is an everlasting storm,
whose thunder will soothe me to sleep
when people fail to do so,
and startle me at weird moments,
putting a grin on my face.
Lightning that will wake me up,
and pull me out of exhaustion's grasp for a brief moment,
a moment of awe,
and add a sparkle to my eyes when I most need it.
A storm with heavy rain,
adept at hiding tears from prying eyes
and muffling escaped cries
with constant drumming on the roof,
distracting others from my pain.
Rain that cools down blushes and keeps me humble
because ****,
my hair looks awful when it's wet.
Wind that can pick me up
and take me somewhere else, anywhere,
or blow my hair in strange ways to make me laugh, a least.
I want a storm to keep me company,
because sometimes people just won't do.
Listen to 3racha on youtube bc this was supposed to be a sad poem but their music makes me happy so this poem turned out weird and whimsical???
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