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Tanay Sengupta Sep 2018
As the moon shines
And the stars decorate the sky,
A lonely owl hymns
While the bats fly.
Lightning bugs scatter around
Like will-o'-the-wisps at night,
Without any sound
Oh, what a delight!
The neighbour's hound is on guard
She will not allow anyone to pass,
No one is allowed in her yard
At this hour, only a fool will walk on her grass.
Her howl pierces the air
Bringing an end to the silence,
She announces she won't share
She will not tolerate any form of violence.
Across the street, few floors above
Two players are taking their turns,
In the famous game of push and shove
While a tiny candle burns.













Tanay Sengupta, Copyright © 2018.
All Rights Reserved
As usual, I will not explain this poem. I think it is evident by now that I won't explain any of my poems to you. I want you to perceive it the way you want to. Happy reading!
okayindigo Mar 2014
My deformities decorate me
As if I were Persephone
Married to all that could incinerate me
I dance with daemons, but they do not consume me

Instead we rub up against each other, like
The good kind of scratch
Like the skins of fruits

And I delight
In the weight
Of cool scales that press my dress to my skin
And rest monster heads in the curve beneath my skin.

Great claws finding the fork tines of my fox spine, and I sing
O, Daemon Mine
O, Daemon Mine.

And they let go, and they sometimes even
Cry.
GulRukh Dec 2017
I am a Shining Star
Let me Brust
To Decorate Your Sky
I am a Bioling Sun
Let Me Explode
To Light Your World
I am a Wandering Cloud
Let Me Be Your Shield
And Save You From Heat
I am A Glacier
Let Me Melt
And Remove Your Thrist
I Just Want You To Remember My Name
Whenever You Cry With Pain
It Will Rain
I Will Be That Rain
That Will Wash Away All of your Pain
Just Let Me Cry
If That Brings You A Smile
Emeka Mokeme Jul 2018
THE FLOWERS
What I told
you about the
flowers
no one probably
won't tell you.
Is it not
about their fragrance
and how amazing
it is that
they share their
life with you.
They hang around
your garden and
patiently wait on
you with their
perfume of love.
To make you
happy with the
fragrance of their
healing presence,
they share their
fragrance and working
tirelessly in gladness
they gracefully grace
your life with grace.
They lay down
at our feet
always ready to
bring pleasure
to our leisure.
To please you
they share lavishly
and are generous
about it.
They bring pleasure
back into our
homes by spreading
their fragrance.
Even when bruised
they give out
their best fragrance
out of love
to soothe and bring
succour to our
tired mind.
They also help
decorate our world
with their beautiful
flowers to make
our lives lovely.
How can we
not appreciate
their presence
in our homes,
garden and environment.
They are divinely
precious beautiful treasure
with an alluring
power to help us heal.
Little beautiful gifts
from heaven with
such an unforgettable
sublime and divine fragrance.
Spreading their love
they reach out
to us even
from miles away
adorning our weddings
and other events
with their fragrance
and presence and
speaking to us
in the language
only the heart
can understand.
Nature gave us
fragrance in flowers
so lovely and
endearing that no
one can resist
their friendship.
To walk with
them is unbelievably sweet.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved
Bison Jun 2016
The taste of rust hangs
Heavy in my mouth
A copper color stains
My crooked teeth

I am awake now
Unlike how I used to be
Though my eyes were open
I was surely dreaming

The taste of rust hangs
Tangy on your lips
Blue twinges decorate
Your iced expression

Bound with veins
Of hope and smoke
We lie side by endless side
Entwined lost to the madness

Now the taste of rust hangs
Growing older still
Let me restore the flame
To the fire in your soul
Scurry hurry
Shaking hands shaped by worry
tie the knot of plastic
A bubble home for the hard green cup
where brown and white
mixed lay married.

Wash rush
Dainty legs in dark blue denim
hasn't time to be romantic
A worn out sister played by hope
shuts the door panting.

  It clings to a robust tree
  head hidden under rosy pink    
  protective shield
  edged in yellow

  The fireflies

  
Sticky webs of empty lies packaged in boxes of deception by the wizard that doesn't work
sit dead on the small bedside table
like the results they provide.

Boxes and boxes of cozy containers
and cards of capsules
47 I counted them
current and extras
They choke my sight
then I am groped by the smooth blue robes worn by the youthful shepherd
posing aside a grey rock looking yonder
into the distance as insta-natural as possible in a pastel painted picture framed in wood against the wall.
  
  Unstable molecules in tiny airtubes,  
  many, breakdown and explode
  like little landmines
  A bio-luminescent lit ***** assaults a  
  dense night flashing brilliant
  to find a mate
  Six strong neon-green throbbing blinks
  Six slow seconds of unimaginable
  wordless dreamless dark.

  are bright.

  
I turn my head
The whole unsettling mass of reality
is torn apart into vibrant colorful morsels,
then reassembled
as my eyes  
settle
on

Her

"Oh God, if you're here, heal her now
and you'll have me. Show me what those confident tongues so eagerly confess.
Please!"

NOTHING
Another sticky empty square
covered in thick black-strap molasses
slapped to the face of the fool
who likes sweet things.

BUT

What happened to the omni-this, omni-that CEO of God enterprises?
"Go on Death" is what that means
"Go on Death do your job" is what it does

"It's your time.
It's to test your faith.
Gods plan."
All slogans for the man
who believes and dies.
  Culture creates the fool
  Hope keeps the fool
  Belief kills the fool
Thanks for doing what all those boxes
and all the pictures
on all the walls of the world do

FOOL

Her face,
a gaunt kind of skin-to-bone sight
a bad flavor
like a meal with no taste

Her mouth,
crack-lipped, framed by dry
delivers deadly blows to a heaving chest
that says; "Give me air"
yet lungs say no

Anguish,
is ****** from the pit of my cold stomach
then up through the spirit of a warm heart
I plaster the feeling in the shape of water.
My eyes puddle

I weep

It sticks

Love,

Falls

Fluttering as a twinkle
through soft beams of sunlight,
the drop glistens
plops
then dies
on the pink and blue checkered blanket.

All I have to offer are busky palms
to soothe this battered body
before you are torn apart by what
puts things like us together.

I swallow her frame

Her calf - bone

Squeeze and move

Her thigh,
my hand wraps completely
pinching a sausage sized piece of muscle
not big enough to walk
between plump thumb
and meaty middle

Squeeze and move

Her hip bone is angular
It fits flush in my hand
like the hard front peak of a cricket cap
when held above the grid

Squeeze and move

My chunky tentacles massage over
wire-thin barely blue throbless veins
that decorate her meatless paws
and twig-like fingers.

Squeeze and move
  
  It's after midnight
  Thick curds of desperation push
  again, through a splendid backside
  a special toosh
  slogging a dancing night-fever
  to beat the two-to-four,
  a beam as bright as a green day
  cuts through the black pitch of night

  

I hold her hand
A thin filling between two slices of mine
I look at her eyes and turn away

Have you ever been pulled from the center of  your heart, ripped head first through the narrow crack of your own chest, tossed aside like a skin-sheet onto a concrete glass-covered floor then squashed beneath the majesty of a billion dancing floor-clapping feet attached to a shapeless void shapeshifting as slideshows  between all things gone, here, and still to come, stopping on the body of a small blue boy that sings in ghostly echo;
"Don't turn away from this.
Look till you see me through the eyes of another because this too
will happen to you
Clap clap clap clap!
I'm coming for you.

Trapped in a square tunnel made of brick, walls wide enough for one bus no brakes to speed through, no escape,
I accept what will squash me
I Face it
I Stand before it

I stare at her eyes staring back at me
A deep dagger stare
Two parts steel
meshed
until there is only steel
It melts

I simmer the room in soft whisper;
"It's okay. It's okay. It's okay."
I hold her hand,
patting the top as I warm the bottom
I smile for her, at me
I smile back, as me
  
  A skillful mimic
  Here I come
  I have light and breath
  I see yours
  I come at night
  Not for genes or ***
  I hunt and gut
  Hawking down I come as death

  
The gaps between her labored breaths become bigger and for a second I drift at the sight reappearing on the sandy dunes of an empty dessert space pushed by a dying wind I can barely feel.

A sharp salty tang toils the tip of my tongue and brings me back to her.

Her eyes

They have changed

Open

But

Soul

   less

     Soulless

     Desolate

   Like

That dessert

And that place where


*The Fireflies Lose their Light
Chris Neilson Aug 2018
Along the bus filled corridor
from the south of the city
through the Victorian architecture
of Withington and Fallowfield
to the world food of Rusholme
with its plethora of barber shops
shoe shops, shisha bars, cafes
Philips Park and the eye hospital
then the university quarter
students like woolly hatted ants
a human tide of books and backpacks
our future professional generation
of doctors, scientists and philosophers
part time poets and musicians

Into the city centre bustle 
of hipsters and hustlers
high flyers and homeless
rough sleepers and penthouses
side by side in a sea of incongruity
The roman settlement of Castlefield
now sky scraping soulless concrete
in this original city of industry
where workers downed tools 
in cotton mills for anti-slavery 
American Civil War brethren
built on old world immigration
integrated into a working class
of blue collars, graft and toil
bones of its makers in its soil

Images of the lost industries
now decorate ornate beautiful bees
scattered in and around the urban sprawl
timely reminders of our heritage
of Northern grit in all its colours
of invention, science, sport, music and art
of protest, achievement and inspiration
a city that's historical
a city for the here and now
a city for future nascent talent
a city that's changed the world
Manchester, a city for all ages
I wrote most of this after returning from a hospital appointment earlier this year but have now added to it to bring it up to date
Grace May 2017
Nimble fingers
Across shoulder blades
Strumming collarbones
The sweetest sound
To touch your ears

Lips made to stitch
Where bumps and bruises
Decorate
Peach thin skin

I bet your body could blush
A deep sunset red
Blanketing my favorite skyline
So picturesque
Even Picasso would hold his breath
Dirt crumbled at my feet, as moths finish off my sleep. My whole skull is uncovered, unconcerned with greener leaves.

Will this comfort ever stay? I'm losing hope as it decays. Decorate my heart with iris, because its carcass has faded grey.

Lace my body for the crows; nest my ribs, and clean my bones. Residue of torture palpitates, from within its catacombs.

Who knows when winter will come, so freeze your lungs until they're numb. Because breathing isn't worth this turmoil, and I think the dark swallowed your Sun----
All feedback is welcome and appreciated :)
I wanted to write about walking away
the two of us, fading away from each others view
I'd decorate it in poetry as if it were anything more than another premature ending
but all I'm left with is shrines in the form of mixtapes
and days spent wondering what it would feel like if I was still in the backseat of your car
instead of sitting upright in the passenger side of his
he says he likes the song I'm playing
but I think he'd hate it if he knew it's just another epitaph for the nights I spent with you
gleck Jan 2017
Born into this world,
Tears at the end, tears at the start

Never going back,
My story becomes a piece of art.

Unprepared and free-handed,
Keep the paint flowing.

Cover up any mistakes,
Who knows where this story is going?

Do I love? Do I lose?
Do I laugh at the pain?

Do I bite? Do I bruise?
What does my heart gain?

How will you decorate it?
Choke a bit on glitter.

Have you ever tasted paint?
*It tastes bitter.
Arte Aug 2018
A world of dreams
Awaits for me
In the distant light
Or near future
Among the stars
My dream is one of the many stars that shine upon the night sky
Big or small
Same or different
Impossible or possible
Far or reachable
Some are there to be desired
Some left untouched and just admired

Every night I look up, they are there
Everyone’s dreams covering the night sky
Reminding us that our dreams exist
Giving us a sense of hope that we may achieve them
But also a sense of disbelief as they seem so far away
There they were
We just have to reach them

My oh my
My star may look very small among many others
But through my darkest nights it fills me with light and hope.
Because if i didn’t have these stars what would decorate my night sky? Or more so my life? My life of beautiful dreams

But when night turns to day
And morning sets in and the stars fade away
It’s back to reality
And the stars disappear like a forgotten dream that wasn’t meant to be

But when nightfall creeps in again
A glimmer of hope crosses the night sky
A shooting star
And that is when
I’ll know I will have achieved my dreams
LexiSully Jun 2018
The small room was dark, except for one lamp in the corner,
Faded memories of loved ones decorate the walls,
Soft music swayed in the background,
And familiar cuddles filled the bed

Time—in this moment—seemed to completely stop.
Rich Hues Feb 6
There is a bookshop in town,
That smells of coffee and sandalwood and leather
Where millennials gather together,
Pink haired and proud,
Illiterate, opinionated and loud,
Owners of cats, vibrators and at least one sexually transmitted disease,
The feminist alternative to a family, they seem happy with these
...For now...
Not yet ready to play wife and ruin a sorry incel's life.

Why should they spare me a second look?
As I deface a poetry book,
Looking for the poem that annoys me most,
In the hope of upsetting the poet's passing ghost.

The summoned sales assistant asks me to stop - so -
I ask her what it's like to work in a shop.
She goes for help and while she calls, I decorate the margin with a **** and *****.
In the real world, posting bane,
A pencil meme, the mark of Cain.

Banned, I'm thrown out on my ear,
And so
...For now...
I'm here.
Tintered in red the verdant lush appeared.
In the distance a flute was echoing.

Corpses deprived from life's breah
Vitreous eyes of thousand colours staring at the sky
Hypnotized by the unmovable dance of the stars.

«You see»
The old man spoke
Cleansing the sword from the blood
Of those who fell by his hand
«Their eyes are nothing but stars of another sky
and, like you, someone stares at them,
wondering what they could possibly be
those lights
that decorate the black
».

«You see»
The old man carried on
«They are not really dead.
Their flesh will nourish the earth you're stepping on,
making her fecund,
making your survival possible.
One day they will be nothing but grass blades
fighting against the wind that once striked
this land of death


He briefly suspired
His gaze was full of compassion for that young man
He could understand what that boy was feeling
In that very moment
He could not blame him.
«You must fight for your living, not for your death. Remember it
Bella Nov 2017
Can’t I be thankful for pomegranates?
The setting of such a royal fruit on my table
I am so lucky
to be able to decorate the holiday table with such a royal fruit
I am thankful for pomegranates.
Pagan Paul Oct 2018
.
Like a watermark through crisp white vellum
a face appears through the veil of dreams,
to colour wash away a montage of image
and decorate a mosaic of sleep dust seams.

As halcyon lakes waterfall into prism nebulae
and the courtesan face evades its emotions,
inevitably slipping between the chasms of space
like golden dolphins through plasmic oceans.



© Pagan Paul (01/09/17)
.
Old poem, rewrite. PPx
mariamme May 2018
she comes to me unbidden
like salt tears after sadness
a pocketknife in her left hand
to carve her throne,
delicate arches of heartspace
and copper tang of blood beneath her painted toes
i cannot forgive her intrusion
it's akin to breathing,
unthinkingly natural for her
to smooth out the darkness in me
and hang her velvet drapes
around my love, just so
and i hand her some wildflowers
to decorate her hair, like neurons
now tingling and mingling
with the rest of me trailing after
taken over by the merest twitch
of her fingers on my heartstrings
there is nothing to forgive.
jul Jul 2018
i know you want to believe that i am perfect,
but i cannot guarantee it.
scars from scabs decorate my legs and even marred my back.
i'm afraid to wear skin-tight dresses for my body is not ideal.
i know you want to believe that i am perfect,
but i cannot guarantee it.
for while you are absent at the moment, i think of the possibilities of you finding a coefficient for an expression that equals a positive integer; a whole.
thinking of the time that has not been given to me, the possibility of it being given to another.
maybe i am too attached.
maybe i am too insane.
i am not an intellectual,
just someone rambling and scrambling their words to make it seem as if i am.
i am not perfect, by all means.

because on messy days, i cannot even look at myself.
because the knots in my hair resembles the knots in my chest and i cannot even untangle them.
because no matter how often you tell me im beautiful, i cannot find the truth there, and that is a real shame.
i am not perfect, so please, don't hold me to that expectation.
Grace E Mar 16
911
I decorate my black & white life
In red & blue lights
With an oath to uphold integrity
To balance wrong and right
I’m married to lady justice
My instincts, ready for the draw
I am a servant of the people
But I am also their law
Many people don’t give police men and women the respect they deserve. They see the worst parts of humanity every single day and one of their occupational hazards is not coming home to their family.. I appreciate their exsistence and respect what they do.
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