"depicts" poems
Paint me in any colour you want,
you wish for
Draw any outline you visualize.
This will fade,
Falling victim to the seasons.
A masterpiece
Within itself,
the intricacy of the strokes
Shall be hidden by
the next masterpiece
That will take its place.
The unsung, the
Unheard
are the ones who draw this,
day
And night.
Going unnoticed,
no one stops to
Consider the combinations,
the contrasts,
Its various interpretations,
almost like
Those of a Rubik's Cube.
Layer,
upon caked layer,
depicts violence,
Craves freedom,
breathes anonymity and
Displays inspiration.
Aug 6, 2012
Aug 6, 2012 at 7:59 AM UTC
The best way to give a woman a compliment is to call her BEAUTIFUL
When I hear the word beautiful I think of God with tools crafting the earth in the perfect way not like a kids who put red and blue together and accidentally came up with purple
But THE master artist who has a plan and purpose with every single dot that is on the page and without that dot the world would not be the same
A sun rise is beautiful the way that the angle depicts the color and alters the way that the naked eye can see it
How slow time moves but how fast it goes by you can actually see it move from one part of the sky to another in moments
Beautiful is watching the ocean flow it just goes any which direction it feels with no set destination
Beautiful is God’s promise to never cover the earth with a blanket of water to clear it of the sinful nature it was in, by way of a combination of colors otherwise called a rainbow
So if man should respectfully call a woman beautiful she should be thankful she is in good company
Dec 16, 2012
Dec 16, 2012 at 4:41 PM UTC
What a beautiful thing it is !
A Canvas that speaks a lot
Wow ! an artist’s soul
That try to speak a lot
From the window of canvas
To the doors of sky
Till the depth of ocean
In the romancing moonlight
And spreading its vastness
As the fragrance
Of night blooms
Until the sunrise
Again from morning dews
To chirping birds
Snowy mountains
To windy breeze
A moving cloud
And even from rain to rainbow
All is possible
With the tip of a brush
Is a marvellous thing
That depicts an artist’s heart
An art is a creation
Of an artist
Which is made
In different colours
With different paints
And in different shades
But all in one canvas
Makes an effective painting
Which can never die
As an artist’s soul
That is lightning forever
As a magical lantern
Some paintings speaks a lot
Like stories to us
When it starts speaking
The whole image depicts
It’s originality
As an original photo
Of some place
And that really can lost us
Somewhere as in the canvas
Even eyes of a portrait
Speaks a lot
When we stare in that eyes
It seems as the person is gazing
As a living person is standing in front of us
Which feels like a real photo
And it really makes
An unbelievable painting
Which is like giving life
To the non living thing
Within the canvas
By an artist
Or like a flower bloomed
In the hands of an artist
Canvas that speaks a lot
Really shows true heart
Of an artist’s creation
A beautiful creation
By ones own hands
Mesmerise all of us
With no time
Like an original picture
Taken with a camera
Of high resolution
Is something to adore
With the hearts of love
Canvas that speaks a lot
Is a graceful creation
That makes us wonder
Which is a miracle
In hands of an artist
That remains its effect
For life time
And that make
An artist
Different from others
Canvas that speaks a lot
Is a creation of art
When an artist starts
To move his hand on canvas
It starts to speak a lot
From the sincerity of love
To the beauty of a nature
Sparkling eyes of a human
And the depth of a sea
All that beautiful creation
Of Godly things
Is once more painted
With the help of an artist’s brush
Is something that speaks
For a lifetime
With thousands of words
In one image
Is an exemplary
Creation of humane
In a canvas
Canvas that speaks a lot
With voice of heart
Beats in every hearts
And in all eras
An artist is like a lantern
That lightens other lights
And a canvas is a mirror
Of an artist’s soul
That reflects the lights
For lifetime
Which was once lit
By an artist
With a great deal
Who was owned
By an eloquent soul.
Dec 8, 2019
Dec 8, 2019 at 2:21 AM UTC
Happiness .
A word with no true meaning but a word that somehow depicts all of what one is feeling,
Happiness is when you catch yourself smiling for no reason at all.
Happiness is when everything possible is going wrong but you bring yourself to laugh through it all.
Happiness is accepting oneself fully for when you know your flaws and weaknesses no one can ever use them against you.
Seeing beauty in the bad is apart of this life.
The bad is what makes one who they are and pushes one to strive for everything one could ever dream of being.
Happiness is making everything worth seeing.
If there is one thing that one deserves it is to be happy,
to feel happiness and to allow the inner joy to shine through the inner walls of ones being.
Happiness is entitled to us and no individual , no moment , no fragment in time can keep one from experiencing happiness.
To live is a choice , to change is a choice , to succeed , to be happy is a matter of choice .
Choose happiness , choose to live fully, this life changes , and progresses far to fast to question your happiness...
Love yourself enough to let go of anything that no longer serves you, grows you or makes you happy.
Loving yourself is a matter of happiness.
At times one may fail to see why others see what they see in them but in all honesty it is because one and others are looking at two completely different things.
One sees something they fail to understand and another sees of everything they've ever dreamt of.
To love one self is the foundation of happiness .
And to be happy is to truly live . And happiness is a choice that no individual, thing, or place can take away .
- Tamera Brown
Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 7:52 PM UTC
the latest theories on the Neanderthal
is they died out due to homosexuality
& the earliest evidence of actual civil
order depicts women as priestesses &
queens & men, even kings as animals;
monsters & giants coexisting w/ teenagers
& old people in complex structures ruled
over by older priests, poets & a professional
warrior class; the king could be murdered
w/ impunity & the queen taken as consort
by the next king or murdered if she proves
too ambitious; & throughout all this, scribes
record the passage of time, the declaring of
laws, engagements in wars, rituals, persona,
comic tales & history; notable women have
a roster of their own, some written by ******
scribes party to their secret names & habits;
all known things; bathhouse elect, her scribe
observing her in the dressing mirror invents
the adventures of her reflection; a princess
never to grow old yet her father-husband is a
bearded elder; her older brother a warrior-prince
& future king; her younger brother/son is the
poet who must reveal what he knows, if only
b/c he'll burst if he has to **** his baby sister
in ritual Hieros gamos w/out telling everyone
exactly how he feels about it; but daring to speak
means being ****** burned at the stake, beheaded
& drawn & quartered, so he writes in secret
[chisels actually, so it's resemblance is mostly
related to relief sculpture
& engraving, but writing], passing
the linear tablets to the young priestess who buries
them beneath the temple floor for some future age
of mankind to discover anew & perhaps heed the
warnings of the coming chaos (the poet, a prophet
before there was such a thing); the ****** priestess
worships him w/ unrequited longing; her heart in
chaos, sharing the poet's vision; nature calls her
to her big brother like a woman loves a man & on
that day when they are to publicly mate the young
siblings are gone & are presumed eaten by the
unseen unseen like so many others before them
Jul 29, 2018
Jul 29, 2018 at 5:30 PM UTC
i didn’t know it was possible
to lay in bed shaking with sorrow
and still be able to genuinely smile
through the silent tears falling down my face
my eyes were finally opened
to what honest-to-goodness love is
when i knew i couldn’t be selfish with you,
because although my bones ache for us to work,
i want to put your heart before mine
it’s difficult coming to the realization
that you’re just a step in the right direction
and not my journey’s end
you’d expect this to hurt
and it does,
i’m still wiping away
the sadness from my eyes
but it’s okay,
the hurting is helping
because i know i grow in pain
there’s no doubt in my mind
that you loved me with your whole heart,
you painted a picture on my soul
that depicts how i deserve to be treated
i’m not bitter
because i know through all of this
i’m coming out better
May 10, 2013
May 10, 2013 at 11:32 AM UTC
as insanity depicts my pride,
I look at you in a way that I can't look at anyone else,
as you are constantly on my mind,
and the droplets fall in a way like never before.
you're heart encases me,
consuming everything I have within its arteries,
each thought becomes more liquefied,
as I try to stop the pain.
"she wouldn't want you doing this"
I tell myself time and time again,
yet still as the capsule slips past my lips,
I find some kind of release in the burning sensation,
that starts to simmer in my throat.
your eyes, I try to picture your eyes...
yet still you are not here for me to see them in flesh,
one look from you and I would stop,
but one look is something you will not give.
relapse...
a pain that cannot be fathomed by a blade,
as you drag it from your elbow to your wrist.
I was a month clean but I can't help it now,
my body is dead.
Pain is a placid thing,
yet somehow it holds a power over me,
but, when I am with you it seems...
... that the hold it has is simply gone.
I can't seem to rendeer the thoughts of my childhood,
as I continue to do the inevitable,
have I slipped back into my old ways...
... Have I gone too far to go back now.
Relapse...
Relapse...
Relapse...
I am sorry I have let you down,
I am sorry that my callous ways are somewhat spiteful,
I may not have much self esteem,
but I know that I am selfish...
was I selfish in my dealings with you?
in the way I handled your gorgeous smile.
not that I recall..
yet I feel as though I have somehow
left, not to be welcomed back,
into you're arms of grace that make me collapse...
drag me out of this pit
save me from this relapse.
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 9:44 AM UTC
The sands become my tomb
As I lay staring
At natures mirror
Memories invade my gaze
The mirror depicts a face
Staring back
Is this the face of the man I was?
Or the glare of the stonecut man
That I've become?
Etched from marble
Or maybe granite
By the horrors it's seen
This sandy grave consumes me
And my glare turns upward
Inflection of this mind begins
The mirk above does not churn
It does not waver
And I realize I'm alone
The Vast reflects back at the stonecut
Mirroring the emptiness
In his eyes and soul
The realization of internal emptiness
Is deafening in the silent night
Has revenge done this to me?
May 10, 2013
May 10, 2013 at 1:21 AM UTC
★ ✰ ✪ ★ ✰ ✪ ★ ✰ ✪
The Baby-Hole, her baby-hole!
Turn back before you lose your soul.
Those walls of pink, those gates of pearl
grant entrance to each boy and girl
who come through this organic portal:
newly-born and merely mortal.
Mystery to be dignified—
explored, adored, objectified:
the baby-hole’s expanding chasm,
promising celestial spasm,
is limned in deliquescent love
and fits the soul as hand in glove.
Beware her tantalizing pull
where poetry turns vaginal.
From depths profound, God can create
(where man would merely **********
hitting Mother Nature’s high note
as the gamete turns to zygote).
Semi-seconds’ spurting passion
years of living baby fashion.
After pleasure’s jest, gestation
thus augments the population;
teenage dads recalibrate,
unsure just what to celebrate.
Yet, if they knew the daring risk
their ***** endure, they’d slip a disc;
to realize what threatening odds
confront these flagellated gods:
(see Luke in Star Wars, [number IV]
battling fascists in the war
alone in the zone to shoot the shot
that blows the death star up. Let’s not
miss out on noting, in this theme,
life’s true conception. So the team
of X-wing pilots flew the run,
eliminated one by one
save Luke, who penetrated deep
the death-star’s ovulated keep
and overcame the egg’s defense
and hit the mark. It all makes sense.
The spheroid bursting in his sight
depicts Conception's glorious might).
Therefore, show the matrix honor.
Shoot and leave—your star’s a goner:
nurture growth while life allows you,
while your star can still espouse you.
Seek her core of hidden gnosis
don’t just set off cell mitosis…
not, that is, unless you are sure
that the three of you won’t end up poor.
Feb 9, 2017
Feb 9, 2017 at 8:02 PM UTC
I am not in a dream or I am in a nightmare,but It's a real thing that I see myself walking towards An unknown world that depicts Things as real,but They are not ... It's like I am watching myself In a mirror ... I am not in the stone age,but I am living in a primitive age of mine ... My feelings and my emotions suppress Themselves to let me feel down ... I am walking into that unknown world That I made it for myself ... I put myself in some circles , In some squares ,and In some other shapes To test life in truth ... My world is called The unknown world of mine In which I walk endlessly in Its ways until I reach the end of It ... _________________________________________________________________
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 2:40 PM UTC
The ordinary
Becomes the extraordinary
When the visionary
Depicts the good
Apr 11, 2019
Apr 11, 2019 at 6:58 PM UTC
*
Within my breathe
Resides your LOVE
Along with your being
Your blood flows within me
I became your good-self in my SOUL
Twenty-four seven
Your memories are mine
Morning, afternoon, day, evening and night
YOU live in me every moment
In my silent thoughts
And in my spoken and written
Words you dwell
My every action depicts
Your style and movements
I am sending you my LOVE vibes
Through every natural things
That you see and come across near you
Can you feel my LOVE BELOVEDz?
In my eyes- I carry your image
As if you are living my image
In front of mirror - I see only YOU
Have you robbed me from YOU?
No one can see
The invisible chain of LOVE
From your heart to my heart
From your soul to my soul
In every dream of mine
YOU make me happy and smile
Who knows what's going on in our lives
Our eyelids blink and
OUR LOVE blossoms Millions of
Flowers around the world
MY work is to narrate you
The details of my dreamZ
That's the only work
I have got NOW in my lives
There are dew drops on your petals
I am standing surrounded by
Your colorful flowers
The sunshine is ready to light the sky
The sky has worn your rainbow colors
The clouds are white and floating like oceans
The birds are chirping songs of LOVE melodies
The animals are stretching to follow us loyally
The breeze is carrying your fragrance
With your scent -
Even dead have come alive..!
Everything is ready but you are not there
And along with nature
I am waiting for your arrival
Within my breathe
Resides your LOVE
Along with your being
Your blood flows within me
I became your good-self in my SOUL
*
Oct 3, 2018
Oct 3, 2018 at 12:43 AM UTC
Off comes my slip, socks, sanity and an echo
Goes up my spine.
The men
Film my sinking heart
And dive into the
Filth plastered against my mind without a thought
Of what moments define me.
That girl who used to wear a
Shirt embroidered with flowers and had a mother
Making her a meal with love is now working the
Room with what's left of her.
For -ward motion depicts nothing
More than bones and memories never cherished.
Jul 27, 2014
Jul 27, 2014 at 4:16 PM UTC
The notes of the song -
the quarter notes
the half notes,
eighths and sixteenths
triplets and all variations -
they form in my brain
through the speaker to my ears
and form a picture,
ever flowing and moving
that depicts, sometimes,
your face and your body.
Images of different sorts
some with color and some with out
that can relax and satiate
or do the opposite
and deviate
from the normal cooing
of my heart,
creating an anxiety matched by no other.
The pictures becoming what I see in front of me
as I walk around in life. My brain and nerves -
dancing along
singing their own words to the song
and making everything right
that was once wrong.
And I’m not sure if you will get this
and understand what I mean
but I know my thoughts will never be clean
of images from sounds
dancing all around.
Jun 28, 2010
Jun 28, 2010 at 10:36 AM UTC
Sometimes, if I try, I hum between the tumbling
Hills of the world bracing domesticated beasts.
They graze and grunt all over again,
Entering slumbers following the daily sweep
Of lactic creeks, thin enough to guide tree roots.
Dusk is explained by the party of two, embracing the dividing sun.
Look left to see coral reef skies swim attempting to grasp what is to the right of the Sun:
Silhouettes outlining prayers flattening dimensions of rugged Mosques
Still dusty from wheat flour and patterned by uncooked lentils, that
Slipped through missing seams of Burlap, blackened from the hearth
Malleable as a result of dependency.
Though only half of my sight functions, I reason that
Earth shifts without you. Watching centuries and some odd
Years of changes, I yearn to know where you have gone.
I peer from the peacock’s tail, feeling the pulse of the
World tick away as the fearless pray to someone new.
Your countenance, I interlaced with feathered fingers
Depicts movements, curves. A shame to be without
Language to fill the contours of a nebulaic expression
Or swindling modifications.
You put me here. My eyes anyway.
Expecting me to retire along with buildings for your worship
Powdery paint has spilled and faded along with
Others who have modified your appearance, their someone new.
Even as the shadows swells
A million replicates of Io, moo and sway home, tired from the
Beating sun, to which eyes remain fixed.
One momentary memory visits.
Vision simulate traces of wonder, travelling on
Pathways believed to be conquerable. The people have learned
What I have not. They pause, breathe.
Feb 15, 2015
Feb 15, 2015 at 1:32 PM UTC
You love hearing.
You love seeing.
You love smelling.
You love feeling.
You even love the taste of life,
Bold statements arise: pentagon built pyramids; hexagram built light…
I’m speaking subtlety’s; the space between five and six,
Like that star David from CSI;
Eleven mirror, twelve depicts,
If they’re in prison, it was because of common sense,
If you’re successful, universe says you were dependent on the sixth…
We’ll acknowledge foundations as Gravity, Although they reflect;
Time as tragedy,
Too low to connect;
Space to one; a division within;
I’m thinking maybe this trinity could project a web,
Gravity is the outcome of manifestations existing;
Creativity transmuting energy that’s coexisting in a space in which polarities consisting,
Space is the frame that’s assisting;
A geometrical web full of light that infinitely splits simultaneously while it’s energy is shifting,
Time is the perception of distance between manifestations, it’s the same as predicting,
It doesn’t exist until it exists,
That’s a matter of apathetic wishing,
“He’s an oxymoron…”
We fear the unusual,
But we can’t possibly be normal,
That’s actually abnormal,
When we conform to others idealism, our realities become harmful,
Earlier I advocated that space is full,
If you’re pushing space in your own gravity, displacement will leave your mind full; time-poor,
Love yourself, because you love your five senses,
No need for senseless for it is why we sense-less before more,
That doesn’t mean closed door,
It means your time is poor;
How can you be of wealth if you’re missing idealism,
In such a situation you’re obligated to war;
Be informed, be young, belong life,
Disconform, keep ***** on your side,
Obliterate, reiterate, polarize,
You must know thyself before you know the sky.
Nov 28, 2018
Nov 28, 2018 at 7:36 PM UTC
The desert place in its original form,
is not a mere heaps of sands,
but it depicts various images of life,
its presence is either human’s willpower
nor absence is a war against the enemy,
but this power takes different forms.
For me desert means
a place of peace,
where human and animals
dwells lives harmoniously.
. . .In all cases,
the desert is a platform ,
whether a life threat
or a life drought ,
and it has it’s own different
shapes and sounds
By Williamsji Maveli
From "Maa Salama .."(Go with peace-A collection of desert poems)
Jul 10, 2012
Jul 10, 2012 at 10:18 PM UTC
I’m sorry.
The two words that I want to hear.
But I want it to be sincere.
For the longest time,
Silence is how we communicate.
We both know feelings are hard to articulate.
When one starts to converse,
It is inevitable not to argue.
You aren’t found of sweet gestures.
I accepted the fact a long time ago.
I just want you to stay with me.
Your existence is all I need.
I appreciate silence that isn’t empty.
As I am patiently waiting,
The time comes but it’s already ticking.
It stings when I’m sorry isn’t an apology.
When it depicts goodbyes,
And probably the last farewell.
May 28, 2021
May 28, 2021 at 8:20 PM UTC
The monumental image of this memory depicts
half of a man.
What makes this image monumental
is the unspoken truth
behind strong, naked feet
dancing and
kicking up dust
on top of a soap box.
Unshakeable emotions
warp this memory's
crowd of many
nameless faces,
pinching cheeks into malice
for a few,
long hours.
These malicious expressions may
be the result of the dust storm
filling in the blanks
for lots of people
collectively trying to ignore something.
Authorities have concluded that time
cannot heal a wound
if the hourglass has cracked,
so,
the memory goes on,
amassing
confusion, chaotically
like this television screen
showcasing half of a man
dancing
on top of a soapbox.
Sep 20, 2013
Sep 20, 2013 at 3:09 PM UTC
I wish I could only see you
in black and white,
as the fog settles and you walk quietly
in the streets,
tranquil and graceful.
I wish I could only see you
in black and white,
where you dance in the rain puddles in red boots,
tinted grey by
the black and white world
you would exist in,
only in my head.
I wish I could only see you
in black and white,
for when I see you in color,
you are too exuberant and blindingly vibrant
to the extent where I cannot comprehend
or appreciate your being.
I wish I could only see you
in black and white,
for I know that color is not where you
belong, and not where I can
admire you to your fullest potential.
I wish I could only see you
in black and white,
for you do not belong in my present,
you belong in my past.
That does not make you any less beautiful,
for things seen without the use of color
prove their authenticity.
Seeing you
in black and white
depicts you as something so magnificent,
color is not needed to enhance your being,
for you are beautiful enough
without it.
Mar 21, 2017
Mar 21, 2017 at 12:25 PM UTC
See my Dear,
I want you to Foculize these words to your *****
I want you to open your legs and swallow these words as your guidance using Two Commandments :
1.Thy Shall Not **** Before Marriage
2.Thy Shall Strive To Be Successful
My Girl, Put My Words In Your *****
You are not a Locus for sperms
That ***** Gotta'Have conditions and Terms.
My Girl, You are Gonna need a Degree in,
[Bastardiology] The Scientific Study of Men. Which depicts men as bacteria. Single- cell microscopic organisms which lack true love.
My Girl, Through Life
You must be a Cell Nucleus and control everything.
My Girl, Put My Words In Your *****
That ***** is not an Ecosystem.
Don't make that ***** a public toilet.
That ***** is not a habitat for a Pen Is.
Abstain.
And if you do have *** be faithful.
And if your *** is broke, Condomise.
My Girl, don't sleep around, be wise and open your eyes.
Listen,
When you find a man
make sure that he can master the art of licking *****
he must be able to make it wet, wetter than a damp cloth.
My Girl, put my words in your *****
so that when all this finally happens
Your ***** shall remind you.
Jul 30, 2015
Jul 30, 2015 at 2:01 PM UTC
The painting at the head of my bed
on a single frame canvas
depicts a triptych,
a faux three pane view
of the Blue Ridge Mountains.
This tri panel composition
reminds me of the way some Christians,
fuse their three bodied god into a mythical
singularity of mystical much.
Sep 27, 2012
Sep 27, 2012 at 10:44 PM UTC
in love with your smile
the way you make me laugh
and make me happy
my heart’s been shaking lately
dark clouds upon me
demons fighting my little faith
seeking for inner peace through
these puns and metaphors
in love with your soul
the way your spirit easily depicts
my elastic emotions and illusions
my heart finds comfort in all the lust
watch me enter the room of doom
where books and dreams descend
before me like your sins directing me
to your forest of mystery and captivity
Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 6:15 AM UTC