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Hisham Alshaikh Jul 2018
You are beautiful
You are tremendously beautiful
You are marvelously beautiful
You are astonishingly beautiful
You are magnificently beautiful
You are breathtakingly beautiful
Inner and outer

You are beautiful
You are the definition of Beauty
Or shall I say, what is Beauty compared to you
What is Beauty compared to you ?
It feels shy and ashamed when I describe you
A weak meaning it has when I describe you
A meaningless meaning it has when I describe you
Never existed it wishes when I describe you

You are beautiful
For your beauty I searched
Every language ever lived
And every word ever existed
And the romantic era that occurred
Could not find a way to describe your beauty
Could not find a way to tell the world about your beauty

You are beautiful
Vocabulary will be invented
Words never existed
To the dictionaries will be added
In the dictionaries will live
In the lovers tongues will breath
To describe your beauty
The one and the only beauty
The living and the dead will forget about Cleopatra
Because your beauty is ultra
A new period will start, The Beauty Era
Your era

--Hisham Alshaikh
You're Beautiful. Version 1.
Hisham Alshaikh Jul 2018
You laugh
Angels weep out of jealousy
Devils have no single conspiracy
Demons dancing in harmony
Men hearts go broken with no remedy
Women eyes tearing continuously
Violins break out of envy terribly
Composers have no more creativity
Music plays with no melody
Silence starts listening joyfully
Happiness laughters left in agony
Beautiful words describe nothing but misery
Tulip flowers become colorless shamefully
Believers lose their faith immediately
Infidels drop their convictions instantly
Hearts start beating rapidly
Lungs oxygenating quickly
Living ones laying listening carefully
The dead come back miraculously

--Hisham Alshaikh
You Laugh. Version 1.
Pyrrha Jul 2018
I find it strange that when I look into your eyes I'm not met with an endless starry sky
The world around me doesn't freeze or turn monochrome around everyone but you
I don't see an endless sea or visions of a setting sun, no matter my determination
So how do I know it is love if it isn't as the words I've heard all my life describe?

Yet my heart still drops when you walk into the room, even when your focus is a place far off
People say it's like a flutter but this is far too heavy to use such a light word to describe such a feeling
It's painful, but I know it isn't something ominous or bad because it feels right
How do I know it is love if none if my words describe it right as they should?

I get it every time our eyes meet or you tilt your head and smile with your head in the clouds
I get it when you laugh to yourself or say something hardly above a whisper
When you focus so hard you ***** up and let out that silly sigh of aggravation and I feel such deep affection
Yet is it alright for me to say what I feel is love when I can't even tell myself what love is?

I don't think your eyes need starry skies or my stomach needs a million butterflies
Your smile doesn't need to illuminate the room and my thoughts for you don't need an anchor
Your love shouldn't have an expectation and my words don't need to have a proper diction

Perhaps I'll see it in your heart or feel it in your touch one day if you feel the same
Regardless what the world has sold me with their modern day poetry
I promise you that no matter how hopeless I become I will find out for myself
What it means to love you wholly even if I have to find out from loving at a distance
I don't understand why I write so many poems about love when I am not even in love. It is so frustrating to have words without a muse and a muse without words.
Fat
Thin
Living with sin
Depends on how well you know me
My past misdemeanors
You could well take me to the cleaners
On discrepancies I've done in the past
I seem so nice and pleasant
With a smile that seems so repellent
Not even a fly would fear my charm
But it could all just be an act so decisive
That it has other means and devices
That keep me at reach from a length of your arm
But I can turn it on when its needed
Talking the bull with the waffle I'm feeding
And have them eating out of my palm
But that only comes when times can be hard
Concocting the odd story like a once well known Bard
But not as well known as the great Billy Shakespeare
For I am an honest man with the odd story that's a lie
We all have that in our depth even under a shirt and a tie
As times can be hard sometimes we all live in fear
See, you cant describe everyone with same artists brush
We can be rude, we can be transparent and some are just lush
If your looking from just the outside then what a great toosh!

Yeah, go on, I'd love you too,

Describe me

JJB
A bad system will beat a good person every time - W. Edwards Deming

I'm a good person, but with many defects. - Enrique Iglesias

I just want people to realize that it doesn't take much to be a good person. Simple things is all it takes. - Brian Ortega
Vaniexe Kafka Sep 2018
And then he didn't come back

The summers passed, autumns faded, winters roared, and springs bloomed but he's nowhere to be seen.

As she made her way to the shore, she felt the gentle breeze and the embrace of the waves and as she looked up; she saw the moon alone in the vast nothingness of the sky with no star to keep her company.

She remembered him, thinking that maybe the stars are gone for the moon is too broken and is not as illuminated as it was the first time.

Then she remembered the first time he laid eyes on her. His eyes shone so bright, held much admiration in his gaze that she couldn't understand for she is nothing sort of a goddess the moon had blessed.

None of her poems caught the light and the life in his eyes when they first met: of how it looked silver and storm that reflects his turbulent emotions, of how his eyes reached the depths of her soul with his gaze, of how he saw her as his moon.

None of them could ever describe how his eyes demand to be stared at. None of them.

But then, he was a fleeting light like a poem you will only read once for it is blindingly painful that it hurts looking the second time.

And now, she feels a part of her is missing as she search for the stars up above.

And then she fixed her gaze, closing her eyes to the moon: wishing that when he said "It's because of you." He doesn't mean goodbye. Wishing he doesn't mean she's the reason why he's gone. Wishing that dreams aren't supposed to be just dreams for when they become reality, they take away the magical feeling.

A few tears escaped her closed lids and glistened as they bathe on the light of the moon as she thought of the last poem she'll ever write to him.

And then she finally whispered hoping the wind will bring it to him:

" And maybe,
   paintings and poetry
   couldn't hold a candle
   To every emotion
   we once had.

    You
    hold a key
    when we
    first met.

    I should've known
    that that key
    is not for me

    For I
    was never
    your home. "
Entry # 2 To the Book I Will Never Write
Bryan Lunsford Apr 2018
With ****** **** in the atmosphere,
And with my fingers rolling down her spine,
I want her to know this is sincere,
That I've never met a goddess this divine,
As I'm lost of words,
With beauty that she has redefined,
I touch every inch of her curves,
With words that I still cannot find,
Where my hands continue to search,
For the words within my mind,
I find a treasure of hers,
With my fingers that try to describe,
As everything from there becomes a blur,
And I touch her like what no words could ever define
I'm like a branch on tree stretching reaching out
the further I reach the
more free I become
able
to see further the road
that will now be my
future reaching higher
I become more
confident
with each passing day an
Inner strength I've found
that I didn't know I had
but It's there feel It so strong
like a branch on a tree that has survived a bitterly cold winter to live
again to see another summer
gone are the bare cold branches beautiful green buds soon be the green leaves of summer
again and to there I will live my life
again
Because I'm becoming stronger I'm coping with the loss better this poems describe best at this moment In time how I'm coping with life
MicMag Jul 2018
I've witnessed a beauty
I can't describe
That speaks to my soul
As it swims through my eyes
The silent sounds
Sneak into my mind
The taste lingers on
Leaving sweetness behind
The scent creeps up
To slowly remind
Of the touch that once felt
Makes all else fade
Til only your beauty
Pure beauty remains

There's nothing else
Your beauty remains
Old found poem.
Cné Aug 2017
Fragmented lives entangled
but asunder in our journey
as our paths cosmically connect
in a romance of the arts

And who's to say what's real
to touch or deeply feel
what will truly last
or simply where to start

So I’ll
paint you alla prima
as I feel you playing me
in warm colors of merging ardor
a wet blending of artistry
my brush strokes of your body
painted in my mind
of impressions blushed in passion
in hues I can’t describe

Suspended in the moment
floating on a breeze
I revel in this picture painted music
almost in disbelief, unthinking…
knowing every nuance of our love
found only in our dreams

Like children in parallel play
I’ll finger the keys
and slip the locks
of all your orchestrations
filling the walls
of my concerts halls
with deep
splattered tones
in pinks and blues
the hues
that forever
bind us

And we’ll not look back
nor forward
but hang here in the moment
to display our
Painted Song
in the eyes
of giggly children
both doing
our own thing
together
on a string
curated
A collaboration with Howard Hilde
https://hellopoetry.com/u693528/
Blue Orchid Aug 2018
Describe it to me; that perfect moment, when the sun peeked out of the horizon and you were standing there, up on the hill, waiting for her to emmerge.

Describe it to me; that dazzling day, when you held on to the very end of your sanity, rocking it in to the burial ground you had been digging for years.

Describe it to me; that cold winter day when the river was full and the tide strong, and you decide it was a good day for a swim.

Describe it to me; that quite evening, right after the sun set you sat through, you saw a cluster of fireflies and they glowed like the world was a good place.

Describe it to me; that fatal day when you went out to your garden and the flowers didn’t look pretty anymore so you took the gasoline and a match, and watched the inferno swallow your lives work.

Describe it to me; that hectic weekend when you fell in love twice in two days and you couldn’t believe your heart was big enough to accommodate such strong emotions. You felt dizzy and nauseated but also suspended far away from gravity like a rollercoaster ride on the moon.

Describe it to me; that never ending month where your only companies were the blanket you loved and the music that stacked your phone. You felt lost as if all roads were interminable maize’s that you were tired of going in circles in.

Describe it to me; that quite night, you first tasted the lips of a cigarette and you held it between your own squeezing ever so gently. You sighed sensing the choice in your hands, whether or not you decided to die from this magnificent sin were yours and yours alone and you smiled crookedly as the match found its peak.

Describe it to me; that well played afternoon where you were only twelve and you were with her, your first love even before you were acquainted with the very concept of love and she told you to close your eyes. You felt it, that first pressure against your lips and you never remembered why your eyes stayed close but you assume it was to preserve that instant for eternity.

Describe it to me; that wet morning as you stood away from the moderately assembled crowed and you watched as they slowly descended your heart in a casket with her still holding it and you could never forgot the deafening silence that followed the crash of sand atop her as if it was the instant you went deaf to the world. Tears never left your eyes because there was nothing left to cry for.


Describe it all to me as if I was never there to witness it.
if you asked me to describe it
i’d say it’s like that lump in your throat
you get when you’re sad
that you can’t cough, swallow, or relieve
it’s name is suicide
and despite what the doctors say
i think it chokes you to death
the black smoke collects in your lungs
and the blankets and pillows smother you at night
until you panic, fighting to relive the attack
but you can’t. because it’s inside of you.
so you **** your self, to **** the pain
makes sense right?
it’s the only medication a doctor never prescribes
but that’s not the end of it
when the air is cleared from your lungs
and your chest sinks into the floor
all your loved ones begin to inhale the noxious fumes
they attract the massive black mass that fills the room
and they begin to die of the same disease that plagued you
and starts the process all over again
and they’ll have to fight, or become consumed
Cné Dec 2017
she dragged me out of the house
knowing i was feeling down
not allowing me to wallow
in my self pity,

she dressed me,
        painted my face
               fashioned my hair,
that’s my girl friend

at Juliana’s,
small family owned Italian restaurant,
a gem of a find, she said,
Lorenzo, greeted her with familiarity
(she leaves a memorable impression)

she introduced me as her bestie
with a twinkle in her eye
young (as all under 30 people are to me)
handsome, dark thick curly haired,
with dancing eyes,
a serving towel over his left arm
nodded with a genuine smile

i smiled back despite my mood

wine was swirled, smelled,
sampled and selected
a captivating performance,
executed expertly

she watched me
watching him
describe the specials  
with a melodic Italian accent
transforming my mood

garlic knots wafting with his stride,
placed on the table
with a small bowl of marinara sauce
still hovering
in his long lean fingers
it slipped,
splattering red stain
on the pristine white cloth

without skipping a beat
his eyes poured into mine
words emerged
forgive me, your beauty made me nervous
True story,
and yes I left a fat tip!
Best line ever
I didn't know
I've been doing this for so long
I met you online
We had only one chat
About an hour
But you changed my life
In a bad way
In a way I can't describe
At that exact moment
The lies started
And have never stopped since
Daniel Ruiz Aug 2018
I'm here sitting
alone,
the smell of coffee runs through
my veins,
some music i probably will forget
in a few years arguing with
the thought of you,

But I'm here,
I'm here,
writing about what's happening

pretty boring huh?

i call myself a poet
but i can't use high metaphors,

i call myself a poet
but i can't describe fully
how you make me feel

i call myself a poet

but what am i?

I'm just a kid
scared of life
finding new ways to cope
searching for someone to love,
desperate,
not holding unto my dreams
how can i choose with my mind
what's right for the heart to choose.

and you see?
don't you see?

don't worry i can't either

i can't see how great i am
i can't see how other people see me
i wish i could.

i want to believe this was a dream
or
a nightmare at that.

But at last.
I'm here wishing that in another life
i could be with you,
or
maybe in other deaths,

i crave your touch,
i crave you..
with coffee waking up my senses
like a kid in summer waking up early
to go play with his friends.

i wish things were different,
so i wouldn't have to wish.
Mark Jan 10
Describe depression? Sleepless, nothing-ness.
Continuous night whilst yearning for day
To only find that day will offer less;
A state of halfway within a no-way.
To know that love for others dwell within
Yet hearted wings bare not that love to reach
For feathers burn beneath neurotic pain;
Alike a humid **** than summer beach.
Where scorched it dwells; to form a human stain.
A stain whose mainly thoughts are means to end;
For better be, a world that has no me
As love defines, but self has none to send
Not even for one's own, as love's not free.

Depression takes all worth and leaves one none
Incessant demons whisper; till they won.
emilee haman May 2017
i was going to write you a poem listing
all of the things i wasn't for you; things
that i know you'll find in some other girl.
but i couldn't find the words.

i hope the next girl you love is someone
you can't begin to describe because she is
everything you never knew you wanted.

i hope she's everything and more.
all my love,
the girl that wishes she was
Shamans, in an attempt to find a word that all cultures could understand, to represent, universally, the subject; married the languages by root.

Each attribute or thing that the beast is said to do, have or have power to do or over is found as a definition in a language of the individual roots.

Take Sanskrit for instance. "Dra," is "water and combine it with Sumerian, "Gun, Gon," and you get a "water-born," beast who "writhes, twists or wraps around," which is the Ouroboros Serpent as shown in ancient images.

The secret to all ancient myth or religion is in interpretation of language into foreign languages over time.

And, yes, it is very creative, appears complex due to time but is just humans trying to describe observable nature.

None of it is meant to be taken literally unless you literally live six thousand years ago and speak in an ancient tongue.

Addendum

Keltic, "Con, Kon," makes the Dragon, "All-knowing." *

And we know from Plato that Greeks
stole their root words from the Celts.
Plato's own words in,

'The Cratylus.'
All mythology is born from the language of trade and existed as a pre-science.
PoserPersona Jul 2018
In the cusp of closing night, I look into your weary eyes;
once outshining city lights. I see no way to realize
the healing of this blight - I venture to make a phoenix cry.
Remedy of such mythos might, might just prove unjust lies.
Chance restoring your ere vacant sight - fighting soul’s primal guide.
As any chance to restore my bride, binds our fractured lives.

...No words to describe affliction already decided.
Shofi Ahmed Sep 2018
The silent moon
over the old pond
is lost for words.
If only it could
describe the charm
mirroring a mirror
of ancient calm!
Bella Jul 2018
Sometimes I get stuck in this state of Darkness
where my eyes can see
but it's like my head is just pitch black
and I almost wish I couldn't see anything,
like I wish I could just curl myself into a ball so tightly that I disappear from space for a while

sometimes I get stuck in this space
and I feel like my tears and my thoughts
are climbing up my esophagus and clogging my throat
blocking my airway
suffocating me from the inside

maybe I never told you I was depressed because who wants to relive that moment
that choking hazard moment of cotton ***** in my throat

maybe I never told you I was depressed because there are no words I can use to describe it that don't transform themselves into their meanings
that don't take over my mind
crawl through my head like little worms
eating away at my brain
my thoughts
my skin

have you ever thought of a traumatic experience and then felt those events happening again
felt the dark hole of life-threatening-trauma attack your mind
Shiver through your body
like it was a demon you let in through a memory-
through a word

maybe I didn't tell you I was depressed
because I wasn't strong enough
my depression fills me to the brim
fills my head and my chest
my arms and my fingers
I can feel it moving through my body
I can feel it expanding and engulfing everything inside of me
every last vein, nerve, *****, and tissue
how can you expect me to have the energy to fight
how can you expect me to have the energy to pick up the phone
to open my mouth
how can you expect me to have energy-to have the courage to utter the words of how I feel
I feel so worthless
in those moments I feel like there's this black whole inside me and it's consuming everything
it's taking everything but my skin
and it disgusts me

can you imagine the feeling,
having something so utterly repulsive on your skin you had to scrape it off immediately
It felt like you needed to be cleansed
like you needed a shower
take that feeling
now imagine it being under your skin
imagine, every muscle ***** vein nerve every cell in your body underneath your epidermis disgusts you
imagine all you wanted to do was to
GET
IT
OFF
and you can't
no matter how hard you try
you can't scrape it off
you can't claw It off

imagine you're scared of spiders
now imagine you're covered in spiders
and someone's holding down your arms
so you can't get them off
imagine them walking on your skin
in your mouth
crawling on your open eyes
in your ears
you're cringing at your own skin
You can feel them going down your throat
Their disgusting tickle in your stomach
in every crevice of your body
their tunneling under your skin
and you can't get them off
what are you supposed to do
but cry
My best friend's mom who doesn't believe in depression asked why I never told her I was depressed...
Johnnie Woods Jul 2018
Writing a poem.

There are lots of things that contribute to the outcome, the poem.
-Certain words hold a hard to describe sensation to them, they're made to evoke some feelings and also give a sense of unique kind of rhythm. Had the writer used a synonym, it wouldn't have the same impact on the reader. He's like mysterious chemist adding proper ingredients to his mixture to make it work perfectly.
-The way a writer constructs the poem leads to rhythm as well, how he decides to start a new verse that divides a sentence, the way he locates words - or even blank spaces - on the surface of sheet - the field of his performance - it all contributes to the creation of imagery. Therefore, we can see that creating a poem isn't just writing words. It's how you put them together, too. A poem that's being created, sometimes slightly wanders away from the realm of plain writing - and goes beyond.
Departure the welcoming light to walk slowly into the darkness

Wedged between night and day, for a split second

The splendor the Sunset Walker can see is captivating

Observing the color of the cloud's and sun's transformation

Seeing reflection transition flashed across the sky

The eyes take pictures of this wonder and describe it

So others can feel that they are walking along beside you.


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