Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
He was the ocean; handsome, but yet, Impulsively damaged. He had a sandy heart to correspond his sandy eyes, the moon dismantled that omitted pride he carried at a dead weight; shoveling and reshaping it, so people would see a sandcastle statue assembled in strength. But his washed-up soul and unannounced insecurities were aware of its genuine purpose,
this beach alongside his pupils;
quicksand, he'll sink so slowly in.  Waves in his hair like ripples on his cheeks, skipping stones land at his defeat, he left notes in bottles for you, sank multiple ships for you, because he hasn't the heart to say he's desiccating with the arrival of the stars.. Retracting scars are not too far from gasps for air,  foaming words of crisis by writing in the sand, signaling a light as the last one in him died. You wouldn't understand, the calm before the storm, as valve after valve puncture him. So intoxicating as it drains him, and from within, he's drying out. Sunburns stain him, a smile restrains him,
in an inescapable drought--
All feedback is welcome
So this was posted here a couple weeks ago and, when I went to revise it, it was drafted and came out as new, I guess? :)
May Sep 2014
A mask is what you see
No one knows the real me
No not even I
No matter how I try
the rhymes can mask the pain
but i feel it everyday
trying to break its way
to the surface
and show that what you see
is not the real me
but a mask to cover up
the girl who is lost but,
the walls are holding strong
you cant hear her screams or song
sung painfully and slow
its depressing, i know,
but the truth is so  much worse
than the mask you see first
so keep that mask in mind
when finally breaks the ryhme
broken, fading
faster
loosing control
desiccating
darkness consumes
falling
gone.
Nat Lipstadt Feb 2018
VD/ lasting life

I have VD.

the decapitating, desiccating disease slow taking over

every day another word withers and there are no replacements

the diminishing returns cannot be substituted and all losses are
permanent, like Samson’s hair, once cut, cannot grow back

I live alone.  Easier then conversing,
gaps in your sentences,
****** communication that is pointless anyway

banished by overuse and incapacitated;
tarnished by time, silver polish resistant;
too late for inoculation the cortex eroding;
the Vocabulary Diminishment has cost me so far:

rain and all its weathered relations;
sad and it’s variant cousins;
body partition arrhythmia, breathtaking breathing loving has
jumped overboard

lasting life

never bothered me that verse and curse rhyme so fittingly,
fit for life, for ‘tis nothing but re-racked intermittent rhymes,
reasoned rhythms connecting the intermittent mayhem’s
dropping by for fun and choosing, verse or curse

nevertheless, won’t bother to explain the difference
between last and lasting, leave it for you to self-teach-taught

nonetheless,  body is degrading, the needs grow strongly weaker and the bites taken out by time, her, imagination, p ain,
even worse words disappear, f irst a letter the hole s aces are
modern art product, avant garde  at the finish line

empties remain as abscesses with all-access passes,
cortex locked on only receive is busted and most of your
transmissions go direct to the
Junk mail folder

winter drags and summer now a vision of was and no longer a
will be, a thrilling sensory palace with a closed sign
appliqué to my weakened ayes

time to rise time, to shave, put on the cutaway uniform
when you obtain the obligatory occasional I love you
and it winces, and tears still come easy
when you want them too
but you don’t want them to arrive or
let depart the ones that presently dry
of their own according in their place

mechanics of writing are obstacles and the cherished
lovely fluidity of transportation traveling transformation is searingly wearing and beyond the just,
the reach, of the true meaning of meme
which means has no more to communicate

the days of slow wasting away,
when the touch is worse
you say out out loud to the tiles
shave away the slough, flush the fallen skin cells,
just cut me down, these bad poems are too onerous
when the brrrain is hardened ice ball hitting forehead

so we go away in every sensory hurrah
retired to solitary ask no questions expect no answers
dreaming of healings but that is another self-starting movie
dreaming sequence that has been erased

fearsome, the energy drinks required to survey survival,

much easier to bid adieu and bypass au revoir

the standard set can be modified or erased
and everyone wants a shortcut lesson to skip to the
top of the line, are they unaware that line will choke au fin

important meetings ahead, assembly the solutions and your
children want answers and you give them a mirror and implore
them do better than thy lousy training

don’t make no difference, their genomes contain
mon nom so they come cursed and I who wrote, shot prayers
on skywriting writ, have none to offer present-lies

poor babies too long this elegy, too bad for you
work is hard and no r&r location on my list and short
attention spans will bring you low in world of words


say bad bye to over loved companions

https://hellopoetry.com/words/

the Vocabulary Diminishment disease don’t permit
reuse: true colors needed crest creation and all the
breaks are bad and the words have fled my pointer
fingerprint fingertip

code only in 0’s;
it’s like having halve a tongue
and if you were among the lucky few who knew my visage,
look away look away and let this too long spaghetti sauce be
recipe thrown away my vision is satisfied

3:11 am and no more
s words to fall upon
spysgrandson Apr 2015
I forgot  you were there, hiding
under winter's slow, grisly grip

only ten days into spring
you made your return, myriad mounds
pocking my pastures

dead center, in one of your proudest heaps,
I teased you with sweet pear, just to see your ranting red industry
though a tiny roach occupied half your tugging army, its only crimes
being live birth and waddling through your masses

I forgot you were there
hunkered in the wet, wormed soil
patient, until ninety and one degrees brought you
to the desiccating ground

you had not forgotten me, had you?
for you sent a  special sentry from your brigades to find my foot,
and welt it with a welcome back kiss

in tomorrow‘s heat,
after the soldier’s scratching, martyred memory fades,
I will  forget again, though winter
never does
Alia Sinha Jan 2014
Thought of you spills
like the sea caught in a steel tumbler  
Each time strangers speak your name
And the cigarette smoke that is seeping
a chosen death through my lungs
Cannot quench you.

This is sweet pain:
sweet and desiccating, all plum stone, apricot seed

Patterns in the dark are drawn and
the world turns like roasting corn upon the coals of magical machines
and everyone is being pulled, heartstrings looped and
knotted together in golden electric lines

Such states crave ending in love and light. Something wholesome, mild and true.
Yet one thought stays splinter-wise:
I cannot reach you...
JGuberman Nov 2016
with a hole in my heart
I have to take care
not to let all the love spill out
desiccating a young heart before its time,
even if borrowed and not returned before it's due
whenever that will be.

don't tell life's librarian
even if it's overdue
there are things I'd still like to see
places I'd still like to go
so I don't feel like I'm waiting for the hangman
to finish his merit badge for one handed knot tying
which will take long enough
if not forever, I hope.

though stumbling up the gallows steps
I will have been to several mountain tops
and will have seen several lands of promise
and though I will not make it elsewhere with you
you've filled the hole in my heart
long enough
for me to get this far
though it's never far enough.
There sat she
Under the canopy
Of bright sunlight
Breaking stones
Ceaselessly
The lord of the skies
At its ruthless best
Scorching vegetation
Desiccating the living
Shriveling all in sight
But her.
She selected
and picked
placing it on a larger one
Her hammered hand moved
Quelling obstinate protests
Smashing  to bits those
that rolled off the pile.
Perseverance
Till the last one
meets its fate.
As the day progressed
What burnt harder?
The sun
her body,
her hunger fires!
Ellis Reyes Dec 2016
A rivulet penetrates the surface,
sustaining a desiccating thing.

A slanted ray
awakens a dormant seed.

A dropped morsel
nourishes a starving creature.

None is significant

Each is
A whispered hope
Little Wren Sep 2016
Thoughts, like the shadows of clouds
That pass below you
Pass above me:
White heat blaring like telephone wire buzzing,
Control box popping
Everything I own
Has been bleached by the sun.
My legs keep up with the crickets
Crescendo desiccating the atmosphere
Incessant buzzing, that telephone wire.
Molecules reverberating around my eye sockets
Hollow ear bones click and chatter.
There is a language here
Unbeknownst to any welded frame
Human or just wavelength
The last breath of Something we all hope for
Transpires on the air--
Air like bathwater.
We assume the return of everything.
CO2 in our lungs, sleep, the seasons
But one day these things will not arrive.
One day, Spring will not show up.

I can't help but feel

I am coming into something.
RW Khalid Curley Jan 2015
The bones of our friendship accuse me,
brittle; not gleaming, dull and dry, resonant of forgetfulness
their facticity desiccating, chipping, drifting
into obscure cracks in the ossuary of recollection.
Each mute bone is a stick upon taught silence
rat-tat-tatting a twisting wheezing death roll
bones drumming for an audience of none,
echoing through the past,
oblivious to the cadence of the living.

There is no salvation from the wheel.
You turn and spin,
a constellation in my memories.
Rat-tat-tat
Amogasidi!
Do not be deterred.
Align the maze.
Open the door from Samsara!

Rat-tat-tat.
RW Khalid Curley Jan 2015
Passage


The bones of our friendship accuse me,
brittle; not gleaming, dull and dry, resonant of forgetfulness
their facticity desiccating, chipping, drifting
into obscure cracks in the ossuary of recollection.
Each mute bone is a stick upon taught silence
rat-tat-tatting a twisting wheezing death roll
bones drumming for an audience of none,
echoing through the past,
oblivious to the cadence of the living.

There is no salvation from the wheel.
You turn and spin,
a constellation in my memories.
Rat-tat-tat
Amogasidi!
Do not be deterred.
Align the maze.
Open the door from Samsara!

Rat-tat-tat.
Gabriel burnS Oct 2017
archangels banish the devil
in the depths of your heaven
like a non-violent exorcism
the likes of which I haven't witnessed
sentimental plague covers our
binary consciousnesses
until the veil burns off
and the ashes feed the land
till it softens
wiping clean the mourning
desiccating grief
from the haunting
worshipped debris
embedded rootless
to the thick of the longing
to the excised fat
of past-time reveries
yet the ivory towers
still stand bared
amidst newborn flowers
sparing no sand
from the hourglass
for an epitaph
for only tomorrows
carry redemption
promising blossoming
When the skies lie burdened with heavy clouds,
When the buds yearn to bloom, but for a ray of sun,
When the fires grow weary of burning evermore,
I will think of you.

It slices my conscience into slivers of guilt,
To think that I would ever relate the likes of you,
To times so dreary,
That unbearable pain and unsalvageable mess makes me think of you.
But was my spirit not the same, when I met you?
Was my will not desiccating, when you found it?
When with a gentle touch, you placed the pieces back.
When you replaced the dulled fragments, with little bits of shining stars.
When the mere fact that I could ever deserve your love,
Made me feel whole again!

So do you understand how it pains my heart,
To see you heading towards a raging storm?
Do you see how your theory of clogging your mind with thoughts,
Now applies to the both of us?
I never had the courage you have, and might never will,
To move heaven and hell or stubborn will,
But listen carefully dear, for the silent whispers of my heart,
Which refuses to let you go.
Look carefully, and find that outstretched hand yearning for your reach.
I cannot take away the pain, but I am willing to share.
Shed not your tears into the arms of loneliness,
But know that there is a shoulder, that can understand!
Bekah Apr 2019
I refuse
To keep emptying my cup
To overflow yours
For I have given all that I can
Far too many times
With hardly a single drop
Left for myself
While you,
With your exorbitant porcelain
Laden with the finest wine
Have watched my cup chip and crack
Slowly desiccating back to the clay
In which it was fashioned
#thoughts #alone #lonely #depression #miserable#broken #wounds #healing
a tsunami catapulted cruising skiff
skyward landing with quiet thud
across undulating infinite granular waves
formerly solid state rocks and minerals

optimism vibrant upon initial unforeseen
crash asper for test dummies
foundered as undertow fostered diminishing hope
initial faith for survival quickly ebbed

nsync with retreating tidal wave
pessimism dreamt fantastical holograms
farther from beached berth
immediately transformed into quicksand,

while off in the distance
a glimmering chimera
(the first of many) appeared
amidst the desert sands one mirage

after another falsely broken promise
buoyed drained salvation
quick decision decreed each man for himself
thus disseminating banded bruited "brothers"

condemnation, damnation, excoriation, fulmination
hurled at cosmic creator thwarting intercession
dehydration, exhaustion, ingratiation, jubilation
foretold merciless portentous demise

witheringly desiccating lovely bones of mine
no doubt raw elements of nature wrought
fate worse than death sans, cabin "mates"
lost among expanse of whittled quartz

across chronometer measuring millions of years
now subjecting one measly mortal i.e. me
to cruel unforgiving, unrelenting,
unwelcoming petty coated junction

blistering hot wind obliterated
fellow travelers convoy deeply
within diabolical dunes
eternally erased doom

awaited for 21st century explorers
to discover scattered wreckage
both beast of burden, outrigged contrivance
and starry trekkers, who vanished without a trace

a handful of scrappy rapscallion existences
blotted (like ink, oil, or other liquid sponged),
where subsequent seasons
of wicked bewitched slow torture

akin to being raked over hot coals
exception made for this interminable sufferer
at the whim of sadistic
persona non grata evil spirit

n'er obliterating diehard survivor instinct
a foreigner to yours truly
but atavistic primitive fight or flight
witnessed relieved whence absently blinking

this life married to indiscriminate
clamped, harried, styled devilishness
evaporated in thin air
upon tentatively opening myopic brown eyes
horror, twas boot a dream.
Art OvElar Jun 2020
In a vast canvas, outside the spread of doubt
the feathers from my brush start to settle.
As my pupils stare through, I reach within my thoughts.
Every movement and every breath...
slowly desiccating through motionless actions of uncertainty and question...
Have I seen her before?
The harmonious sigh extracting a simple, no.
The spread of wonder inside and around me
start to grow
marching up and down the peering eyes
I tell myself that I know.
Density and silence
embracing the frames around her face.
Then I remembered something else and slowly smiled
inside
the awe of skepticism peering through me
I paused for a moment...
just to wonder.
Again, I wonder
To the inquisitive self within, without.
Nat Lipstadt Oct 2019
weak    rise    scars    spent    breeze    lungs    spirit    eat    teeth    car    shine    nature    died    veins    neck    top    moving    sat   loves    dry

<>
the spent breeze rises up, moving,

****** into, ******* up air in our lungs
but yet still! the spirit weak,
the teeth useless chewing,
dry words mashing,
no eat, just pasty

the scars shine
like veins protruding from the top of a man’s neck,
looking like holes in a  rusted car that can’t never
shine no more,
once the breeze stops moving

he sat there while he slow died,
not moving,
nature and his loves
and his
skin slow dry texturized,
desiccating

done.

the spent breeze rises up, moving on...
Jeff Teasdale Oct 2017
Hailed as a hero to all
That don't know him
A harvestman, of porcelain
Collective picture of me
Identify & catch the fall

Dealing in lies
The joker has no hand
No full house, empty pair
Cards are for tricks
Slight of hand, baffled eyes

Desiccating words
That dry my soul
Spat out, shat out
From my own mouth
A truth? not unheard

Shackled myself down
Bound in false words
Ironically , moronically
Still have the key
Locked solid within a frown

Even a cactus flowers to show
YOU, the beauty inside
An ocean, not shallow pool
Self improving, pretty mind
Dull light, now aglow

Something's are best reflected in your eyes, not your lies
Rahameem Feb 2021
Your name sounds like a poem in spring
I love to write poems

spring always smells sweet
As the snow slowly melts
As birds start to sing again
Your name carves the beauty of blooming

land me your name to adorn
I promise it will be a lovely poem as this spring comes

Clouds pile up around a luminous Sun
The light bestows plenty of soft warmth
Touching everybody’s laugh
Desiccating everybody’s tears

Your name is formed by two words
Six syllables and hundreds meaning

I know spring will never stand forever
Autumn and winter is just a time
Even if your name is a poem in spring
That has been carved in everybody’s heart

I said, land me your name, land me a poem
To complete flowers to bloom

Now, you can leave with a smile
Without being worry to fade away
Every lovely poem is hard to forget
We will meet next spring, I promise

Your name resembles stanzas in a spring song
Wind in that flower hill rings your name along
Sayonara Itou.
Batchelor Jun 2020
My own words

Clawed fiery tantrums

Across my contents of the breast


Her very presence

Kissed icy trails

Deep into tissue


She was the very essence of void

Drying up all my fiery wounds

Desiccating me into dust.
Hissing and losing power.

17th of February, 2018.
Onoma May 2019
shaking these

fistfuls of serpents

at the sun.

wild with dance,

tandava--

mountaintop's pride.

tossing around long

black locks from a

skull.

Om Namah Shivaya!

inrushing spring to

the pinhead of annihilation.

ecstatic antethesis of desiccating

beams from a forehead womb.
Michael Marchese Apr 2019
Never made
Much sense to me
To sit and think
Subconsciously
Allow autonomy
Of mind
To find
The guide it hides
Behind
And reassign it
To the fore
Without a presence
To assure
Its resonance
In sync endures
The onslaught of
Controlled despair
The inundation
Of nightmare
Resurging as it purges
Out
The sounds of peace
With bouts of doubt
Tumultuous,
Unmoored
In a frenetic
Clangor ringing
Desiccating ear canals
With streams of conscious
Sirens singing
Ineluctable refrains
That beckon me
To stray
So far away
Reclaim my brain again
Never again
Let it convey
The end
The old man fell
to his knees
with no hopes
to rise again

there he
sank into his dreams
upon the desert floor
of his youth

Where in the absense
of abundance
throughout a lifetime
nothing grew

All the poets tell
of the glory
of his youth
But like
all great stories go
there comes
the time of bitter truth ,

"No one heard
his dying words."

I lay on my bed
of "Noche negra" desires
and out of kindness
I imagine
the way that
I wanted it to be
Not the way it was

Now somewhere
in the shadows of
Mexico
In the desiccating
Texas heat
lay the bones
in memoriam

Too big for
a monument
Too forgotten
to cenotaph
rest the bones
of immortal time
Blasted
by persistent winds
Bleached
by unforgiving sun
his soul rests
Clean and free
Andrew Crawford May 2020
The forecast called for sunny skies
but it’s been raining for days;
humid afternoons smother
and in foggy morning haze,
then again tomorrow
overcast crushes in waves.

Skies, grey, accumulate,
burden of their thoughts precipitates;
an army of soft blades penetrating, drains,
desiccating stamina and strength,
exsanguinating blood in puddles from veins;
weeks are dragging teeth, serrate
as I’m crawling through the month of May
and all I have to say is
every dawn that I awake
is just another chance to be afraid
when I am already struggling to tow
this great nameless weight, in pain;
I’ll be lucky if I make it through the day okay
or if something of myself still remains.

— The End —