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Lilywhite Jan 19
irreprehensible state
becomes constrained
and ridden with angst
incomprehensible dealings
with endless halls
and no ceilings
drowned out
by the sound
of silence
I cannot speak
for one must look within
to find their peace
otherwise
faced with fate
brain overload
we detonate-
forever yielding
and there;
never revealing,
it remains
lying in wait
within the maze
to take us back
from whence we came
July 26, 2011

mushroom meddling
Nat Lipstadt May 2013
For Al, who left us, Nov. 22, 2014

With each passing poem,
The degree of difficulty of diving ever higher,
Bar incrementally niched, inched, raised,
Domain, the association of words, ever lesser,
Repetition verboten, crime against pride.

Al,
You ask me when the words come:

With each passing year,
In the wee hours of
Ever diminishing time snatches,
The hours between midnight and rising,

Shrinkage, once six, now four hours,
Meant for body restoration,
Transpositional for poetic creation,
Only one body notes the new mark,
The digital, numerical clock of
Trillion hour sleep deficit, most taxing.

Al, you ask me from where do the words come:

Each of the five senses compete,
Pick me, Pick me, they shout,

The eyes see the tall grasses
Framing the ferry's to and fro life.
Waving bye bye to the
End of day harbor activities,
Putting your babies to sleep.

The ears hear the boat horns
Deep voiced, demanding pay attention,
I am now docking, I am important,
The sound lingers, long after
They are no longer important.

The tongue tastes the cooling
Italian prosecco merging victoriously
With its ally, the modestly warming rays
Of a September setting sun,
finally declaring, without stuttering,
Peace on Earth.

The odoriferous bay breezes,
A new for that second only smell,
But yet, very old bartender's recipe,
Salt, cooking oil, barbecue sauce, gasoline
And the winning new ingredient, freshly minted,
Stacked in ascending circumference order, onion rings.

These four senses all recombinant,
On the cheek, on the tongue,
Wafting, tickling, blasting, visioning
Merging into a single touch
That my pointer finger, by force majeure,
Declares, here, 
poem aborning!
Contract with this moment,
now satisfied!

Al,  what you did not ask was this:
With each passing poem,
I am lessened within, expurgated,
In a sense part of me, expunged,
Part of me, passing too,
Every poems birth diminishes me.
__________
(this poem more than most,
for its birth celebrates
my loss, your loss,
which cannot be exonerated 8/7/18)


__________
written at 4:38 AM
September 8th, 2012

Greenport Harbor, N.Y.
If there were a language for walls,

It would mumble,
Per broken jaws.
The sun would shine through fragmented holes,

A windows' lone goal?
To magnify heat,
Til' all was engulfed.

With confirmed dead inside,
None knock, as they've read inscribed:

"Family tree,
Difficulty,
Unavailable."

"Family business,
Buy one,
One comes free,
Fire wood sale."
onlylovepoetry Jul 2017
a companion piece to
miniskirts & high heels vs. poetry & yoga^
<•>

a couple of buds at a local dive bar, drinking Buds,
talking loud about technology
and other manly man stuff

attract attention for our conversation isn't bout sports,
get approached by long legs in high heels and a miniskirt,
with the best come on line ever
any woman invented,
"you guys know about computers, huh?"

later after reading twenty or so of her poems,
and learning the degree of difficulty of the
downward facing dog pose
(adho mukha svanasana)
she said:

tell me again how I
clear my cache,
change my font,
add more memory for new memories,
stop auto correct from making wont into want,
so I can happy write


"wont thy thoughts to my heart thereof"

so I obliged and then
the geek in meek wrote
his first poem

after first clearing the catch  
in his throat
We've all got mental problems,
Some of us hide them better.
How about that weather?

Tripping the syntax,
And I'm having difficulty
discerning my sanity right now.

There's a voice in the wind
at the throat of the world.
The sacrificial alter will hear me roar.

I'm on a duel-carriageway to crazy,
And the horses gallop onward.

Strange tidings through car doors,
Soft footfall on sand-torn shores.

Want to know whats wrong with the earth?
More violence, less hair,
And people don't hang around beaches anymore.
Betrayal stirs.
Paul Hansford Aug 2018
By any normally accepted standard
three words are scarcely sufficient
to be considered a poem.
The Japanese, who have a gift for conciseness,
might be sympathetic.
(Haiku, after all,
    at seventeen syllables,
       are pretty compact.)
But three words! It's not so much concise as,
to put it bluntly, short.
If I say that, when I try to write a poem for you,
"I love you" is all I can think of,
that is no excuse.
And the fact that my meaning is new and unique
(for me and for you)
makes no difference either.
If only there were some way out of my difficulty.
I love you, I love you, I love you.
There, that's nine words.
Will that do?
Written in 1984 and only just re-discovered in the booklet of the competition it was written for.
Pagan Paul Jun 14
.
… and the look of fear
co-existing with pain
     on a contorted face
that knows
it is in mortal difficulty,
as ragged fingers

     clutch,

          clutch,

at a fire they cannot reach,
ripping agonies react,
     to an enforced cardiac episode,
as blackness closes in
gravity heaves its hardest,
but the fall is fake,
a red herring in the event,
     and the weight of the world

presses down, searching,
retracts
waiting,
presses down, searching,
retracts
waiting,

as breath is given freedom
in exhalation to the light,
     that slowly rolls back
the pitch hue of the void,
returning back images,
feeling,
a new belief,

          and the fire inside quietens,

                    and the fire inside quietens,

to the intense glow
     of a burnt aching heart.




© Pagan Paul (2018)
.
This poem was actually written during a panic attack I had last year.
I have suffered from them for most of my life.
.
ryn Nov 2014
Have you seen it?
Seems like I've misplaced my mind.

I had it for a while...
Now it seems like I'm flying blind.

Can't piece out my thoughts,
a cacophony of riled up birds.

An **** of broken lines...
Overlapping and blurring into incomprehensible words.

Wandered in almost every direction,
but seem stumped at every end.

My mind is rapidly turning,
more foe and less a friend.

Confused is what it is at best.
Derailed far from its once reliable track.

Need to quickly regain my centre,
need desperately to get it all back.

Conjured this up...
With much difficulty.

Strenuous exercise...
For what once flowed freely.

Could it be...
That I have too frequently misused.

The welcome I've received,
that I have carelessly abused.

Ugh... Makes no sense...
Never have for a while.

Conflicting thoughts and words.
Crash into each other into a pile.

Need a reboot,
a reset and a restart.

Need to find my muse,
that stems from the heart.

Curse the mundane!
These excruciating hours of the day.

Begging for the nights,
to take me and my mind away.
L Jul 2018
Robots and gods.

Is this madness?
It must be.

On one hand, the robot feels.
The robot knows what it wants, takes it.
But has difficulty feeling what other people are feeling.

On the other hand, the god watches.
The god orchestrates and plans things to go its way.
But feels as though it doesnt have control over itself.

It manipulates and prods.
It is calculated.
It is watching.
It is observant.
It is careful, caring and emotionless.
Yet full of it. And still yet unexpressive. Full of life. Trapped in their vessels; their roles.

What am i?
Trippin.
Umi Dec 2017
Oh God you are the greatest, nothing may compare to you,
Giving, oh merciful Lord, carry happiness through

Oh the one who gives and takes, give us all that is great,
And in our times of difficulty and need, send us aid
Oh please don't let our vision fade...
We are on our way onto your straight path, righteousness is paid

You are the radiance of the heavens and the earth
So please don't let us become corrupt, from our beginning..the birth

Oh Lord, you are the only one I serve,
I turn to you with a heart, filled with love
Everytime I recieve a blessing I turn to the clouds above

Grant us a fear of you that will be a barrier between us and sin
Please don't make our destiny the hellfire.
Ruined, is what we would have been

Free us from the fire of greed
Its what makes our heart bleed,
Kindness and patience is what we need!

Oh you are forgiving...so forgive us



~ Umi
ATL Jul 27
there is no schema,
that differentiates this likeness-
the difficulty of deduction is not
a condemnation, it never will be

my care was born under the same foolish yoke
that motivated emperors to build bulbs of marble
to honor lost loves, to stay their hearts decay,
but gestures this grand escape my capability

I’ll revert to limpid simplicity, and watch
loose eyelashes fluttering in a fall-
cleaning your cheeks with my fingertips,
a gesture both large and small
.                                            Word and Truth
                                        in, of, for, with
                                   yet, you're here
                              nobody around                      
.                       difficulty, doubt
                    feel like home
              doesn't always
          meet with G-d
     the stairs to
Climbing up
out in the cold,
my muscles ache
too stiff to bend
too strong to break

there's work to do
there's wood to split
good thing I love
this kinda ****

I feel the shock,
I feel the sting
each time I make
a solid swing

too stiff to bend,
too strong to break
my hands are numb,
my muscles ache

my core is warm
like I'm on fire
but life don't stop
because I'm tired

each day's a fight
i'm gonna win it
I can't slow down
until I'm finished

have to stay warm
there's wood to split
good thing I love
this kinda ****
I like to take things easy, yet I enjoy manual labor. Keeps me from getting soft and reminds me that I'm not made of glass
am i ee Jan 2016
life flows in
odd and beautiful
ways

the divine moving
through the manifesations
experiencing through
each

time comes when
the wisdom
of the creation
seeks
to alter course

indiiferent to the
play, to the events,
it will however
whisper gently,

"a correction is needed
my little manifested one"

deaf to the subtle
requests and warnings,
the ante is upped,
the impetus for correction
is increased

some hear early
& alter course gently

others learn only
under more difficult,
harder ways,
louder ways

circles of hell
on
earth
we wander
we wander

some caught forever
in a circle
some moving in &
out among them

sometimes with ease
sometimes with much
difficulty

sometimes alone
sometimes with
a multitude of support

the end is the same
the course of life
is corrected,
altered.

whether
here & now,

or some next life,
for death does make
the final correction......

die to yourself now
in this life

the little you...
realize you are
so much more than
this
so much more
than what you
think you are

for you ARE only
what you think
you are....

set yourself free
from the thinking mind
find out Who YOU really are...

Who Am I?
January coming to a close... peace descending.... time to return to solitude and prayer
melinoe immortal Jul 2018
Sunken eyes, broken thoughts,
air with difficulty enters the lungs.
Dry mouth, lacrimation of no purpose,
the pillow full of nails  she is resting upon.

The body, a ship stricken by a wave war.
Slow disintegration,
remains are battling the seven seas of sorrow.

Like a painting  uncovered,
black sheets cover the rays of the sun
from the soul.

Resident of a lucid dream,
mumbling to the wind that blows
regrets down to the river
between Hypnos and the Underworld,
to carry a message to the hearts
with locked doors.

A message of no words
but incoherent perceptions,
lost unknown connections
and strangled hopes.
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