Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
PoserPersona Aug 2018
Gaze on that woman by the train.
With curves like gunpowder
that will shoot fireworks again.
As her and I once were.

Since then, of women, I've abstained.
My chest is a pyre
to the damsel I couldn't retain;
fondness that won’t expire.

You say I could never attain
and imply I'm a liar!?
Or you think either me insane
or least she's miswired?

The evidence on my brain -
melancholy, ire -
the despondent husk that remains,
need you more enquire?

...True, of her, no displays of pain;
eyes that jolt not tire,
poker voice tipping no disdain,
legs that feed desire!

For her, gone love is not a chain
hidden by attire
or flushed down a forgotten drain.
It merely retired.

Love like hers was the wind and rain
to my earth and fire.
"My woman says that she prefers to marry no one
over me, not even if Jupiter himself should seek her.
She says (these things), but what a woman says to her desirous lover
is fitting to write on the wind and on fast-flowing water."
Poem 70 - Catullus
Blissful Nobody Sep 2018
I must be made out of stone,
A stone is a good thing to be,
I have weathered wounds ,
Changed a bit on the outside,
The core remains the same .

A stone is a good thing to be ,
Nothing changes inside,
A landslide or an avalanche,
It’s just an adventurous ride,
An experience that shaped me.

Nothing changes inside,
Time has layered me solid,
A little unraveling by nature,
Is time again working on me,
Showing the grit that makes me.

Time has layered me solid,
Bruises sharpened my edges,
Water smothered me smooth,
I could lay alone for ages,
Or I could flow and dissolve .
Lyn-Purcell Jun 2018
They may use you
abuse you
slap you
kick you
shoot you
stab you
curse you
mock you
choke you
tear you

and at times,    defeat you
in that time a   n   d time alone
They may do   all    this because
they know you can reach the
heights, the impossible,
that they can only
dream of

they won't      ever destroy
you.    You        know       when to be
a tempest and     when       to be tranquil
You know when     to         be a flicker and
when to                     be                        a flame
When to shake the        earth and to sprout
they may put so much energy to see you
on your knees, vulnerable and weak,
but as long as you continue to
rise to your feet, they will
be blinded by the
light of your
Feeling a lil optimistic now. You know, I can say that there are ALOT
of people I can list now that really want to see me fail, friend and family.
Shame but at least I know who I can and can't trust. I'm on that level of
consciousness now. This is a poem dedicated to them.
To let them see me down is a victory to them.
But it'll always be hollow because I will have that strength
to get back up again.

If anyone is in need of more fire to their flame, I hope this poem is at least a drop of fuel / a piece of wood.

Be back soon!
Lyn ***
La Mer May 2016
In the circle of what will be,
I am you, and you are me!

Some people are short, and others are tall,
Yet you are reflections of them all!

The great big stars that are in the sky,
Have the same twinkle that's in your eyes!

The dance of lightning, thunder, and pouring rain,
Are quite like your spirit's dance, maybe even your pain.

Our Sun that brings warmth, and shines its magnificent rays,
Is your beating heart, which will brighten everyone's day.

Mother Earth has a heart and lungs just like you,
So we must love her, And bless her,
For she will take care of you, too!

Birds can fly high, or sing in a tree,
And you will fly with them,
And sing as one family!

Snakes will hiss and slither ever so low,
But you can protect them, wherever you go!

Life on the planet, is life up in space,
All you must do is look within to find that magical place!


Not everyone knows how special they are,
Or how beautiful they seem,
So it's up to you to share your love,
And awaken them from their dream.

Perhaps there are moments when you will forget,
And will need a friend to help you remember,

Your brothers and sisters will light a fire,
And you can dance, sing, and cry
Until you smile before the ember!

With your eyes open wide,
And your heart filled with love,
Spirits will send you messages,
From below and above!

The mountains will cheer and rivers will flow,
When your walk is in truth
- the whole world will glow!

As you grow wiser,
And reflect on what you are shown,
In your heart, you will know,
That you are never really alone.

And in the circle of what will be,
I am you, and you are me.
This is a children's story that I plan to publish and illustrate with my dear sister Jenna. Thank you, Spirit!
Katherine Smith Aug 2017
It begins like this—

A brother made of fire.
A boy who flares up without warning, like a cigarette dropped in a forest. A boy with hands made of smoke and a mind made of sparks and gasoline. A boy who drives like he'll burn out at any moment. He leaves with choking engines and words, scared to look behind and see the ashes in his wake.

A sister made of water.
A girl who is calm in one moment and a storm to be reckoned with the next. A girl constantly torn between waves of delight and floods of melancholy. She moves with deadly grace, swift and insistent. She constantly overflows like a cup held beneath a waterfall. She keeps a box of half-finished paintings and moves from one thing to the next, trying to understand her position in the universe.

A mother and father made of earth and stone. Both impossible to move, but one so much softer than the other.

A daughter made of air. A girl tossed about by her whims. One week she weaves dreams into her life, and the next week she pushes them away for fear of falling. She's a girl who hides her thoughts behind a ruse of blue skies and heavily concealed eyes. A girl who is scared that her words have become background noise. She looks at the world and tries not to feel left behind. She floats above, unsure of how to land. Unsure of whether she wants to.

It begins like this—a family of elements, once threatening to burst from the weight of each other.

It ends like this—a family learning how to heal instead of hurt. A family that's learning how to share the same lifeblood without draining each other. A family learning to create instead of destroy.
bulletcookie Oct 2018
Fire, Water, Earth, Air
Suspended —
between red and black
arousing over horizon
as dusk sparks crimson dreams

"athome, washington" photo05
Sydney Mar 11
Waves crash and thrash
Fire burns and and makes only ash

Ice is cold and clear
Wind blows across the pier

All are different
But all can hurt

They’re just like words
Only words hurt worse
Tammy M Darby Oct 2014
What do you think  xy would do?
If he dressed in red and high black shoes.
One fine summer day A = B met
Exactly alike in elements
Produced their own sets

With a ...
Everything keeps on going.
Out jumps { },
Nothing is showing.

So natural numbers are the same as counting
What other kinds are there?
Tell us quickly please
The tension is mounting

Did you say members or elements?
Are there many?
What a find.
Infinite or finite sets,
Numbers in a line

Taking the time,
Oh woeful occasion.
The struggle of learning
Mathematical expressions.

This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base. All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws
Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright
Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3), Tammy M. Darby Oct. 22, 2014
Priyanka Aug 2018
She is the wind
that brushes your hair
when you walk alone
that dusty road.

The shadow cast
on the earth behind
when you dare the sun
to dazzle you.

She is the storm
you gave birth to
as you touched upon
glisteningly still waters.

The journey, she is
that you never took
yet arrived where
the sun joins the sea.

The glowing hearth
consuming the spirit
that seeks comfort  
on a dark, wintry night.

The vision you saw
last night, alone,
visiting the deepest
recesses of the mind.

She is the rivulet
meandering through
the maze of your heart
to meet the ocean in you...
Sofia Von Jul 2014
I climbed a tree to see the world....
Well that and get high where the world looks gardened
and glows brighter
as it is demolished and replenished
These elements in nature,
manipulated in a lab,
Can change our entire perspective
quick thoughts!
Onoma Sep 2018


words from

the burden

of meaning.

worrying over

their slightest


sheltered elements.
Ilion gray Nov 2013
if i leave you tonight,
escape to some abandoned moon,
give myself to zero gravity,
would your fingertips
still curse me?
there is a bitter taste
of foreign sweat-
traces of new elements
on your skin-
the kind that explode,
when they touch mine-

if, i stay here-
with you-
we will watch the sea,
swallow the sky-
the atmosphere dissipate-
             rush back to earth
in a grayish blue tide-

most likely-

you, and i-

will die

where we stand,
just from the sight
of god's angry hand-

closing around the sun-

touched me-

i existed,
i breathed,
you exist
for me only-

these days,
iv'e stopped believing
in things unseen-

and though i sleep,
i stopped asking
questions in dreams-
i learned,
hope is not for wasting.

your lips,
were always
only inches away,

you would say
i never wanted to kiss you-
  not enough-

suicide, is not for tasting-
drifting breathless.
and out of ******-ness
trying to remember,
if you just said something-
or am i,
in this
house of wanting
Homunculus Apr 2016
The process of becoming other than,
  the shedding of the old by way of time
  the hands upon the clock traverse their span,
  the ever fleeting moment reigns, sublime.

The emptiness of all objective forms,
  the rushing river, never stepped in twice,
  the reconfiguration of all norms,
  the virtues of lost ages seen as vice,

The elements converge and then react,
  the caterpillars weave themselves cocoons,
  the world amends its stock of gathered facts,
  the moths emerge, in flight to greet the moon,
   The firmament, destroyed and rearranged,
     the universal essence, found in change.
I'm actually beginning to enjoy writing these.
Civilized life is rigged, O land-dwellers!
With landmines hidden
in trails of Society's doctrine.
'Too often is it stepped on,
Too often does it explode.'
Blowing constitutions to smithereens.
Where you then rummage within your nucleus
to piece together your scattered jigsaw,
Misplacing your natural elements,
Overcasting your ability to side with beauteous aspects in simplicity—
Of those ethereal-resplendent butterflies.
Disillusioned on land thus is you(the complex you).

Let go—
Rise above your materialistic graves—
Walk on air!
My kindred wisps
Walk on air!
Onoma Feb 1
seasons are

not calendrical...

seasons are what

comes over elements

in moods of nonexistence.

a table drumming on a hand.

given as dates.

a five-count, sounding-out...

a dreamt dream's lifetime.

sixth as last to first,

forever extrasensory to


what is a cross, drafting

Frank Russell Mar 2014
Never feel alone, my friend -
dormancy is also transient,
same as your winter depression...

Only yesterday I heard a flock of geese
overhead in the twilight
announce their return
while a heedless scampering squirrel
repeatedly circuited the trunk of an oak.

The Pervasion is always complete;
embrace it in your awareness
as the Sun's virility will soon
embrace the fields and countryside.

Regrouping the sacred elements
through delicate processes,
rugged mating rituals,
and rebirth -

Forming a symmetry
of vital love incarnate
dispelling all loneliness.

KnudsonK Sep 2013
Your actions
speak like knives
that carve away at the soul of my being.
They stab the tender flesh of my faith.
Your words force their way
through my heaving chest
From the fork of your tongue
and rip out my battered heart,
Leaving a gaping cavity
of tangle arteries
that ooze out scattered emotions
from deep within the shredded
bloodied tissue that remains.
Exposed and vulnerable
to the elements of your
ramped terror,
the wound quickly festers
from the stench of your
infectious hatred
that slithers it's way into
the detatched arteries
and consumes any thought
of compassion.
And is diseased with
progressive revenge
and retaliation
that becomes the driving force
of strength that remedies
the  forgiveness
that unconditional love's
natural immunity  produces
and is temporary remedy to
the heart retching incurable
depression and permanent
lifelasting pain.
That haunts me
it taunts me
again and again.
...... And so begins the plague

This is not a poetic language,
but it is to me in my own poetic mind.
At night I write upon blank pages
soon marked up with all my thoughts
the ink is full, but soon that pen will be empty.

Oh, how each lines changes,
each emotion get deeper,
more tears fall like raindrops,
each word that flows from my brain.
I write all my pains in bloodstained ink.

Soon I look for the whiteout if it gets too deep
for the patterns of eyes who reads
who loves to judge me.
This is not poetic language
yet, maybe it is!

Some looks at it as something insane
Oh, how they love to cast blame and shame,
at night I look deep into the midnight sky
that's when I start to sigh
this isn’t a mental illness
But this is just being human.

A poetess, a writer, A woman, Mother, Grandmother, and a friend.
Just face it I’m all of these things
and I will never be ashamed
so go on and cast your stones
go lie in your own blood stand bed
because I am doing just fine being me.

Go doing your shaming blame and your judging
But know this you are not God!
What knowledge will soon be dust to all
when one's spirit dies the body sleeps
Oh, how fragile we all are.

This is the self and the universe
a place I truly love to be
a place I never want to whiteout
but when it comes to my imagination
I let a new world come over me
where litter elements and configurations of the spiral lines
that keeps me on my feet.

Oh, how I may not be poetic language
But then again it may be.

Poetic Judy Emery © 1986
Copyright © Judy Emery| Year Posted 1986
Métis, Themis, Ma’at, their banter was for naught.
All the tides and tithings wisdoms and their teachings, Daemonium forgot!

But the heavens cry  manna as Nix cried out reprieve!
An act that loosed the flood, the chaos of her sea.

Her pain arose a champion to tend to all her needs,
Formed of Celestial Ocean he bore down on the freed.

A giant wave of madness, thrusting mist of sadness eradicating gladness... One led the ruthless breed.

Opaque in their beginning, formless shapes in twining.
Conjoined but not together, accompanied the weather.
Thalassa’s stringy tether wrapped them all forever.

Come or go in seasons, live or die in age.
No Spring to Fall in reasons, travailing of the mage?
Black tentacles the streamers, rooted into wave.
Witness the all-wise and snaking phantom phage...

Chiron watches while he prances, his dressage on the shore.
Arising liminal of beings wettened ambiguity of yore.
Even Iblis is impressed, such black rotten to the core!

Merkabah or egg, mountain, belly, tree they squabble.
All elements do I cobble, such are actions of the wobble.
Next page