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Amoy Apr 2018
It’s like walking on air
Floating on sunshine

Sniffing rainbows
Dancing with unicorns

Twirling under sunsets
Always and forever my love
Joel Thomas Jun 17
Love isn't meant to be searched they say
No matter the obstacle your lover will always find a way
These feeling crawled inside me when I saw you far away
My eyes were fixed on you and everything else around seemed grey
I took my eyes of you and you disappeared and all I can feel is my heart tending to sway

I didn't know who you were and wether you've seen me stare
Into your eyes and I could feel a strong flare
But now you're nowhere to be found and the pain is something I couldn't bare
Hope is something which I wouldn't give up and I stood still and felt the air
Flow all over me and I knew that I should find you though another chance of seeing you is so rare

I looked for you in the depths of the ocean to the peak of the mountains so high
In the whispering medows and the deserts so dry
In the forests so dark and in the extremes of the deep blue sky
Searching in the midst of dusk till the end of dawn I wondered wether your beauty was a lie
I knew I couldn't go much further in my search for your love and I could never sigh

When all hopes were lost you came upto me out of the blue
You talked to me like I was someone you knew
After hearing your voice I was sure that there is no other girl for me than you
You gave me all this hope then you told that your lover is waiting for you and flew
I thought you were the one but all this time there was someone else for you and you left me with no clue
Kay-Rosa May 7
Darling, baby, corazon
Dear, sweetheart, sugar,
Honestly, never your name.
Honey, pet, cinnamon
Carino, mon chou, bunny.
For the day I call you by your name,
Cuddlebear, goddess, pearl
Star, treasure, microbe
Is the day I'm on one knee, love.
Google 'terms of endearment microbe' apparently its Italian. I laughed sooo hard at that. Im terrible.
Haritha Seby Dec 2015
I am fighting.
It is a clash between disdain and isolation.
Why love doesn't find me, instead of broken  hearts.
I am demented.
What is love?
I always think it is a pure endearment,
But in the end i didn't deserve it.
I prayed to God,
Why love doesn't nominate my name,
And why love is so purblind.
I am wasting my time.
The emptiness haunts me again and again
I get lonely when i looking to the future.
I get lonely when i am in a crowd.
I always seem so happy,
With not care in the world.
They only know my veil.
Hey! ****** creature,
Why you separates me from my wisdom.
I was tried,
I was lost,
No one listened,
No one understood.
How can i disappear to make people understand?
Who will sing a song,
Like a lullaby.
Here comes the call,
Now i hide this pain too,
And making sure no one sees my hurt.
I am trying to envelope the scar's and,
Buried deep in my heart.
Hoping one day i can smile.
For all who make fake smile .....infront of the throng....
Chloë Fuller Nov 2015
leather skin
tattoos from youth that are laughable
as messy as a room gets every month
succumbing and cleaning up a mid-life crisis
a broken wind-up soldier
folsom prison's bar ‘s open every time the sheets get too cold
two year expiration date
red wine at a dive bar

never completely remember anything except touch
whiskey clouded brains and side-ways smiles
serpent waiting to strike
retracting and falling backwards far
slithering in during the AM
charming underneath the stairs
unwanted terms of endearment
the tea kettle will always whistle when the water gets too hot

spells and red lights flicker at late hours on unseasonably warm nights
sweat and dragons both thrive from heat
smoke, from mouths and cigarettes
shakespearean scenes that melt to fingers grazing lips so effortlessly
this was all coming in due time after too many moments
spent on washing machines in an ancient haunt
falling into fictional identities when we come together
doe eyes
tears fell from poetic words spit so harshly on delicate air
a temporary home and an eternal momentary escape
the weekend of Nov. 1st
I'm lost in a moment,
without your love...
It must be with the angels,
waiting, in Heaven above...
If I could be held in your arms,
it would all be alright...
Until then, once again,
I'll be dreaming of you tonight...
Your expressions of love, from your heart
to mine, are a special endearment...
I'm lost in your love,
without a moment...


COPYRIGHT; Sabrina Denise Healey,
Umi Apr 2018
A kiss of death,
Before you can safely visit the realm of the deceased, the long gone,
A last breath, before it can end, escaping the boundary of this reality,
The embrace of death might not be always gentle, it may take some cruelty before it sets you free, to fly away, leaving us, finally behind,
It may happen in a restless night, or when you are asleep, that a lady comes to engage her lips, pressing them against yours and spiriting you away, lifeless, the corpse would remain, but worry not, darling.
If the kiss lacks of passion, more importantly dedicated affection however, it shall be unsuccessful, leaving a mark of fear in that soul,
Without a sound, the light dies, plunging everything around in deep yet loitering darkness, burnt, blistered and fallen is the blooming life,
Even so, humanity has no other choice but to follow this chosen road,
Living as they do now, unable to escape the endearment of dying,
I hope that, this body of mine can disperse in a gentle peaceful way,
Carried away with a single kiss of love, then sleeping, for eternity,
With that being said, would you like a kiss,
Darling ?

~ Umi
Rhoni Marjonelle Oct 2018
she was in front
of him
and he was in front
of her
each holds endearment,
love, and attachment
each sings their affection,
for further clarification
each pair or reciprocated words
were always heard
always sung
and bewildered.

up and above
they seem to soar
but they dropped
they seem to laugh
but they cried
they seem to be happy
but they were lonely

on that night
truth was revealed
truth that he believes
but never "she"
she was troubled
she was worried
but most of all
she was appreciated,
loved or liked,
and befriended.

he was bothered sick
he was targeted
but she won't let it

he became her inspiration,
her motivation,
her clarification,
her beautiful distraction.
Val Vik Feb 2018
I follow peace and speak the words of endearment
However, I also believe in the Second Amendment

I like to smell~ to wear~ to eat~ and to smoke plants
However, I don't take LSD or any man-made narcotics

I dig the whole idea of ~ "go with the flow" ~~
but I also like to take charge to achieve my goal

Smooth~ slow~ hours of ***: inspires my new Haiku
However, I have to admit that I like it rough too!

We all live between the two extremes
the beauty of learning the Yin and Yang teachings
This was written for fun! nobutthurting******-hippy/ for those who want to read Part 1!
Ryan Clark Sep 2018
My Bosnian honey
The rarest of beauties
Truly an Unicorn amongst steeds
With fleet feet
My heart races towards you
Like a rag of mustangs
Wild and free
             As you are
                   As you make me
Though I'm a world away
I can feel your heart beside me
               Like hooves kissing open earth
If only in spirit
It alone sustains
Our kindered hearts
Amongst the world's stampede
With wise words you used to mend
My open wounds past sustained
My debt remains unpaid
Having little to my name
I declare my love
             My commitment
                     My everything
As a token of my endearment
As an answer to your affection
My dearest Sabina
This is the second of my love declarations to my friends. They where suppose to recieve them from another guy, but he chickened out, so I figured I'd pick up the slack. This one is for Sabi !

Check out the other here
Phi Kenzie Jul 2018
Have I lost my way
been tossed astray
depraved and often caught in shame

I am Phi Kenzie
suspend all your envy
I’m plenty unfriendly and tense up when sensing

The touch of another
to shutters and covers
and run for the river, ride rough with the rudder

Flown under the radar
I hoped it would stay dark
but no, it’s the day and it breaks the equator

I could go on about my fears
they won’t disappear
peerless endearment from people jeering for years

Eerie queries in tears
near and dear to mine own ears
rearing iridescent essence empirically in spirit

Hear it speared into the ether
reverberating meter
ceaselessly tinker on the readers need to reach eureka neater
Deadwood Jawn Nov 2018
Oh my!
             He is in terrible agony.
                  The weight of his sorrow poisons his anatomy.
                ­                     Pathetic..
            He feels all these things.
       Let me place my hand on my heart and his;
I can feel it.

Oh my..
Darkness oppresses his resolve;
many demons have followed him.

                                    "H̫̩̪̪͕͈̀a̸̙͔̺̜̞̮̤r̮̗̀m­͍̭̯̟̫͓ y͢o̴͉̱͓̞͚͖̞u͎̣͙͈̺r̨̠̦̰̼̼s̠͎̬̤̹̖̩e͙͘  lf̯̱.̻͉̤͈̘͙"
    ­                                                                 ­   "K̫̹̺̻̣̬̯i̫͎̳̦̩l͇͙̞̳̘l̰̪̳̗̠̙̜ ͉̝̺͙̥͇͟y̕ͅo̙̮͓ͅu̟r̹̞͍̠̫͇̗s͓̞͇̥͚e̥̳͖  ͕lf҉̩".̙͈̠̼̭͇ͅ

      ̥"Ma̭͎­k̷̜̰̙̗̖̼e̘̣̳ͅ ̲̲t͍̯͕̱̞̼h̲̥̭e͎̼̰̣̭̹̥m̨̞͕̩̺ ̤̭̲̀ć͇͎a͎ŕ̬̦̳̱̬̞ͅe͕̥̦̗̯̻.̸̰͍͓"

They are tormenting him.
                       My sweet John.
                               As he lays down with constant tears:
                                       Suffering and anguish..
                                              He needs healing.
                            Love and affection..
              He is yearning.
Desperately pleading for endearment.

She threatened to be a ghost and to be far away from him.
Yes.. my sweet John;
how terrible that must've been.
No wonder you feel pathetic and lowly..
My lovely child..

You cry.
              ­                                                Tear.

          ­                                                      Your breath is hot.

                                            Your muscles twitching.

                        Your body shuddering.

Your eyes deadening.

You cry out to your loved ones;
                                 none give you the love you so desire.
                                            You feel cheated..
                                                My darling.. Oh..
                                                      I will heal you now..
                                   Do not resist sobbing upon hearing my words.
                                Sob for me, sweet child.
                            Let me feel your tears now.
                    I am the one who will heal you.
              Bury yourself into my compassionate arms.
          Listen to my heartbeat.
     Come onto me.
   I will sing for you.
You weep louder.
You're convulsing.
Your mouth trembles.

Please leave me and him alone.
Allow him to rest.
I will heal him the way he loves.

John, my love.
                 Let me carry your frail body.
                                   Please let yourself cry.
                                         There is no longer any more danger.
                                   You're lifeless...
                  What has happened, poor child?
Severe marks scattered on the body...

                                                          Scarre­d up.
                                                             ­                             Burnt.

                            ­                                                              You­r hands
                                                                ­                      are callused.

                                                      ­  Your feet are broken.

                              Your knees are blackened.

Your elbows are grazed.
Your wrists bleed.

I will bandage you, sweetheart.
There is no painful disinfectant.
My love will heal you.

Pour your soul out to me.
I adore you, John.
I cherish you, Jawn.

I am your angel;
the one you desire.
I will give you anything, my love.
You don't need them anymore.
Written during a time of horrible suffering. Enough to trigger off despair. I believe I could feel an Angel present.. saying loving words to me..
Deep Feb 9
O say, love, say,
What can I do to **** it and be free
In my old liberty?

Snared in time
And wriggling on nightmares
At last I found you,
Zephyr like, you untied that knot,
Slowly wrapped
Me in more intenser charm
Only to push from height;

You acted like stage actor
In soliloquies, captivated
With mellifluous promises,
Like an audience I watched
Stunned with boundless emotions,
And ended up believing you.

There was a time when
I saw you as a
Rainy cloud to my drought
stricken heart,
Your promises bloomed hyacinths,
Lilies and wild roses—
Hyacinths painted days,
Lilies lavished new hopes.
And wild roses scent eclipsed past.
I loved you most of my days,
And on other I tried to love you
Yet, I kept it secret in fear.

All for nothing!
Your childlike attention so easily
Faded and abandoned
The toy you played most,
It’s I always there, alone! laying in
the corner of your room,
Waiting forever to be held again
in your *****,
With the same endearment of gone days.
But you, absorbed in others
never gave a glance to me,
left me to perish drawing
an imaginary world
And then hoping to turn it real.
Joreian Smith Nov 2018
His last memory was my cold shoulder, as I with ease severed our bonds
Tears embraced the pain filled face, and nightmarish shrieks took ahold of me
Each step was strenuous, a colossal amount of weight
And it was not as though my body could not move, but that my heart was unwilling to leave
Why does it always rain on those who deserve the sun? Such is a question that has no answer
Perhaps if I filled myself with suppositions a bit longer, it would soon become natural
Regret swarmed my mind and thoughts, I could do nothing but ponder what could have been different
Under the blazing sun, on the smooth warm green grass that hugs us both
The calm delicate face of his hand asks mine for a kiss, and grasp one another tenderly, bashfully sharing warmth
Hazel orbs directed at my own, seemingly pouring inside sweet endearment
Of course, we were not the only stars in the sky, another match made in heaven were joyful right along with us
The blazing sun had duet with he moons, and in the finale the role of spotlight was handed to the moon
As it twirled onto the center the sun cast a spell of light making the moon a star to be seen by all
He lied their imperfect revealing every foible, the thick, viscous blackness oozing out his heart
And surely, I am no better on the inside, sorrow rolling on my cheeks, immortal wickedness enslaving me
Yet a lovely pair sprouted their feathery wings and flew towards us only to perch on us
One drew a smile and unease lifted itself from my shoulders
T’was an exquisite blissful night, and dreamy desires filled my mind
‘Could our love be as beautiful as the moon and the sun’s?’ one whispered
No, it cannot my imperfection will make sure of that
How I adore you who investigates my heart and still intends to come closer, but the closer you are the more we hurt, simply the act of smiling at another can trouble you for days
Being friendly with an old friend summons insecurity and jealousy, and suddenly endearment is no longer sweet
For I’ve cut the both of us too deeply with my selfish love, tis so cruel I always want what I cannot have
My last memory was his hand reaching out to me and his pleading face, as I in tears severed our bonds
Love doesn't exist. After all, no matter how much the moon may love the sun the earth harbors the moon to itself selfishly and if the sun were to get too close it could do nothing but watch as its love burns.
cupid Nov 2018
your stupid voice
like a drug no one should take
your words like candy coated razors
shoved down my throat
every one of your kisses stole a piece of my soul
you left my life
but why not my thoughts
why won’t you get out of my head
your stupid hair long and cotton candy soft
ugh why do i think of you with such endearment
your gentle touch
it was all a brush with death
you demon
fallen angel
cursed man
i swear lucifer incarnate
lucifer the prettiest yet most selfish angel
the devil the one who comes as everything you could ever want
i hate you
i hate you and your stupid ******* voice
your brown eyes and warm hands
i hate all of it
.  .  .
i don’t
except i love you so much it hurts
so much i can’t even think about loving someone else
it’s like im sick
please get out of my head
im so tired of thinking about him
I still struggle with
How loud my food is on my plate.
How it screams at me,
Pokes and prods my squishy parts.
I struggle with
The sweet endearment of my softness.
How he loves my "curves".
My mind screaming FAT.
Trying to destroy the sweet sentiment
That he so freely hands to me.
Like a rose he's specifically plucked for me.
To show me he thinks my "curves"
Are worth the fact that food
Makes me gag when I realize how
Fat I've become, and how
I struggle so badly with the number
On the scale.
I threw the **** thing in the trash.
Let's see how you torment me now,
When you can't flash the red numbers
In my face.
I struggle.
Daily to remember I am not
A number on  a scale.
I am not a size in my jeans.
I struggle
Not to scream at myself,
And starve myself back to "perfect"
Avoiding mirrors like snickers bars.
As if they may crack with my reflection.
At the hideousness of my softness.
Looking down,up next to, around
But never at the woman in the mirror.
At the curve of her waist.
Or the curves in her hips.
As if I dare look, if I dare
Accept that woman in the mirror
Accept the softness of her.
Maybe food wouldn't make me gag.
But I struggle.
I avoid full length photos like,
Maybe if i can't see "HER"
She doesn't exist.
Rosarlei May 31
Hold on to your ideas
Hold on to your thoughts
It's not the time yet
For them to deavor or become

The gatekeepers are gone
No one left to man the doors

Hold on to your ideas
Hold on to your thoughts
It's not the time yet
For them to kneel or bestow

In the ritual lies the secret
For endearment to impel

Hold on to your ideas
Hold on to your thoughts
It's not the time yet
For them to flesh out and be burned.
Check out the original multimedia piece here:

Minds break apart at midnight,
piece together in dreamless sleep.

Robert Lowell poaches pen-and-ink
drawings for Life Studies.
Sylvia Plath dons Ariel’s red dress,
but loses Ariadne’s thread.  

Lowell raises For the Union Dead,
mythic monument to his family’s best.
Pigeons decorate it with their ***** mess.
Plath pins a ******* to her chest —  
shockingly pink —
and stands beside the kitchen sink,

Stirring a *** of poet’s gruel.
Madness and death the golden rule
no artistry can break. Not even the careless
reader can take leave of these senses

Once they’re rendered on the page.
Confession doesn’t age well,
as Lowell knows oh so well,

unless it suggests more substantial fare,
say, a flannel bathrobe for him to wear
in a Boston psychiatric ward — if he dares.

There’s something wrong with his head.
Crown him Caligula; his lineage has fled.

“What does that have to do with me, Daddy?” Plath artfully whines.
“Fill the tulip jars with red water, not wine,” he replies.
“The bridegroom cometh. Turn off the oven.”
But it is too late. She has met her fate before it predeceases her.

Like a teacher’s pet, she bets her life on a recitation
of Daddy, a term of endearment,
a term of interment in a stark, loveless miscarriage,
a dark, masculine disparagement of her freedom. O Daddy dearest.

Lowell shoots up to salute the younger poet, guessing
she has given the year’s best reading by a girl in red dresses.

At this stage, what does it matter that his “mind’s not right”?
What can he do but give up his right to pray, as every insight
       slips away?

But no Our Father for Plath. For her, the Kingdom comes too late.
Colossal poetry cannot save; the poet raves and raves and raves
       into that dark night.
Turn off the oven, turn out the lights. Daddy, too, is not right.


Blake fired his Proverbs of Hell
in the dull, damning kilns
of England’s Industrial Age.

A poet’s no sage, but Lowell earned
his wings when he doctored Blake’s phrase:
“I myself am hell.”

A stone angel directs his descent:

Fortune favors the bold.

Never discount the power of chance.

Affliction of the senses is a gift.

Invisible seeks invisible.

Darkness obscures our limits.

We carry darkness within us.

Anarchy breeds spirit.

Artistry breeds no merit.

Appropriate beauty, at all costs,
whether, man, beast or angel


Poetry births an artifact of words; we unearth them, and they adhere.
We bury them, and they fall flat — hollow sounds, futile splats,
       prehistoric grunts ground into the ground.

Bathed in lithium and alcohol, here bobs your calling, Robert:
Everything matters; nothing coheres.
Build a shell of a soul on this maxim, a notebook of negation.  
       Grind your axes.

Sanctuaries may crumble, gates may close. Press on. Press on.
Corkscrew your identity into the iambic line; rouse the reader to find
the misleading promise of Eternity in the sonnet, the sonnet,
       the endless sonnet.

For minds lost in madness, tree limbs dangle like kite tails in the wind. No one flies here anymore. Gather reddened kindling while ye may.

What exiles you from the ancients — Homer, Virgil and Horace —
springs from vision, not technique: You lack the requisite blindness.

Absence absents the soul. Here, now, forever, shimmers only presence,
only the present, only Presence: divine, human, animal, marmoreal.
       Skunks, sails, cars and pails. Sing on, O son of New England!

Day by day, failing all, fill your void with fiery
hieroglyphs of verse. Then call your duty done.


Behold: You are not the favorite, after all, but Camus’ stranger,
trapped in the blinding sun, stumbling on the burning sand.

Only what dies in you endures.

“Is getting well ever an art,
or art a way to get well?”

The skunks scurry, scavenge and survive far too long for you to answer.

You lie down beside orange fishnets, facing the shore.
At midnight, you will dream of dreamless sleep.
To follow the development of this poem, it's important to know the works and lives of the confessional poets Robert Lowell and Sylvia Plath. If you are unfamiliar with them, I suggest you first read "Skunk Hour" by Lowell and then "Daddy" by Plath. Short biographies would help, too.
Ken Pepiton Jul 11
Fasces and olive branch on one side, tails;
wing-ed Phrygian cap on the head
of an image of the spirit of
Liberty, a fem.

Dimes in the olden times,
when I was born,

dimes in America in those days
symbolized a long known
goodness for all men,
included in
we, the people, which includes

Me and thee, we are we, only by virtue of my
words being written and your reading
of the same within our
terms of endearment

Each we we are in, let us call a set,
but that confuses us, fuses us
to gether.
So, let's seee

See it like this. I am good. I repel wrong and
act right,
asif I were
polarized live in op
position to evil

evil live, have you seen it? Live,
did it prosper in your presence or was peace the final state?

Just, now. Please plea with your knower, don't lie.
Say never all you wish, however never lie
against the truth.

To thine own self, et al... y'know

in each generation of earth borne,
one hero is reared to play your role, dear reader.
Fret not,

know wisdom has been maligned as
calling us through each position
of the fool... there is a map
of these positions in a statuary garden
behind the temple of the golden buddha

in Bankok, which I visited with Mr. Boo in 1968.

I remember none of the poses but ai knows they form
a pyramid,
imagine it
peaks in some backward
footed kundalini pose,

which is *******. I imagined. Wisdom is gentle
and easy to be entreated, okeh, heko.
Thanks, dear reader, you empower my whimsy to see if this is visible on earth in 2019.
SassyJ Aug 2018
Yesterday we danced under the stars
and I liked the shimmering reflection you bore
the stunning lock of our starring eyes
the way you took every breath I exhaled

Your brush awakens all there is within
It brings all the warm nights and days
It's like love on a mountain, ever peaking
a fountain that never expires or dries out

It's been a worse season of love and affection
closed up and frozen, blunt, blurred and burnt
yet, you were there all long winking and dying
hoping that I would see you and seek us

Yesterday you were the wind that blew my race
and you made me feel the rhythm of love again
underneath the iceberg, we always wanted more
as we make the colors swirl in a constant endearment
the muse, the unknown the unseen
Marina James Apr 8
Ashes to ashes
Dust to dust
Everyday a soul is lost

Souls of love
Souls of lust
Souls on endearment
Souls of trust

Souls full of knowledge
Leave people like us
With questions unanswered
And feelings unmastered

The void of their absence
Still lingers with longing
Tear drops of silence
will forever keep falling.
“If you knew that
It was my last day
What would you say to me?”
I inquired.

“Do me a favor.
Give your last day to me
And take my life,”
She replied with a good f*cking smile on her face
That numbed my soul.

She still loves me
Way better than I had ever asked for!!!
marvin m brato Nov 2018
Why there is poetry?
Such is a wise question,
as it has been man's gateway
to the world of innate imaginations...
about what makes the world go-round!

Poetry is everything!
It's the intimate expression,
and ultimate passion of the heart
that enthuse human endearment...
to explore, expound candid sentiments!

Poetry is life itself!
Without it life is empty,
and becomes insignificant
as there shall be no meaning...
to every moment that we spend!

Poetry make poets!
As it excites emotions,
inspires to compose poems
which explicitly lit a rainbow...
to give colors to our existence!
jenna May 18
detachment is key
to a life
full of coping.

i love,
i love hard and full.
i love with
the parts of me
i normally have
numbed and dulled.

but my heart
is still
wired to
my brain.
no decisions go
unchecked or
no love goes
without pain.

i don’t charm
others with the
intent to harm.
it always
feels like
the right play,
until i’m,
stuck in-between
my heart and
my brain.

fight or flight,
that’s the game,
no attachment,
no endearment,
no loss of anything.

i hope one day
someone comes along
and cuts my string.
i hope i can love
without second thoughts,
and think without
worrying about my
love for them
getting in the way.

i hope they see
the side of me
i know is buried.

i hope they can
love me

— The End —