Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Tom McCone May 2013
weather splinters in
      to fragments, repeating, like
          dense recollections of
what's already
    happened,
                 and
change dissolves indefinitely,
                      into all
streambeds, like        calcium
cycles              backwards out
               of my diet
these days and lately
         of course, being I, the mess,
am not
or ever
                     doing anything to fix this,
                                     and it's
               not like I don't need the
                sustenance, like
                                            all
warm               confusions
              you so graciously
                      endow upon my
                                    life.
Larry Potter May 2013
1 Upon slumber, unfold thou faerie eyes,
2 Grab ye stardust, prepare thou soulful flight;
3 If in journey’s midst wrapped with nature’s guise,
4 Be not nimble less so to wane thou light.

5 Bright fireflies conspire to dim thee shadow,
6 As thou fleet bequeath pure enraptured plains;
7 Chanting rhymes, dryads cometh to follow,
8 Thou escapade to human cosmic vains.

9 Let our worlds converge on a rendezvous,
10 Where love’s verge proves true its life immortal;
11 A portal death’s call shall only endow,
12 A cycle of joy and fear revival.

13 Let our world’s loathe expire from our being,
14 Time nor death can’t hinder love’s revealing.
http://www.meegoh.com/category/blog/arts-and-literature/sample-sonnets/
BDH May 2012
To fringe with padded lengths
the entirety of your outershell,
and thereby judged
sent into the wastelands
a labour of love.
A slave.

I claim no liberty.
Endow me with cuffs
and porcelain chains that bind,
servant to master.

Intertwined in folly
belying your aloofness
violent whips divulge your essence
we both lay shredded.

You do not spare me,
though my eyes invite you openly.
Instead you surround me,
walk before me,
and ply your wares with others.

Sickened I fall,
clawing against stone and neck anchor,
beating my heart into the walls of my longing.

You reprove me,
bidding for silence,
or the little I get will be lost.
Svetoslav Feb 2021
Walking down the park
Moon hides behind a cloud
Stars bringing a spark
Silence changes to sound

Fireworks in the distance
The universe is making a vow
Filling the void with existence
Your mind is there to allow

Galaxies beyond measurement
Twilight shines in the dark
Changing my usual temperament
Twinkle my eyes through the park

Grim mood no longer in consistence
Gods are furnishing to endow
An end to perishing is my insistence
To my will countless planets vow
by Svetli
Euphie Dec 2018
Sundays are meant for writing
about our soulmates.
So endow my affection that is gifted
with great patience and tender
loving kisses.

For our love tastes like a ripened pomegranate,
for our fruity fingertips.

Blessed by a sea apart,
all I could see and breathe is you.
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2016
woman's tennis is always more entertaining than the men's one-on-one, there are more rallies, more play in general, it's not one of those premature ******* stereotypes of a serve >110mph, or three-touch tennis... plus you can just imagine a clean-version of some shady *****, but with maria sharapova suspended... it's gone a bit quiet.

a beautiful day at Wimbledon, a ****** day up in the north east -
calm the nerves, calm the nerves,
go for a walk to buy whiskey and don't
look at the finálé of the Portugal v. Poland
game (yes, that's how i painted the
syllables in, like i manged to get a *sh
sound
in Greek, linguistic surgery, i.e.
σ-                       -χ-                  -ι-                   -τ
sigma                chi                  iota                ­tau
s-                        -h-                -i-                ­   -t         used
-igma                 c-i                   -ota                -au     not used)
i would say cheese grater either - you cut the buggers
up, it's a real mean anatomic revelry to mind what
to use, what to snip off, some might say a fashion
statement - or one of those fairy-tale moments
in variations of Cinderella - in the more gruesome variations
the two horrid sisters have their heels cut off,
or their big toes, they put the glass slipper on
and blood starts oozing out - i'm sure i've seen that
variation on the tale; beside the point,
the neighbours were supposed to get a new fence,
the fence installers called yesterday asking for my neighbour's
phone number, apparently they didn't have it,
phoned today, neighbour comes back with her worries,
a scheming ***** by the looks of it,
doesn't want a new fence, a woman, play three men against
each other - a Jewess recently converted to Islam
(never mind that, i like colour, i hate bleaching
people or stripping them bare to a "respectable"
ennui of defining them by pronouns alone,
if someone identifies themselves as... whatever...
i identify them also... there isn't going to be a a blank
canvas of respectable leftist or whatever language here
just like you wouldn't heave the earth by simply
stating it's an orb, would you now?) -
it's her fence and yet i'm talking and later my father
to the person about to put it up - in England
it's like in Hong Kong - you honk honk clockwise,
not anti-clockwise, the fence to my left is mine,
the fence to my right... ain't...
it ends up being a furore - i'm angry, my father's angry,
Poland just lost - but when i'm angry and don't
write my rage into poetry i enter into an autistic simulation,
i don't make eye-contact, i'm not angry with the
person i'm gesticulating to, an autistic virtuoso of
sharp tongue averted eyes - pretty much a Steptoe and Son
scenario - it ends up being a case of finding one email
(that doesn't exist) among 220 containing a supposed
phone-number... god... why did you endow me with
enough patience to enter relationships with women?
never mind, forget i even i asked that -
the ******* is your answer, i admire that conviction,
why would you ******* if you didn't have one?
being circumcised you definitely need a *******,
being circumcised and still ******* is pointless,
waste of the revision, Judaism, Christianity and Islam
thrown in together - that was the warning
to Abraham about to circumcise (rather than
sacrifice, Victorian polite society is done, gone) Isaac,
don't do it... now you need a constant sparring partner,
oh yeah, and here are some rules: 613 minor commands
in Judaism, 5 times a day prayers in Islam,
and this ****** comedy version of atheism in Christianity:
i'm sure atheists don't congregate -
i guess you need a plan-β - given the fact that the mere
idea of god is ****** into us, you still end arguing
and either / or off Kierkegaard -
for some it's a necessity to pursue ritual -
for other's it's a necessary means of writing books
and earning a backpack's worth of wages... win win
whichever side you choose.
Sam Hain Aug 2015
The moon tonight doth wear a shroud
    Of crimson-orange ether,
And seems a pumpkin with flight endow'd,
    Nor with a rooted tether.

The night is warm; the breeze doth loll
    Upon the shadow's creeping;
And autumn very soon will fall,
    And bring with it more sleeping.

                              August 29, 2015

O.O
Tegan May 2014
There is a field where
I have never been;
I could only have visited it
In a dream.
Where sunsets surf the
wild flower grass,
hot air balloons traverse
a sky that has been cursed,
to endow a setting a sun.

Escaped the family cries
caused by family ties,
under a thundering air path
as easy jet flies over us.
Bumblebees are caught in traffic
over mists of summer haze.
I don't think I have ever been more in love,

with a place.
Purple flowers bloom under an eye,
pale Cowslip stretched over each bone.
Even the sky has darkened to a fathomless depth
in which I cannot help but drown.
Where am I now?

Tomorrow it will rain here,
wash away the summer scents,
wash away the golden light
and the very sense of a past held tight.

Could this place be any better?
What if I had to remember
a different voice,
a different shape
to frame the end of my favourite day?
yesterday
Subrata Ray Nov 2015
Love Mother love
,Infuse divine spirit ,
You alone in this universe
To  a child ,-that miracle merit .

More of the Ganges' holy-water ,
Your milk through the child flow ,
With your smile ,
The child changes its profile ,
And with your aura , it glows .

Your watching eye ever  casts ,
Fence as girdle to sustain care ,
Your azure wish ever cherishes ,
To make the Innocence fair to fair .

Trillion oceans are trivial ponds ,
When the depth of your love the child shares ,
No full-moon is so glorious when the sky is bare ,
And the Earth can never give birth ,
As the Mother –Kali through you does ,
The whole humans stand to salute ,
The Unified-Field of your love on Earth .

Love Sarah love ,
Fill Sharon’s cup ,
And endow her to unburden your grief ,
The hellish holocaust ,
Must have a psychic burst ,
To give the hanging morbid a relief .

From your bower , hour by hour ,
'The Orphan Shoes' gains ground ,
And for your pains ,it would unchain ,
The  aboriginal  sins world around .

Love Mother love
,Infuse divine spirit ,
You alone in this universe
To  a child ,-that miracle merit .
Steven J Kelly Jun 2017
Time is the hourglass, the day and the night.
Time is the infinite, the dark & the light

Time is existence you cannot reverse
Time is precious what could be worse

Time is the constant, the here, and the now.
Time is The past, the present, the future endow

Time is the Clocks on the wall
Tic tock tic tock
Time is The old man who knows it all

Time is the Zodiac like the Yin and the yang
Time is the space where the travelers hang

Time is the 24 hours in a day
Time is the history that won't go away

Time is short, time is long
time is right  Time is wrong

Time goes quick time goes slow
Time can stop time can go

Time is the essence that waits for no man
Time is the Greenwich and the meridian

Time is the second the minute the hour.
Time is the gong in the bell tower

Time is the Chronos the god with the scythe
Time is the woman who gave birth to life



Time is here there and everywhere


  The End
Time
Written by Steven Kelly
© Copyright Steven J Kelly
David R Jun 2022
from far away i heard its cry
the fiery body in the sky

its loneliness, its fear of dark,
as it alone as Noah's ark
in perfect curve as elephant's tusk
sails the skies from morn till dusk

though all about on it depend,
the moon in shine, the planets in wend,
it knows not its own power
the energy it showers every hour

so too, my friend, you'll never know
the worth and warmth you endow,
upon all life that's round about
yeah, e'en on your bowing out

as star within the heaven's festoon
the silver dust that's liberal strewn
pulsates with unending light
so you, my child, shine so bright

so place a smile on those lips
and sail the sea as naval ship
let not the darkness you eclipse
your soul's music on this life-trip
BLT's Merriam-Webster Word of The Day Challenge
#festoon
Shofar  Ashera
Once set, they begin to direct their destination to the heart of the nativity area, where their origins and areas of the omnipresent West Bank belt were. They entered with strong winds clinging to their bristling camelids, everything had the atmosphere of a city as if it had never been inhabited. The fringes in floods of sun were distinguished orange-reddish weakened before the stormy gradients of the Red and Mediterranean Sea appeasing the Hexagonal primogeniture. Although they were seen squalling and with agile movements on the local atmosphere, several layers crossed with the inheritance of Persian cloths in colorful bluish and orange tints from the Red Sea and the quarrelsome storms of Aserá "The mother of all gods", and The one who was the "father of the gods." Known among the Babylonians as Ishtar, originally called Athirat (or Afdirad). She is the great Semitic goddess of fertility. In the Bible it is called Astoret, a distorted pronunciation of the original 'Astart, through the inclusion of the vowels of the Hebrew word boset (shame) according to the custom of the rabbis, to discredit the pagan deities. Bronze Age Ashera (before 1200 BC) the Greek form is Astarte. Astarte was considered the "goddess of the Sidonians". In the Amarna Letters, it is Ashirtu and Ashratu. The Ras Shamra texts identify Ashera ('atrt = atirat) with the goddess wife of El; They call her "Lady Ashera of the Sea" and "progenitor of the goddesses", here she would be the mother of Baal.

These discredited Babylonian forms caused discomfort and discomfort, in the face of a living past and present in the intangibility of the inheritances that greet others that could supplant them. This caused soil heating in the legs of the animals with abnormality of Greek-Babylonian wormwood prostrate on the feet of Ashera, leaving an odorous wormwood atmosphere in the land of two native Kings of this jurisdiction. Attracting dissipation from the roofs of some neighboring houses to the precise place where the Messiah saw the light of the lights and of those who waited for them cabi-together lighting it with candlesticks. This sacred wind caressed everyone's hands, insinuating them to take hold of the new Bethlehem, an event that was being reborn with the Apostle's illustrious visit. Their consolations expanded, like any caravan that increased its predictive volume, equalizing the pressures of the air that surrounded the streets, where no one appeared and was seen generic. This centrifugal force rotated their earthly spirits, originating a thick source of the orange gases that populated the roofs of the village. Creating greater weight and highlighting the freshness of the essences that were torn from the soils with the aroma of grazing.   Explaining to themselves the presence of sub-zones in the West Bank, insolating redemption of the arrival towards a protocol merit contrasted by the permission to be hosted next to this at night.  Varying many times to bring them the blessed condensed sacred water, deregulating the thermal sensation.

The density and buoyancy of the animals' legs made it difficult for them to select the right moment to stop and dismount. The aerial relief that rose and fell rose on the walls of the few rooms linked to the stable of nativity, pressing on them the adjacent words that joined from the ground to soon arrive in an upward spiral, turned into light and wind on the seventh horseman ; King David, appearing to them right there…, right there before Him, his Abigail, the third wife who gave him an early re-conception, presenting him with an altar, which he will endow with Eucharistic missions during his admission to Bethlehem. An unexpected phenomenon swirls on the gradient that led to the hill of the stable, affecting their vision and consequences, rotating them all to the rear of the original access to the stable. Converging the winds on the ground and upper external part of the stable, originating an anticipated effulgence of space that would prolong them to understand that they had already arrived, but they were still seven hundred meters from the main access and that the city was not Bethlehem, but another that It seemed to emerge from the arid soil, next to the stable, dividing itself into inter-zones that rubbed against the original and current ones, in such a way as to generate a great development of the sub-soil on the vertical that sounded stentorian and vibratory, as in a long stay, on the distributed assistants in this supra-abnormal regimen. They arrive exempt from grievances but dismounting gentiles ..., they leave the twelve camels in a friendly and predisposed circle, so as not to expose them to the strong winds that raged from the Canaanite gods that prevailed in personalized and ceremonial theocratic.

David speaks: “when I approached where Moab I requested asylum in protection of my parents…, thus I myself would burst the eardrums of the Philistines for each mountainous network of links that join me to the refuge of my advance counterattack towards their dominions. In its unknown enemy territories, a noble and friendly joy appears before me; Abigail, who fills the history of my land with beauty, before a very cruel Canaanite son; Nabal. She enriches my lands more than the entire multiplied population of animals, every time I count the units, I look into her eyes and I forget the greater amount that moves her heart towards me, because of that I did not shed blood on Nabal's house . Being Abigail the one who replaces my union with the Faith that moves my passion. "

Then Abigail kneels and touches the ground where he was, crossing himself after assigning a cross that kissed his hands, on his forehead and his chest. Thus from somewhere her parents rearranged the garments to enchant Vernarth for her bi-related purge with that of David and the Messiah-Vernarth. As in the Jericho story, Alikanto, Raeder, and Petrobus galloped around the periphery of the citadel. With all the strength of the steed's Golden hooves, they kicked liquid dust from the Bethlehem's fleeces. Alikanto did not carry a mount on his back ... he carried an Aspis koilé from Hoplite Vernarth. It was useful to re-sediment the sand covers sifted by the ergonometric forces of the shield, thus causing everyone to retreat and take the reins of the animals, to resume their advances in buttresses to build the walls that they had to mediate, to weaken Ashera's insinuations to disagree with the edges of the citadel. The Apostle, Etréstles and Vernarth blew the shofars, the times they surrounded the perimeter of the city, and they believed that there would be more turns ..., on the couch was the Shofar that could sound more times and louder, it was intact ..., but it ran to blow it Vernarth not leaving a drop of air looking at the sky that would appear with three bright stars filling the anxiety and love to break Easter bread for everyone. But it was not that effect; it was the astral echo of Betelgeuse of King David, which emanated with his blowing also helping to raise the walls that would protect him from the staunch invasions of the lackeys of Ashera. In such a way, the partitions were raised until reaching the governorships of the words of the watchdog angel who coordinated everyone saying:

Guardian Angel: "For us the partitions, for you the rooftops, on the heights mediate the limits and on their Shofar they will end Aserá, without any city to come and go" Such exordium is fulfilled and Bethlehem is surrounded by golden barred partitions, Walls were hoisted at remarkable heights to appease the winds and roars of the Canaanites, as in Jericho, but the other way around, here they succumbed by divine command, to allow them to settle in that millenary town hall.

Finally they withdraw the twelve camelids from the front circle that did not allow them to settle in the settlement, and they manage to settle to revive the bi-natality and double reign of whose splendor he will only speak with the luminances of the Messiah and King David embracing them. From the continents outside of the walls left desolate, revive Abigail's pristine and angelic countenance by bringing dinner and an amulet Shofar to each of the components of the Hexagonal Birthright that began to continue the seven weeks in Judah.

Magraner's ministers "Punica granatum", were bushes that appeared to him in the focus of the micro center of the fire, they entered with some tenuous and sinuous branched thorns becoming muddy as they descended from the tassels of the Shofar, feeding the curiosity of all who were camped, surrounding a campfire full of sounds with new positions, of devout sounds of pupils from high Jewish principalities, cordoning off the objects of the Apostle, who shared it with Etréstles ..., who gave sonorous instrumentalizations to the rams that approached around them ..., looking for the crows that were missing from their heads. Due to the cracked set of the shofar, in the opposing works of the luminosities of the bonfires, the wise ministers hung on the same faces, who displayed them with their young branches, glossy sheaths before the yellowish-greenish under-exposed with their obtuse apices. Leaving in its marginalized exceptions, polygons of pre-flowering  shofar-form, on the valves that escaped from the ashes of the valves that were released from the last fleeting flame of each minute run to the right. Everyone collected the nectars that the ministers poured into goblets, drinking them lying down to swallow them reclining and being able to look at the stars that emerged from their albiceleste flavors, rinsing each one's arms by touching them with the shofar, like petioles stalks on the seven rams that they sought to recover those that made themselves sound heavenly.

Etréstles says: “When the shofar speaks, their past pastorals speak inside and outside the community; the most outlined thing has been to understand it as a trumpet; of a bony projection, that is to say, formed by a bone and pointed material that arises from the frontal bone, sealed by a layer of keratin that forms an aerophone horn cover. The horns of Moses come from a translation of the original biblical text by Saint Jerome. When Moses descends from Mount Sinai, where he has interviewed God, "the skin of his face had become radiant," says the Bible (Ex 34: 29-30). In the original Hebrew the verb "to radiate", "to emit rays", is from the same root as the noun "horns", so Saint Jerome did not think twice and translated: "cornuta esset facies sua", that is, "His face was horned. Taking into account its timbre and sound quality here with you, it is not difficult to associate it with the sounding with the golden patina, simulating with my Messolonghi fingers ..., which three by three piston their bony reaches, linking of some forms of beauty, goodness, clarity, brightness and stories that will accompany us in this bonfire between these raised walls to pave the vaults of the Messiah's nativity cries.  Calibrations and catechesis on the real moment of his symbolic Lineage in the awake dawn and alive. With waves of graces voices with goat hosts rearranging the urban matrix of the erected town ..., everything will be at the expense of surrounding us and pouring out the voices shuffled with the shofar to protect us from Ashera, in their desire to get away from the fundamental site. "

Vernarth intervenes: “In this passage it is clear the capacity of the shofar…, and the sound produced by it and our similar voices being amalgamated with it, shouting and modifying the environment, to a multipurpose physical dimension. Now we are a herald of goodness, beauty and reconstruction, part of a noticeable dialectic to the neighboring Canaanite cultures as a sudden reconversion between what is built and what is to be built, even if something in it itself had to disappear. The wall was actually rebuilt surrounding everyone, beyond the golden glow of the shofar. Producing today creation and not devastation, encapsulating kingdoms in wisdom and learning ..., this is where we have all come from the return of the didactics of cultural forms, independently to attract us to its teachings in an anonymous world converted with a purpose of reconverting itself, in solemn alert in the one that precedes us, before unilateral events of antecedents of an apocalyptic shofar period”.
Shofar  Ashera
brandon nagley Jun 2015
I shalt for her walk on hot coal
I shalt for her embark to her home
I shalt for her drieth her misery
I shalt to her make love and her me
I shalt for her die or live, whatever she chooseth
I shalt for Her giveth all
For her I can't looseth
I shalt for her warble ourn own hymn
As for her mine amare, Spanish amour', love, best friend!!!
I shalt for her dandle all her ways
I shalt for her go to war, come home in her embrace
I shalt for her wait
I shalt for her marry, date
Haveth babies as mixed matched creates!!!
I shalt for her
Layeth down mine life
I shalt for her giveth all
No wrong all right
I shalt for her endow to her mine brio
Mine Spanish inclinating zest
Mine liaison tis so real!!!
adesluzky Jun 2013
Once a year, I'm reminded here

on father's day, I have no father near.


My father could not be farther.

Actually, that's not true.

He's in one of the Southern counties of England

but it's distant enough to do.


He has two sons that he chose to have

and raise and support and endow

with all those cultural allegiance mechanisms

that I try to imagine somehow.


Painted their rooms,

changed their sheets

throwing a ball and stuff,

giving them a father that they can observe

doing his worst, best or enough.


I'm a secret secreting jealousy as a crime superfluous to needs

watching all you parented people

making pronouncements on your old Dad's deeds.


Bitter, sour grapes and cynicism are the silent names that come,

"Don't utter or mutter a single word of distain

keep our game a zero sum.

It's not our fault you had no dad

there's no need to rain on our parade!"

I know this poem is digging a hole

but who got you your first *****?


Which, I guess gives me license to continue

to go on about the other problems that came

When I was a kid, they talked of a god

and "Father" was his name.


As if it wasn't challenging enough

there's a celestial, all-seeing eye.

I found daily life to be complex as it was

without attempting to anthropomorphize the sky.


Intimidated, un-encouraged without a male adult to hide behind,

I learned I was a ******* without belonging

while mother ******* raised their own kind.


But, I guess it's time to turn around

face the future face-on with the rest

I've two sons now, who know that they are wanted

Glad I typed this crap off my chest.


Sorry if I offended anyone with a dad

Just wanted to put words to my own case,

it was not written with any malice in mind

just like your annual slap round my face.

...
PK Wakefield Mar 2012
stars that should falling
my hands extended
to catch you breaking
light will curl you
on them in a pile spent
of completely lilies
shall incredibly endow
by momentary
perfect invulnerable
love a crimson
dash of roses to again
lift thy supple
marvel up on heaven
shining so stars
that should falling don't
of anything fear
i'll with tenderest palm
eat the thorn that
would ***** thee and
spend my own
blood instead of thy
own conflagrated
O stars that should falling
Chenoa Jul 2010
Oh, that Winter season
Now far away it be—
How far the damage done
That horrid quarter three.

That crystal cage before,
Which once held to me fast—
Which once I did abhor—
The prison did not last.

A figure from the crowd,
With eyes so honey-warm,
And hands of strength endow’d,
The cage and thorns disarm.

And then the storm-clouds break
As hand firmly clasps hand…
As glist’ning sun does wake
Once empty, lonesome land.

The gentle smile I love—
The firm hands I love more…
The voice of him thereof
Since leaving homeland’s shore…

He did brave my storm!
He, in the crowd, did start
For my glass cage—did warm,
And calmed tumultuous heart.
This was written as a second part to "Pending Freedom."
OnwardFlame Feb 2016
Fake plastic beads endow my wrist
Mascara-less lashes, lamp crown on my head
One of the tallest girls in the room.

I've got so much going for me
I've got the world at my finger tips
But my heart aches and whispers your name
Still today.

I thought, lets all be real cool
Like, drink that whiskey up
Fill up our tombs
You can't respond back to that text message picture
I thought we might bond over how I look
But you chose not to reply.

Technology is an angel and a demon
Appearing like vignettes on my shoulders
Too proud to seek out
But falling asleep in false lashes on my bed
Reminds me of all the times I waited in lingerie
And the Betrayer chose NYC, instead.

"I wouldn't have it any other way."
The Betrayer said, his grin must have been filled
With diamonds and mice
Building mines within those rigged white teeth
Blue eyes so dangerous, I drown myself any time
I ask for him to lick my blood
But I'll be in New York City so soon
Perhaps we will have those intense
Fleeting moments
Of laughing in the streets, holding each other
Laughing like Goose & Duck
So very in love
Tie me up and cut me up just like you use to
But its me that does the leaving in the end
But you predicted we had this 3 more times
In our future
Maybe I need to spice up the pain I've felt in Chicago.

*******.
I'd never been told such a thing till
Peter Pan with his ringlets of flowers
And lemon orange filled lies covered in dust
Pointed it out, just like all of the thousands of times
He made me feel insignificant.

Its amazing how another human being can have the power
To do such a thing
I drink coffee in bed this morning
My face becomes my business card
Going on dates with interesting
But the wrong men
For now, I look down at my invisible clock
In order to represent the urgency of time
But the mundane invisible quality to it all
My God, I miss Philadelphia.

What an easier time that all was
As I bebopped around the corners of the city
There were only so many places to go,
Only so many people to see
My little apartment now belongs to another element
Of the harmful and heartbreaking past
Will I ever fully recover?

A gluten for punishment
I get so caught up in the pain, the heartbreak
Imaginative, paranoid, sensitive
Its what makes me a true artist
Many exclaim
But I take apart the pieces
The confetti filled feelings
Examine them, order a slice of pie to go
And I know I've gotta dance in the forest like fire
Even if we didn't get to that take.

I want so much more
Than you could
Than any of you could ever
Ever did
Give me.
But just like that I remember the big sweaters
My hair black, that Halloween show
I feel like I have spent my life sad about some man.

But I have these moments
Where I think, surely he is going through the same
If not much worse
And I do think thats true
As Peter Pan scrapes and grapples past the memories of me
Moments of wanting to be good he shows
But he will always choose
He always did
The option that makes me feel the most alone.

So I let him.
As other women around me are less strong
Less brave with their supposed convictions
I don't judge, but I recognize
The cave of lost love is a maze
At some points in life you might be brave enough
To leap in and leap out
But Peter Pan,
You have found yourself a spot
Gutted it, stuffed it with Winnie The Poo & Ninja Turtle
Colored it with silly string and batches of *****
And its me now that has to walk out
Without looking back
At the world I can shake hands with
But not dwell.
If she wants a share
here with me now in her race
a coulter forsake her in a cloud
still wager a bet that she's fair
while her attire endow couture
that taxi her runway bare with ESP
even in suburb scroll her flair
a doctrine extraordinar in between
these sheets with me in boudoir.
Free Speech
Frank DeRose Aug 2015
I don't much use mirrors anymore.
I find that I don't have to;
I don't worry about how I look.
I don't care about making an impression so much--
Or at least not in a physical way.

I don't much use mirrors anymore.
The mind refracts glass reflections,
And then they become
Fragmented.
I don't trust mirrors anymore.

Our society enjoys mirrors.
We like dressing up,
And ensuring that we look nice.
But what does it mean to look nice?
Mirrors are a cultural thing.

No, I don't much like mirrors.
They are worthless things,
Upon which we endow our image.
And our image has far too much worth,
For these shallow panes.

No, I don't much use those glass sheets anymore.
Because I'd rather look into your eyes,
And see my reflection there,
As my identity is reflected in you and yours in mine--
For you are a part of me as I am a part of you.
We are true mirrors.
Dillon huey Sep 2015
I could hear your voice calling me from within,
As I waded through the waters of hell and sin.
No idea of direction or time,
It was haunting, yet oddly sublime.
I almost found myself at peace,
My problems and my worries they just seemed to cease.

But that is just the allure,
Of the demon trying to ensure,
My fate, for all of eternity.

Soon I realized that I couldn't stay for long,
And that's when the demon sang his song.
"Stay with me just for now,
And great power to you I will endow."

There he stood in front of me,
It's not what you would expect to see.
He looked just as any normal person would,
Except
His eyes they were as black as coal,
And I knew that he lusted for my soul.

I turned my back,
And went on my way,
Not listening to anything he would say.
I knew that I had to be strong,
I couldn't slip up or turn wrong.

There were no days, only night,
Every passing moment was a constant fight.
Your voice had been silent for quite awhile,
It was the only thing helping a place so vile.

As I made my way through the treacherous pit,
There again was the demon tempting me to quit.
But I wouldn't heed what he said.
For I had no blood left to be bled,
I knew he couldn't truly hurt me,
And past him there was an exit that I could see.

This was my chance,
I pushed past without a backwards glance.
I knew I had been struggling for what felt like forever,
But I pushed on, ready to be done with this endeavor.

Just as I neared the end,
I heard your voice calling out,
begging me to stay,
but it was just the demon's clever trick,
His last attempt at keeping me from getting away.

During my time in this hell I learned a thing or two,
The demon had went to far so I bid him adieu.
At first he was quite confused.
But then I cut his head clean off his shoulders,
And his world grew that much colder.

I left without ever looking back,
For the past was behind me and fading black.
Andrew Guzaldo c Mar 2018
“If you can love the erroneous person endlessly,
Imagine how much euphoria you would,
Have with the right person,
Absinthe as a row of daffodils that spread flaming,

I love you as dark murky things are loved,
If you can cultivate a plant that will endow,
Your heart with a thousand flowers,
It is absinthe in the air that is expressed,

That is intoxicating from such a love.
The sea knows the love the stones,
of the rock as the waves flow above,
Kisses flowered daffodils in the cracks,

Then day came that our lips finally met,
Our tongues braided infinite purity in their crevices,
Kindling our nerves with desiring pleasures,
What can this be I say to myself the essence of?

As absinthe anise flavored from botanic gardens,
As so derives your skin within mine the contour
Of your beauty has quenched my desires,
With infinite purity and Exhaustive ecstasy”
By A.G. 3/2018
Rasheema Brennan Jan 2015
Lee
-A gush more like an abundance of beautiful characterization evolves from your peach filled spirit. Its a vibrant resonance of bittersweet, soft,cool,bold,direct enunciation your love is worthy but your love comes never second to irrelevant bull**. Your a woman of great power, massive abilities your words flow deep deep within the veins of your soul those of which are never familiar of holding grudges.  The golden shimmered but supple sweetness of your complexion has the ability to magnetize many eyes minds and souls keeping people glued like admiring an art sculpture.  Full lips absolute and unimpaired for the perfect man to endow appreciate and adore. Daredevil at hand never depending on  another woman or man's hand. Spirit insignificant never to be compared nor related to another spirit that is not as lively as yours. Majestry is what I call your elegance, your aura a sweet epiphany fantasizing about you because you never limit yourself you are indeed the ****.  Your strength is astounding, although we've grown you are the feminine work of art, a soulmate I will never lose in spirit, the feeling ia stagnant I must be near you your laugh will always be a symmetrical rescue to my mental state of mind.
Jack D Serna Jan 2016
When all the dust has blown
By all the rust be grown
Change the scene for once more;
Leaf in the wind, and spore.

An infinitesimal seed
So hapless and inconceivable,
That emptiness of heart
Germinates of a green new start.

A negligible bacterium
To the unforeseen eye
Effervesce, bloom and spume!
Company will soon greet you!

O embrace the sobering ground,
'Tis here just like you found.
All the resources will draw nigh,
'Twas in you all this time!

All need words of encouragement,
Some protein and enzyme.
Rest, reactants, in thy calm tent,
Get some shut eye to see rhyme.

But ever haunted of the past
Should the even'n empire return(1)
See a world in a grain of sand(2),
But never Heaven on this land.

Lo the booms and the busts!
Lo expansions and recessions!
Lo the mad and the sad!
Lo multitudes and solitudes!

O humanity I love you!(3)
How generations trapp'd
That live in cells within, imbued
To so idly stay rapt.

But to their good fortune, adapt!
You shall be absolved
Walking with peace as every stepp'd(4),
The diplomat endow'd

Alas! A new variety!
With such resilience
In ev'ry zone, ev'ry climate
Here to live, here to please!
1: "the evening empire" from Bob Dylan's Tambourine Man
2: "a world in a grain of sand" from William Blake's To See A World...
3: "humanity I love you" from E.E. Cummings Humanity I Love You
4: "walking with peace as every stepped" from Thich Nhat Hanh's Touching Peace, or any other works.

This was written under the influence of Walt Whitman, and is a collage of many ideas, original and rephrased.
Wanderingsoul Aug 2021
What do I even owe to you?
The stories you brew,
Were from your side
Now let me tell mine, now go hide!
You broke my heart, and only told lies
I didn't have a clue, but now I despise
Every moment I ever thought of you
I thought you did the same, it wasn't true
Told I didn't gave "us" a chance
When I was purely in trance
But I wish you know, how happy I'm now,
And I  wish someday you'll too only have love to endow.
Michael R Burch Apr 2020
Because You Came to Me
by Michael R. Burch

Because you came to me with sweet compassion
and kissed my furrowed brow and smoothed my hair,
I do not love you after any fashion,
but wildly, in despair.

Because you came to me in my black torment
and kissed me fiercely, blazing like the sun
upon parched desert dunes, till in dawn’s foment
they melt, I am undone.

Because I am undone, you have remade me
as suns bring life, as brilliant rains endow
the earth below with leaves, where you now shade me
and bower me, somehow.

Keywords/Tags: Love, compassion, tenderness, kisses, melt, melting, sun, rain, bower, shelter, comfort, refuge, home, union
Haylin Jun 2019
We come before you Almighty God,
Policeman, Fireman, and EMT
to say a prayer before we go
Our ways to each his own Duty

Together now we've come to pray
In case we forget to
During our busy day

The Policeman steps forth,
“Dear God above
Keep us save
and also those we love.

We pray for your unending favor
that we never need use
the rounds we chamber

Our Vests that we wear
for our own protection
please keep 'em bulletproof
and our safety never question”

The Fireman steps up and then takes a knee
“Dear God above I need you now
I know you're always watching me

In the Fires of our Hell
or on the highway to there
Please keep us from hurt
and not singe a single hair

Give us the strength to lift a wall
or tenderness to pick up a tiny child
give us peace when others are losing it
and peace if the scene starts getting wild”

The EMT takes his stand
“God I guess it's my turn
Not really safety out there
or the protection from a burn

But rather Lord I need your help
let me make the right decision
on every patient that I care for
Their lives in my hands I've been given”

Then all Three stand together
with their heads, all bowed low
Dear God above, to all of us
please your mercy would you endow

Keep us safe and bring us home
to our wives and our children
And each time the truck roles out
let it come back safely to it's building
Sid Lollan Sep 2017
this always happens:
sitting at tombstone
desk—blood clots from hours in this twobuck
torture-chair;
4AM? can barely read
my own thoughts,
neatly arranged,
painstakingly painted a
cross ether
glare of the computer screen.
Seven stanzas devolved
from the act
ual epiphany
of the p o e m;
chest tight,stomach churning acid from
cheap *** cheap cigarettes and cheap
grass rolled up in
99 cent Dutchmaster cigars—
Forgot to eat, forgot to hydrate, forgot to remember
the truth i was trying to forget
—forgot the point i was struggling to articulate;
Did i have a point?
I’m beginning to note tiny
Beings of Light
out’ve the corner of buzzing eyes,
all too familiar friends
friends of fiends, vampire junkies,
raving mad x-politicians,
and nocturnal suicide poets—
who after failing to get laid
in college bars
and drinking too much, too many boring conversations
with dull goons;
Get home, pour another glass,
cigarette      to dry lip     in perpetuum; beatiful Miles,
Porgy and Bess, sit down to
computer and write p o e t r y
not prose,
not prose—Man’s revelation of
histories to come, histories manifest.
not prose which brings Man’s higher-self
        into the great
        Universe-at-Large
but p o e t r y, pretentious,
narcissistic, self-important,
which alienates man from his tools of realities;
enemy of machine—but Man is machine;
no poetry is Man!
no poetry is animal,
primal, instinctive;

Well, **** me, half
way thru another cigar,
“maybe i’m not learned enough
to write a story, a **** good one at that…a novel
i’d say
-good luck you simple sloth…How
could you? just a regular self-loathing chimp
who writes — p o e t r y.”
really pondering
hard; thinking: i can’t be [that] dumb,
i'll admit what i don’t know,
(but Hell, least i’m smarter than the next guy, the
       next guy, the next guy…til the next guy makes
me a **** fool; time to relocate and read some books.)

return my eyes to the computer screen,
re read what,
an hour ago,
i was, prematurely awarding myself the pulitzer prize for
as i see it now: pure
*******.
Devil’s attorney
slinking on slouched and grim drunken shoulder,
“hmm…and you say this is your forte?…
I wouldn’t kid yourself…kid.”



Warnings
in grave visions
of a desperate worm of a man
hunched at resin-stained desktop, scribbling away
His fancifull abstractions, broken man— Mad
and scared; shriveled,
scarred by regret—
Thought he was a talker;
witty, true like Bukowski,
        or Heron;
Fresh,
inventive as cummings
        or essential as Pound.
Simple
and brilliantly smooth
        as W.C.A  or W.C.W.
elegant, smart
and far-reaching as Eliot,
        or the Old Romantics;
could have sworn his musings
Rapturous! no Thoreau, he,
        nor as damaged as Poe be
under the Impression
He could stitch his Soul
into the seams of American Divine, direct such
spirits into p o e t r y as ***** ol Ginsberg did
so bravely, beautifully
as
Wherefore art
thou loving father? in Heavens is Walt
Whitman—
He
sure was;
He
was sure,
******* sure he
possessed a nugget of gold, mined
          from inside each of these masterful
Mountains. panned entire sunsoaked cordillera;
yet
each night
would ‘finish’ a
p o e m,
clock out, tho
always would feel, incomplete,
nevermind how many p o e m s he wrote
hundreds, maybe thousands of
bottomless wells
        of words;
Great Idea! Necessary Idea,
take action, he, in prose,
a form of action the action of wit,
to give human
body to formless, ex-humed soul—
Give soul to formless body of philosophy by god!

alas,
the schmuck
never
witty never
potent enough to pen a real
mother-****** of a story,
certainly
never could imbue a plot
with significance, endow with subtext
or builda character out of his p o e t r y,
        Then give it the legs to run for two-
         hundred pages—
He had the ****, just
not the ***** of it-all…
toiled, silly
in his nebulous, castrated,
dimlit room—swelling
whiskey or gin
cigarette glued to his dry lips, attempting
to romance the grey gods so
that thay mey spit mustard-seed
onto humbled holy head—
pray that it may grow, Flower
to full Bloom
even without
ever learning
his Biology.
…never
realizing what he had there—right
in front of him. Poor *******.
-Dumb. he was.
Cursed to be a P O E T.
and doomed to fail as one.




I hate the sound of the Sunrise
when i’ve been up, writing all night; it’s
an alarm like bones in a blender
thru an endless
waking dreamscape;
Sitting, thinking loosely,
wildly, loose-
change two-cent thoughts—
This
this is when regulatory bodies
are disabled, de
funded; radioactive runoff (operational hazards)
contaminates
pure streams;
...random billboard pop
t-r-a-s-h drift in
and out of mind(probably from
        the endless drone of those same 3 chords in
any store or restaurant you enter. How about some Classical?
        Math: the food ain’t rot ‘em enough, let’s assault
   their other senses of taste. Quick. while
        we’ve got them swine trapped!)
politcal memes, halftruths and
newsday buzzwords flash, bright and
silly then recede into obscurity;
only to discover, the next morning,
their greasy finger-prints
given gimcrack shine to deeppurple dawn
Gibberish. trife piffle. bunkum and balderdash,
gobbledygook, mumbojumbo jackshit slangspit
hogwash, ** lotta raspyutintutyncomman nonsensses hoosis mut nowago sayawahhesay too dum for dada…
My
yawns
are now childish giggling;
My concentrated writings. none of it makes any sense to me.
Searching for a distraction
To regain my focus, composure…
biting
nails, tapping Art Blakey grooves on tired desk,
inspecting burning cigarette, forensically.
Oh—
look around for my cat, come here, co
me here kitty. (ah yea, comforted
by familiar purring, a hum from under the bed;

-Close my eyes,
to centralize
to meditate
to ***** out
inanimate,moving parts
to put finger
to pulse of programmed nub;
to create value
for a dying currency of language;
to whisper sweet nothings
in the ears of tender muses
and meaty hookers.
-At this juncture:
reconciled
where the finish line is
strung,
how it appears to me…only snag:
by the time i get here—none
of these
nothing have no meaning
writing,this,that? what? be
low my paygrade *******;
Let stew; sleepy,
delirious, suicidal, anxious, sorta
*****, deadly confident;
Let stew...
…then it hit me like a Point of Intoxication!
brilliantly constructed
Words,
words hanging,
hanging
like a,
Renaissance-style portrait
above a fireplace in an enlightened *****-den,
    -for a moment, seen clearly thru parting
    of deadeye yellowsmoke sea.
Maladroit,
hallucinatory, went to type,
thought better,
no doubt would ****** such
sudden genius,
fumbled for recorder, gotcha
click:
closed my eyes oncemore
to review this epiphany, to record it.
relayed, recited
like a prayer;
perfectly—this must be what the body
of Christ feels like…
when done, i, exhausted,
smiled like a son a *****
how fine
that P O E M is gonna look,
when written
down all nice and neatly.
it was close(but i knew i'd pull
something revelatory out’ve
my ***.)
satisfied,
if my pants weren’t dry
i'd swear i came.

...the following afternoon,
Upon waking, coffee, cigarette, news
in the background,
grab the recorder to listen to this opus;
well,



**** ME!
if
i didn’t make sure there was any space left
on the ****** thing!
bye bye my petty kubla khan
Smart Boy.

ah well...
it’s just
P O E T R Y ya know.
Mikaila Apr 2014
What fills your mind when storm clouds flood your eyes?
Blue eyes, too
And sometimes you'll sit in exquisite stillness
And just gaze
And shadows will pass across your face
The way high flying clouds cast dark patches upon the lonely fields out west,
And I just have to look at you.
Your face is...
Achingly lovely.
That precise phrase.
When I look at you in passing, by accident,
The porcelain perfection of your skin,
The glinting depths of your eyes-
Full of secrets-
The way the light casts the shadows of your cheekbones along your jaw,
Your symmetry pierces me
And I gasp air
Like I've been hit hard
Because in a way, I have.
What is in your head?
You remind me of the sea.
Vast. Deep. Free.
Calm on the surface
And contained chaos beneath.
Brutal but unapologetically wild,
Sparkling but guarded,
And...shockingly lonely.
That is what I see in your eyes when you lounge, lithe, in that ratty old chair
And endow it with a smooth-lined grace it could never even approach if you didn't occupy it,
Arm draped,
Face dark,
Eyes brooding,
Like a sculpture that came alive one day,
Stepped off her pedestal,
And left the soaring, silent museum hall for the scathing disarray of the real world.
I wonder...
Does it disappoint?
If you come looking for this... I consider it your fault.
Michael R Burch May 2020
What Happened to Them?
by Nasir Kazmi
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Those who came ashore, what happened to them?
Those who sailed away, what happened to them?

Those who were coming at dawn, when dawn never arrived ...
Those caravans en route, what happened to them?

Those I awaited each night on moonless paths,
Who were meant to light beacons, what happened to them?

Who are these strangers surrounding me now?
All my lost friends and allies, what happened to them?

Those who built these blazing buildings, what happened to them?
Those who were meant to uplift us, what happened to them?

NOTE: This poignant poem was written about the 1947 partition of India into two nations: India and Pakistan. I take the following poem to be about the aftermath of the division.

Climate Change
by Nasir Kazmi
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The songs of our silenced lips are different.
The expressions of our regretful hearts are different.

In milder climes our grief was more tolerable,
But the burdens we bear today are different.

O, walkers of awareness's road, keep your watch!
The obstacles strewn on this stony path are different.

We neither fear separation, nor desire union;
The anxieties of my rebellious heart are different.

In the first leaf-fall only flowers fluttered from twigs;
This year the omens of autumn are different.

This world lacks the depth to understand my heartache;
Please endow me with melodies, for my cry is different!

One disconcerting glance bared my being;
Now in barren fields my visions are different.

No more troops, nor flags. Neither money, nor fame.
The marks of the monarchs on this land are different.

Men are not martyred for their beloveds these days.
The youths of my youth were so very different!

Nasir Kazmi Couplets

When I was a child learning to write
my first scribblings were your name.
―Nasir Kazmi, translation by Michael R. Burch

When my feet lost the path
where was your hand?
―Nasir Kazmi, translation by Michael R. Burch

Everything I found is yours;
everything I lost is also yours.
―Nasir Kazmi, translation by Michael R. Burch

Syed Nasir Raza Kazmi (1925-1972) was a renowned Urdu poet and playwright. His poetry continues to be used in Pakistan Television (PTV) shows and in Indian Bollywood films. Keywords/Tags: Nazir Kazmi, Urdu, translation, ghazal, couplet, love, pain, grief, melancholy, mrburdu
SANA Feb 15
Perhaps this explains
why God did not endow hearts with bones
because they break so frequently.
Deserie Indigo Oct 2013
Guilt is the omen that sits inside my soul,
Dangling the keys of my sorrowful heart,
It yearns to be set free by the empty hole,
That consumes my body like a foolish dart,
How can one thrive,
Yet ***** by the sin of life?
My love who keeps me alive
Whom I do not call my wife.
How my lies captivate all my joy,
And imprison my thoughts that rage inside,
For my actions make me feel like a silly boy,
Too scared to endow my foolish pride,
The end has come for me to fall into piece,
The end has come for me to never live In peace.
Àŧùl Jan 2016
Tell me why do they fight,
Why did you endow violence.

Tell me why do they suffer,
Why did you gift them pain.

Tell me why do they hate,
Why did you give them feelings.

Tell me why,
Tell me why,
Oh tell me why...


Tell me how to achieve peace,
Why should we not love everyone.

Tell me how to alleviate pain,
Why should we not heal everybody.

Tell me how to initiate love,
Why should we not respect all.

Tell me how,
Tell me how,
Oh tell me how...
My HP Poem #988
©Atul Kaushal
Elizabeth Fruin Nov 2014
A woman sits across from me in the mirror
I pretend she's not there even when I see her
Her heart aches to be heard and seen by me
By all I can do is look away obliviously

I act like she isn't there to echo my truth
The fact that her wrinkled eyes are my youth
I see through her eyes everyday with no remorse
Going about my life not looking back at the source

The things that made me the monster I am now
I don't hate these I hate how I let them endow
They took me over little by little until nothing...
Nothing was left but girl dangled from a string

- E.A.F
To all who see age instead of their youth... ♡ wish you good luck ♡
Jesse R Anderson Apr 2014
Oh, Father, where’s the Messenger?
I can endure not one day more.
They promised me the Messenger
Was knocking at the door.

His gentle words transfixed me,
And bore up the hearts of men.
He said I only need believe,
To be guiltless once again.

His empathy beguiled my soul.
My faith he did endow.
He swore that he’d return someday.
Oh, how I need him now.

Oh, Father, where’s the Messenger
I’ve pinned my hopes upon?
“He’s come and gone!” My Father laughed.
“He’s, long since, come and gone!”
Yes, it's cynical. but it's an apostate's prayer, after all.
Loose thoughts Feb 2015
My predicaments, I can swallow.
Others sufferings, I cannot bear to leave hollow.

Behold, the joy held within a small meadow.
To you, I wish to rejoice and endow.

May the undesired disappear and not follow.
Any misfortune near you I will not allow.

Within that soul, blooming joy, no sorrow.
Lose no hope, thus there'll be a tomorrow.

Lose no hope, thus, there'll be a tomorrow.

~A.d | 10 Oct 2014
Bill Aug 2014
All the fear shook me.

Through me stood the darkness,
I didn't want to start this.

Journey upon me now,
I couldn't wonder how,
Met the curtain with no bow.

The laughter with no trace.
Beckoning with no face.
Worried with no mace.
Nervous without grace.

My strength did not endow,
My will would not allow,
My fear just hit me, wow.

So the walk I must finish,
All the glory to witness.

Mindfulness was the key.

— The End —