Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Alvaro Avila Jun 24
Everything Alive, is Fighting To Live
With The Exception,
Of a Few Others....... And Me.

AvA
Poolza Jan 28
The way you look at me
The way you talk
Makes my heart melt

The way you run
The way you did anything
Made me fall for you

But this love is forbidden
I'm not supposed to like you

Even if I told you
What if you don't like me too?
Our relationship would be no more
I won't get to see you

So,
I'll just bottle it up
and never ever tell you



Unless, you like me too.
You expected a brilliant girl with a pretty face
For her to go to college
So you can praise her in every way
Expected her to remain the same
When she is drowning holding out her hand
To be saved in any way
Expected her to be great no matter
What pain comes her way
Even if she feels like she being beat like a slave
Somehow you expected her to remain the same
Even through the struggles placed in her way
Everybody slapping her in the face
Everybody calling out her name
Even through the hurt and pain
I am not the same
I can’t hold in the pain
I am breaking and nobody realize my pain
I think it’s too late
Suicide is all over my face
Alvaro Avila Oct 23
I Am Loved by Everyone Around Me
With the Exception
Of A Few........And You.
ryn Feb 2015
People cheat,
people lie

To get ahead
or
just to get by.

They do it out of deemed necessity
or
have made it a successful habit.

Some would feel bad,
but
some wouldn't lose sleep over it.

Some lie to protect...
Some lie to infect...

With little remorse
or
full blown guilt.

Either way
risking
all they've built.

A lie is an accessory
that most tend to abuse.
A convenient mask
for the ugly truth
that most would misuse.

Lies are...
The bane of relationships
Destroyer of trust...
Conveyed by irresponsible lips.

So have I ever lied?
Have I ever desecrated
honesty's pride?
Have I ever wielded it
to save others from harm?
Have I ever employed it
to boost my charm?

No I haven't,
now that's a lie...
Spouted that so easily,
I didn't even need to try...

Honestly,
YES I HAVE.
I am no exception...

I am no saint,
I'm only human
...
with an ill sense of direction.



I have lied...
How about you?

Search deep inside...
*You know you have too...
s y k Feb 28
I sit back, reminisce and daydream of our first kiss.
How it made my head spin,
and livened my heart,
took off with my breath
as we danced with the stars.
Swaying on tiptoes
in the grass to a song,
moving closer and closer
in your arms where I belong.
A smile escapes your lips,
you knew what to do,
entranced by the words
"You've got me wanting you"
You leaned down for a kiss,
to follow through.
For a sweet instant, the world fell to a hush
Stepping back, I couldn't help,
couldn't strive not to blush.

It's a moment that I keep
under heavy lock and key.
I dare not to share it,
I keep it just for me.
Count this an exception, I wrote it down this time.
Let the relic of our first kiss never die.
Snapshot of my first kiss with Jordan. We spent the whole day together after meeting for the first time and it happened when we were back in my garden, dancing to sugar sugar by the archies. Perfect ending to the perfect day **.
Sid Lollan Apr 2018
Gentlemen of Courage and Ladies of Excellence,
Toast to stolen prayers with rarer player’s hands;
Soft in defiant laughter,
when drinking their wine from the bowels of brines

Sing along the Ballads of Heritage with Melodies of Exception;
Boast, not a breathe,
though sullen heirs ghost to fairer wearer’s air(s) of land—
A settlement of Rapture and Resurrection, arid, amid dirt and sand

and King and thy Kingdom sprout flowering tomb, and rosebud temple reach to the sky during the showers of spring
Devours the crescent Moon

in big pink petals of bloom;

A garden so fertile
it could look pretty in wartime—
with Gardeners of Courage and Laborers of Excellence;
(Lapse, not into digressions of Being and Essence
but hands in the soil and planting the actions of kingdom come,
       patient building of Spring Reign sure
as the flame, the architect of rising Sun is
(Daughters and Sons of kingdom came,
      the soldier in a land been conquered and named; abandoned
for the greenness of hope.
)May it never come, Be All The Same; (


be gentle, though whispering wind)

Seeds of Nextyear and the spores of Awhile,
carried by the Wasps and the Clouds
To the Gentlemen of Excellence and Ladies of Courage,
illuminated, eyes from the flora of stars faraway forest floor of foreign

      fears,
      as the hungry Owls of Time prepare a final feast—
      Consume the years between Here and Now;
      Watching from blank perch, among
      the Trees of Afterall; a place beyond expectance.
      Sing the branches of experience, to wake
      in Siren’s cipher; inelegant forms
      of waking,

ugly sleep on rocks of seabed; once was aboard a marooned skyline—

Those Who Are Will Be
again, again a serf in a wave of Time’s refraction. Neverending neverbeginning;

                          Those Gentlemen of Courage and Ladies of Excellence,
on the Day That Is, arrays of seers sayers doers displayers
optimists and pessimists, toast to them
        and their rarer player’s hands,
Boast they, not a breathe, though sullen heirs ghost
to fairer wearer’s air and land;
Laugh and howl and dine, they drink their wine
from disemboweled gourds
        of their own divine—
Warped, in jowls of hungry fix,
no feast they fear, for they prey to the Owls of Time.
False Poets Oct 2017
does the moon get tired?

~for the children who never tire of moon gazing upon the dock,
by the light of the fireflies,
till the angels are dispatched by Nana,
to sprinkle sleepy dust in their eyelashes so long and fine~


<•>
while walking the dog I no longer have,
a happenstance glanceable up over the River East,
there you were, mr. moon, in all your fulsomeness ,
surrounded by a potpourri of courtier clouds,
all deferentially bowing, waving,
passing past you at a demure royal speed on their way
perhaps,
to Rebecca's northern London,
of was it south to grace of  v V v's Texas^,
in any event,
the cloudy ladies, all bustling and curvaceous,  
all high stepping in recognition of your exalted place,
Master of the Night Sky

We,
the word careless, poets excessive,
sometimes called silly poppies, old men,
left footed, still crazy after many years,
most assuredly poets false all of us,
without a proper prior organized thought train,
outed,
bludgeon blurted,
an inquiry preposterous and strange,
strait directed to the sombre face,
to mister moon himself!

tell me moon, do you ever tire?*

the obeisant clouds shocked
as that face we all uniform know,
unchanged anywhere you might go  to gaze, be looking upon it,
watched the moon's face turn askew.

He looking down at our rude puzzlement,
with a Most Parisian askance,
a look of French ahem moustacheoed disbelief,
while we watched as the moon cherubic cheeks
filled with airy atmosphere,
then he sighed

so windy winding, was it,
so mountain high and river deep,
that those chubby clouds were blown off course,
from a starless NYC sky
all the way past Victoria Station,
only to stop at Pradip and Bala's
mysterious land of
bolly-dancing India,
on their way to Sally's Bay of Manila,
magic places all!

Mr. Moon looked down at this one tremulous fool representative  
(me) and in a voice
basso beaming and starry sonorous,
befitting its stellar positioning,
squinting to get a closer look at the
who in whom
dare address him in such an emboldened manner!

Mmmmm, recognize you, you are among those
who use my presence, steal my lighted beams, my silver aura,
my supermoon powered light, borrow my eclipses,
reveal my changeling shaped mystery without permission,
only mine to give, you tiny borrowers who write that thing,
p o e t r y

head and kneed, bowed and bent,
I confessed
(on y'alls behalf)

we take your luminosity and don't spare you
even a tuppence, a lonely rupee, no royalties paid
to you-up-so-highness,
and we hereby apologize for all the poets
without exception,
especially those moon besotted,
only love poem writing,
vraiment misbegotten scoundrels....

with another sigh equality powerful,
mr moon pushed those clouds across the Pacifica,
all the way to the  US's West Coast,
up to Colorado,
where moon-takings from the lake's reflecting light
so perfect for rhyming, kayaking,
and moonlight overthrowing,
once more, the moon taken and begotten,
nightly,
as heaven- freely-granted

yes, I tire
and though  here I am much beloved,
usually admired though sometimes even blackened cursed,
seen in every school child's drawing,
in Nasa's calculations,
of my influential gravitational pull,
moving human hearts
to love and giving Leonard a musical compositional hint,
and while this admirable devotion is most delighting,
would it upset some vast eternal plan,
if but one of you once asked,
you fiddler scribblers
my prior permission,
even by just, a lowly
mesmerizing evening tide's tenderizing glance?

yes, I tire,
even though my cycles are variable,
my shape shifting unique, my names so at variance
in all your many musical sing-song dialectical languages,
my sway, my tidal currents so powerful a deterrence,
unlike my boring older sunny cousine  who just cannot get over
how hot looking she is,
I,  so more personally interesting,
yet you use me as if I were a fixture,
on and off with
a tug of the chain string,
never failing to appear,
even when feeling pale yellow and orange wan,
and worse,
mocked as an amore pizza pie,
do you ever ask how I am doing?

yes, I tire,
of my constant circuitous route that changes ever so slowly,
but yet, too fast for me to make some nice human acquaintances, especially those young adoring children
who give me their morn pleasurable squeals when they awake and my presence still there,
a shining ghost of a guardianship protector still
watching over them

how oft in life do we presume,
take for granted
grants so extra-ordinary
that we forget to remember
the extra
and see only the ordinary

how oft in life do we assume,
the every day is always every,
until it is not,
only an only
a now and then,
till then,
is no longer a
now*

<>
oh moon, oh moon,
our richest apologies
we hereby tender and surrender,
our arrogance beyond belief,
what can we offer in relief?

silence heard loud and clear,
mr. moon was gone,
a satellite in motion,
so our words burnt up in the atmosphere
unheard

we did not weep
nor huff and puff,
blow those clouds back to us,
for we knew
the extraordinary
would return tomorrow,
we will be ready,
better another day,
to prepare
a lunar composition,
a psalm of hallelujah praise,
for mr. moon
of which
mr moon will never tire,
for filled with the perma-warmth
of our affection
for the one we call mr.moon
False Poets is a collective of different poets who write here, in a single voice,
hence the confusing interchangeable switching of the pronouns.    sorry bout that.


^ HP - give them back the claimed  V name!
onlylovepoetry Nov 2017
(the gate is a crowded mess, please no special requests, be thankful you got a seat, this flight is sold out and I’m beat.  
I get up and stand on my chair and say)

I give thanks for:

the uncommon greatness of common sense

for the steady approach of that wondrous day when
kindness is neither random or unexpected,
but the rule, not the exception

for our opinions and deeds, that are our own,
derived without coercion, born from our thoughts and observations and that
we are equal to both
owning them and to
changing them

that we live in a time that friendships can grow just through the quick exchange of words leaping bounds

for eyes that see deep deeper than skin,
ears that hear
what those ashamed wish you didn’t, hands that grasp regardless of distance,
the taste of  kisses that come easy sweet  

for the  day when I at last knew,
the pleasure of giving
so far exceeded receiving,
that giving and receiving became
synonymous

that I learned that the best skill to possess  is
to anticipate
the needs of others

that my lucky position in this world permits me
to act on the things for
which I am thankful


that someday I will need no longer inquire,
are you my poem,
for the answer will be self-evident to us both
LGA 11/22/17 1:00pm
igc May 2015
I am Comfortable
     able to ease your fears with
     a smile or a flip of my
     appropriately curly hair.

I am forgiven traffic ticket
     proper sentences and twinkly
     eyes, able to ease your alarm

I am Just a Warning

I am The Exception
     elegant sentences
     king's English
     never tolerating the incorrect use of their

I am private college education
     the accessory to your culture
     the other to your subject
     always complimentary,
     but never the source of discussion

I am Beautiful
Accompanied by "What are you mixed with"
     A reflection of appropriation for my own culture
     Too White for Black,
     Too Black for White

I am inner city in the suburbs

I am Lightskinned
     the kind of Black that keeps you
     Comfortable.
wc Jul 29
you are a light in
so many people's lives, i
am no exception
an attempt to describe my significant other
lila Mar 30
did you know
1 in 5 women
will be ***** during her lifetime
but every 1 has a name
and every name has a story
and no one story
is ever the same
mine isn’t any exception

it didn’t happen at all
like u think it did
there were no shadowy figures
reaching out rough hands
to pull me into an empty alley
as i walked the streets alone at night
8 out of 10 rapes are by someone you know

my body wasn’t a rag doll
to be thrown against a brick wall
while ****** objections flew
from my mouth like cannonballs

it was just us
in a space that was ours
a hushed no living and dying on my lips
the scary sweet nothings
whispered in my ear
must have drowned out the tides
rolling in and streaming
down my cheeks
because your hand never once left my throat
and you didn’t stop

i was nothing more than a shiny object
laid out on a dingy sheet
for you to devour
made to please

but when i rusted
i was abandoned
right where u took me
a corpse to rot
amongst the flowers
but if u squint hard
i may be pretty enough
to use again
3/28/2018
ryn Dec 2014
It is believed that we came from you
I am no exception; I've been made the same
I'd like to come home now
I'd like to leave behind just my name

This/there is no place for me
Yet there is only one
A place within you
A venue graced with no sun

Time has come for us to merge
So Mother Earth
Won't you open yourself up
Swallow me whole and make it my last berth
Don't you sometimes wish the ground would just open up under your feet and swallow you whole...
Diary of Jane Aug 2017
You
the light
to my dark
the sun
to my moon
the exception
to all my rules

You
the miracle
I never expected from life.
Lawren Jun 2013
A calm and cool breeze
Passes through the leaves of the trees,
Persuading the branches to sway,
Like algae in a turbulent sea.
Without a cloud in the pale blue Arizona sky,
The sun radiates down-- hot and glaring.
It reflects off the shiny paint of the cars around me,
Illuminates the brown mountains in the distance.
And magnified through the thick lenses of my glasses,
It blinds my sensitive eyes.
The surrounding sempiternal desert
Is so clear and sharp,
That no one nor nothing can hide
(With the exception of the beings who can blend,
And despite my tiring efforts,
I am not one of them.)
The nearest Creosote bush
Eminates of the smell of water,
As it passes through a hose.
I am instantly transported back home
Where sand is replaced by grass and plants
That require regular watering to survive.
When I close my eyes I can see
The illusion of a waterfall, created by the uncoiling hose
As it ejects tepid water for us to traverse.
But upon unveiling my windows,
I allow the sandy landscape to penetrate into my soul
And I am brought back to the present
Where life subsists, illogically,
Through a dearth of water, and inordinate sun.
Francie Lynch Sep 2018
Every living body has a digestive system
That ends with an *******.
The body politic is no exception.
why
This three letter word fills our days

with doubt,
sometimes reason

Let it not echo throughout your days and steal your peace

For too much of something is not a good thing, and

doubt
fear
unsureness

are no exception
Logan Robertson Apr 2017
every year
grandpa tells
the same story
over and over
like he's saying
it for the first time
he loves walking
in his own puddles
it would be
at the dinner table
during
Christmas and Thanksgiving
there's a candle lit table
waiting for good cheer
not ours
we stood sentry
to grandpa's story
as our faces glowed in horror
grandpa had that effect
he would begin
by looking at grandma
at the other end of the table
a nervousness in hers
and with a gleam in his eye
and a broken record inside
he began
there once was bag of marbles
... ha, ha
he would actually say that
and inside
all the shiny marbles cling and clung together
... ha, ha
your grandma and I
... get this
we were a red and yellow marble
and the exception
as his voice raced faster
his eyes bigger
his face a sweet melody
and he's so kid like, and he's eighty
..." we banged"
..." we banged"
the words coming out juvenile
perhaps from a drunk,
but he doesn't drink
then
on cue
he prompts us to say
you what?
"we banged"
"we banged"
..."your grandma
was in my back pocket"
his face lighting up in a smile
his eyes and ears peeking, waiting
for applause
and we did ... we did
grandma
her face beet red
she would look around the table
her eyes looking at the turkey
back at him, back at the turkey
we could read her mind
every year the same story
that's grandpa
grandma, for her part
would always
bask in grandpa's puddles

LR-4/24/17
island poet Apr 2018
~for Verlie Burroughs, a ‘fellow’ islander poet with a sense of human humor~

walking the reservoir on a warm spring day,
Central Park littered with tourists and pale face,
fellow islanders, all of non-Algonquin Indian descent

released from Rikers Island (of course) Prison,
six month sentence served
behind bars of winter grayscale skies
and snowy steel and grey prison everything

an out-of-townsfolk young lady passes me in a pink t-shirt,
where humans these lazy days declare their entire philosophy,
“I’d rather live on an island”
and thus a poem commissioned

well, rather brought forth from the chilled, deep waters surrounding the brain where winter vegetables rooted but cannot  surface,
the iced ground frozen impermitting bodies to be buried,
no war and death monument foundations to be poured,
flower-powered poems unable to pierce as well,
even with the upwards ****** of cesarean birth
and or, one last push and me begging
breathe
winter strangled

but I walked today
the Central Park reservoir and
all I got was that stupid t-shirt provocation
with
tulips and daffodils, dogwood and magnolias, and
cherry blossoms confirming,
it’s okay today to write of
islands and shoreline once more,
of
boundaries now and again

though the idea had prior brief transversed
the thought canal, was struck into action
when realized suddenly a dawning -

a l l  m y  l i f e,  I  h a v e  l i v e d  o n  a n  i s l a n d

counting backwards seven decades with a
collegial exception, of living by a great lake,
which is but an island in reverse,
poet *** prophet had to always walk on water to get home

<•>

my poems are travelogues,
not pretty words and tonguing talk,
sorry not,
more tales than wagging tongue wordy tails

but dumbstruck by the ocean notion that I live by the
grace of an Ocean that waits patiently to reclaim my island,
stealing my unborn poem children and
tried with a Sandy haired girl a few years ago

hurry home to scribe, and imbibe,
write upon its streetscape
with colored chalk and
upon it once more,
the concrete paths and
a reservoir dirt path surrounding and shorelines
that are all the shaping of me

all my life, and Neverland realized
I am a seagull disguised as human
On the back of a green sleeve
We tackled the holes
Mum and me
He came to the door just as before
But nothing changed
Exception remained
I felt the impossibility.

Love mary
Wk kortas Feb 2018
Once (not that long ago, perhaps, though we likely know better)
The summers were languid, liquid things without end
Each day fully equipped with a high sky,
The blue so all-encompassing, so all consuming,
That lazy fly ***** seemed to disappear
As if God had scooped them up like so many routine grounders.
We played, in a field long since abandoned
To crownvetch and scrub grass,
Twenty one--five points for those *****
The celestial powers had bobbled
And we were able to catch on the fly,
Three points if we took it on the hop,
One if we safely trapped it before it rolled stone dead,
And so our Julys and Augusts fluttered by,
Every bit lazy and aimless as butterflies or knuckleballs,
With the exception of the de riguer tribunals
In which the assembled debated and determined
Where bounce ended and roll began,
Where shoestring catch was reduced to single-point trap.

It all came to an end, of course;
At some point, we crossed a line
(Undelineated but firmly established nonetheless)
Where it was no longer advisable to attempt this at home,
Mere joy no longer an acceptable substitute for proficiency.
Find something else to do, kid, we were told,
And the bats went to the back of the closet,
The gloves and ***** consigned to a spot
(Where we would surely remember to find them)
Behind some canned tuna and Christmas lights,
The fastball blurring by us now,
The field a warren of subdevelopments and cul-de-sacs.

And so you’d forgotten,
Or perhaps just suppressed, the whole notion;
There were, after all, a gaggle of coupon books
With return addresses from an ever-changing confusion of banks,
Sales on pasta and milk, other fees and foundations
Politely requesting ones attention,
So you couldn’t be sure
That it was really the crack of an old thick-handled Adirondack,
Or the comforting thwick of the ball landing squarely
In the pocket of a Wilson A-2000,
Yet when you wandered to the window and peered out,
There they were, looking straight up at you,
Waving their hands like childlike Prosperos
Gesturing to reveal some fairytale glen.  
Come on back, they are saying, and you go down,
Powerless to resist, even if you had wanted to,
Returned instantly, seamlessly to a time and place
Where a shout of I got it! I got it!
Was all the prerequisite or vitae that was required,
And you are unable to bring even mock-edginess to your voice
When you insist I got that cleanly on the hop.  That’s three points.
The Great American Game is back in Florida and Arizona--not that it ever actually left.
Big Virge May 2017
Exclusion or ... " Inclusion " ...  
Which Option Do You Choose ... ???
  
Do You Feel Like ... " Your Inclusion " ...
Is The Passage To Be ... " Cool " ... ?!?
  
Even If The Crew You Follow ...
Is FULL of ... STUPID FOOLS ... !!!!!
  
FOOLS Who Use ...
Their Snakeskin Shoes ...  
To Make Those CRUCIAL ...
  
... " Power Moves " ... !!!!!!!!!!
  
If That's You ... ???
Is That ... " YOU " ... ?!?
  
Are You ... REALLY ...
Being ...... " True " ...... !?!
  
Or ... Living Life ...
In A ... " Human Zoo " ...
  
By This I Mean ...
Your Self-Esteem ...  
Has CLEARLY LOST ...
It's ..... " Mr. Sheen " ...... !!!
  
You're In A Zone ...
Now FILLED WITH CLONES ...
Whose Facade ... Is TOUGH ...
When ..... NOT Alone .....
  
They Change Their Ring ...
WITHOUT ... Dialling Tones ... !!!

Because They Have ....
Such ... " Brittle Bones " ... !!!
  
They Claim To Have ...
A ... " HAPPY Home " ... !!!!!
  
But FEAR The Thought ...
of Life .... ALONE ....  
  
They Surround Themselves ...
With SUPERFICIAL Friends ...  
Throughout Their Week ...
And At .... " Weekends " ....  
  
So ..... ???  
Which Do YOU Prefer ... ?!?
  
Exclusion or ... Inclusion ... ???
  
A Life Without Confusion ...
A Life Without The Nonsense ...
of ... " Agenda-Lead Collusion " ... !!!
  
Do You Need Doors Open ... ?
  
Or ... Do You ... ? ...
Open Them ... YOURSELF ... !?!?!
  
Do You Want To Make A DIFFERENCE ...  
Or ... Get Yourself SOME WEALTH ... ?!?
  
I Try To Keep ...
My ... Mental Health ...  
By .................... AVOIDING THOSE ......
Who Have ..... " Foul Smells " ..... !!!!!!!!!
  
I Trust In ... " God " ...  
And TRUST ... MYSELF ...  
To Do What's RIGHT ... !!!
  
Or ...
BURN IN HELL ... !!!  
  
I BELIEVE In This ... !!!
  
YES ... Love Thyself ... !!!
  
Love Those Who ...
Do Love Themselves ... !!!
  
WITHOUT .... VANITY .... !!!
Or The .... " HARD SELL " .... !!!!!  
  
These People Make ...  
Our World UNWELL ... !!!!!
  
Look In Their Eyes ...  
  
They're TELLING LIES ... !!!!!
To Be .... " Accepted " ....  
By ..... FAKE GUYS ..... ?!?!?
  
Who Just Can't Take ...
..... My Diatribe ..... !!!!!!!
  
This View IS MINE ... !!!
It's NOT .... " Divine " ....  
  
Don't Feel Inclined ...  
To ..... FALL IN LINE ... !!!!!
  
Exclusion ISN'T ...
.... My Design .... !!!
  
It's Been ... " Designed " ...
By ..... " Simple Minds " ...  
Who NEED Inclusion ...
  
.... ALL THE TIME .... !!!!!
  
Why Do They NEED IT ... ?!?
  
They Can KEEP IT ... !!!!!!!!
  
I'm An ... EXCEPTION With Insight ......... !!!
EXCLUDE ME If ... You Feel That's Right ... !!!
  
At The End of The Day .....
We're ALL GONNA DIE ... !!!!!!
  
Those Who ... " Exclude " ...
Will Probably FRY .... !?!

Finding INCLUSION ....
Where ... LUCIFER LIES ... !!!!!
  
That's NO SURPRISE .... !!!!!
  
.... " Facades and Lies " ....  
Are Them DEFINED .... !!!!!!

But ... CAN'T DiSguIsE ...
Their Fraudulent Guise ... !!!!
  
It CAN'T Be Wise ...
To ... Always Hide ...
  
YOUR True Self .......
  
Why Be So Sly ... ?!?
  
That's A Question ...
I DON'T Face ... !!!  
  
Because I'm ... ME ...
WHEREVER I Be ... !!!!!
  
I DON'T NEED ..... !!!
These PHONEY CLIQUES ... !!!!!  
  
What About YOU ... ?!?
Are You ... TRUE ... ?!?!?
  
Or ... Do You NEED ... ?
These POMPOUS CREWS ... !?!
  
That's Up To ... YOU ...  
What Do You Choose ... ?
  
" Exclusion Or ... Inclusion "
On the basis of Trumps' dismissal of Comey this week, a good piece on, related subject matter....
Next page