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Heavy Hearted Mar 29
As the growing world unraveled
And I began the dismal ascension of maturity
I stumbled out the  fog of childhood
And there you were:

Advice to head and educate
A Battlecry and a Mandate.

Faith; in things to happen yet
Strength in knowledge- hope in regret;

Stories expressing casually:
Evils impartiality. and
tales of golden fantasies

How no drug is ever stronger than me.

These few phrases I imagine, you see
Into dreams only I can keep.
from start until the seventh day
Waking hour's dreamless sleep.

Oh how you cushion the destruction-
the entrancement of seduction
to paint to play to grow to teach
Expression extending as I reach
.
A letter to the greatest artist
V Oct 2018
we explored one another,
similar to that of how the seven sins
would explore their vices,
corrupting their virtues.

but that's what made the garden blossom,
grow with intense passion that radiated
with a melancholy glimmer, with a dipped
and ragged vine of sweat and sheen
arousal and desire.

  craving, begging, mewling, whining;

gluttony, craving for the excess
sloth, craving for moments of rest,
envy, craving for a bearing of arousal,
lust, craving for a touch, a sinful taste;
greed, craving the moans and swatches,
wrath, craving for sullen destruction,
pride, craving for the fall of a bereaved apology.


    our garden;
a place of virtues, a place of our vices.
you showed me the deepest things,
darkest epithets of what was to be explored,
blossoming a crimson rose of pure desire
in the pit of my abdomen, vines of thorns
wrapped firmly around my hips
and the soft ashen flesh of my wrists
soon to be accompanied around
the thin circumference of my ankles.
the shark divots soon finding their
way around the swells of my breast,
and the tremble of my inner thighs;
body arching, lips quivering,
ecstacy of your words,
your seed planted garden that
became a part of me.


I found the cardinal sins in
the dropping countenance
of your words, of your demands, and of your wishes,
and i bathed in it,
soaked myself up in the lavender of
your scent, the scratchiness of your thorns.

our garden was the place to cast our sins,
delve into them, and it ruined me,
but oh how I solely craved it.

our encounters, our actions, our experiences
putting even the seven deadly sins to same,
forcing them to turn when catching a glimpse
of us. The swells of their cheeks blossoming
with that of a rose tinted hue.
Marla Nov 2017
Feeling
Is difficult to express
In words.
Yet I know
What the horn player
Means
When he plays his chords.
Pain can't be made
Plain to those
Who don't feel it,
Yet I know why
The pianist sobs with
Eyes that are dry,
His fingers moaning
A cry of mourning,
Filled with dread.
Until his fingers
Are the ones that
Sob instead.
Big Virge Feb 2015
Do you ever ... " Find " ... ?
that words ... sometimes ...
keep on running ...
through your mind ...

Sometimes ...
My Rhymes and Words
are ... STUNNING ... !!!!!

These days ... I find ...
My ... " Word Designs " ...
" Refine " ... and dine ...
just like ... " Fine Wine " ... !!!

So ....
Here's ... A few ...
to give you ... clues ...
as to ... some of the ways ...
My wordplay ... moves ...

Wordplay just ... RIDICULOUS ... !!!
Volume ... Straight Up ... INFINITE ... !!!

Inception is ... SYNONYMOUS ...
with Big Virge ... " The " ... EPONYMOUS ... !!!

Conception ... NOT ... INGLORIOUS ... !!!
******* ... " Nope " ... ERRONEOUS ... !!!

My use of verse is ... GLORIOUS ... !!!
In fact it's ... MERITORIOUS ... !!!

because it's ... "TIGHT" ...
NOT ... Porous ...

Chorus ... NO ... !!!
because it flows
and has ... NO PLACE ...
on ... " Talent Shows " ... !!!

TALENT ... Whoooooaaaaa ....

You'd ... BETTER KNOW ... !!!

What I construct ...
may ... one day ... BLOW ... !!!

A hole in all these ...
shows for ... " **'s " ...  

" Prostitution " ... NO ... !!!
NOT ... how I roll ... !!! ...

Talking of those ...
NO TIME ... for Coc' ...
or YES ... ******* ...
because my nose ...
Does Not ... house notes ...
where air should flow ... !!!

Flows ... I got those ... !!!
Quotes that ... " Rock Boats " ... !!!

Races Places ...
So Many Faces ...
Sometimes my mind ...
DEFINES ... INVASIVE ... !!!!!!

Wait ................................... ..........

I'm just ... " Playing " ... !!!
and ..... Relaying .....
words of verse ...
from the thought of ...

... BIG VIRGE ... !!!

My head ... IT HURTS ... !!!
just like ... MY ARM ... !!!
because I write ...
like those who ... fight ...
and wear the garms' ...
of those who choose to ...
YES ... Bear arms ... !!! ...

Violent ... Naaaaahhhh .... !!!!!

Big Virge is ... calm ..........................

I'd rather ... " Charm " ...
But ... Please Be Smart ...
before my words ...
get in ... Your Claaat' ... !!!!!
or your ... " Rasshole " ... !!!!!

Am I Bajan ... NO ... !!!
But ... Here's the quote ...

I'm English born ...
So ... know of ... Their Scorn ... !!!

But am now ... REBORN ... !!!
with ... " Caribbean Views " ...
just down the road ...
from my ... New Bedroom ...
On ... Bajan' Shores ...
NOT COLD ... but ... " Warm " ... !!!

I'm ... HAPPIER NOW ... !!!!!
that ... I have found ...
A place for myself ...
on my ... " Parents' Ground " ... !!!

Africa ... " Next " ... ???
Well ... More or Less ...

So much of this world ...
I haven't seen yet ... !!!!!!!!!

Girls ... that's where  ...
This poem ... ends ...

SO MANY ... " Look Fine " ...
but I just ... Can't Find ...
one who's down ...
to ... " FOOL AROUND " ...

With ... The Man ...
..... BIG VIRGE ....

The ... " Connoisseur " ...
of .... Spoken Words .... !!!

I guess that's why ...
I write ... These Rhymes ...
and ... Put in Verse ...

Words that ... " Traverse " ......

That I now find ...

" Run Through My Mind " .....
Literally, words just started, running through my mind, and these ended up being what came of them .....
ManxPoetryGuy Dec 2018
The words I write mean everything to me, something to other people, and nothing to others.

But it isn’t what people hear from my words that matter, or how people see me because of them, but what those words mean to me.
Nikki nashon Jun 10
Why
i smoke poetry while i ****
i wrote this thinking of a soliloquy
caught lying, poisonous seed
i feel no need to be. unfettered by what is need
im dying
Nat Lipstadt Apr 2018
I am not the master of my writing

-
my writing masters me,
seizing me when the seizure is a sure thing,
it dictates to its enslaved scribe
what it desires this utensil to reveal and expel -
the contraries
who having battled to a ****** draw leaves the battlefield trembling with indecent indecision; the optimal conditions for its macrobiotic invasion of my brain stem;

the she-muse offers me two choices:
she wants a poem writ forthwith
on the lyrical expression
of depression and refusal is
non optional

so I fantasize escape and that becomes
her property as well;
evidence against me to be used at my trials,
the one where there is no statue of liberty
from the limitations of prior bad acts;

I offer the she-muse two choices:

give me a cabin with WiFi
and self-enforcement of solitary confinement and
tie me up with the rope remainders of broken bonds,

bonds that tied me up worse
when they were broken
and the peaceful withering
that won’t disrupt disturb nobody
from a distance

my other choice is to bury me
forthwith next to my parents
and shutter my constant tearing eyes which are drop-resistant

muse says that’s no choice
I own your voice stilled or not,
will bill your soul’s account for
denial of poetic services

weep; i don’t want the noises that curse this troubled
bodyship don’t want recollections good or bad

the muse-***** cackles with insanity of delight
for she accepts this writ as partial payment
on her commission, whispers I love your
lyrical expressions of depression
that ****** recognition algorithms
alert me that seizing time is nigh

there is no on/off switch for one like you:
father son and holy ghost
Haze Jan 2018
I am help captive in the arms of my captor

Only looking at the future it gave, no other

Walking up the path filled with grave-given, fallen flowers

I rise above the clouds having hope as my only power

This is she to me, *España y Filipinas
This was my own attempt in interpreting the message of a painting made by one of my countries best painters, Juan Luna. It was actually in the test given for arts class where they asked us to write a one-verse poem about how we interpret Espana y Pilipinas and this was my answer to that portion of the test. I must say, a lot of culture and symbolism in one painting. I realize how great the other art forms are besides poetry.
My bones bubble with lava
red pustules absorbing the hot air an angry cloud full of
hail and snow and sleet
blockades my throat
I am all feelings and no action
all body but no voice
Wet and Wanting
All ears and no mouth
All tongue and teeth and spit
but no words
A violent storm with no landing zone

What am I to do with all this wreckage?
Stormy Grey Dec 2014
There comes a time
In everyday,
Where sense of reality
Withers away,

In hours or seconds-
Days or years,
Your soul will awaken,
Along with your tears.

Red as the roses
And weeping like willows,
The windows start crying
While your lungs start to billow.

But when this time comes,
And you cant get away,
Please stick around
For at least one more day.

I know things are hard,
But they will be okay,
Please let down your guard,
We will make it someday.

Stormy
Tommy Randell Jun 2017
The world has corners where Ideas meet to exchange gossip -
I speak quietly in my life about my thoughts, their meaning.
It is more than eloquent to believe mere Ideas have a life unspoken.

Like seeing the clouds moving as one and time passing as they go,
Seeing the wave of a breeze running across a wheat field, like some hand
Brushing the ripe grain and saying 'There, there – It will be time soon.'

The life imagined out of what the world presents to us, its substance,
This life becomes us as Thinkers, Poets, Artists and Human Beings -
The shapes we make of these thoughts are very much the best of us.

In my daily turns I speak quietly about such things to my friends,
Letting the zoo of my imaginarium mix freely and wander wide.
On the whole my words mean no harm and grow from the good of it.

I speak quietly of some things only as Poetry, however -
That I like the small persuasions. That the wind can move our thoughts.
That our fates are the paths we walk. That time is a present to be shared.

That our hopes are the slipperiest of dreams, sent to keep us awake.
That Joy in the world can heal it, though happiness always breaks.
That mountains are a silent scream, never to reach the stars.

That not speaking of some things at all is often the most arduous.
That sometimes ideas have a ferocity best to be kept unheard -
And in those Poems, that is when I want you to listen your very hardest.

Tommy Randell 06th June 2017
This poem isn't at all about Politics. In fact it is only about Poetry
Marla Oct 2018
My wretched little life
Consumed by pity.
Trying to open my eyes,
I feel the weight.
Why bother standing
Here in this blistering cold?
My soul's worthless
Anyways,
Too old.
I'm always shivering,
Constantly battling
Deluded musings
And babblings.
Maybe I've gone sane,
Maybe I'm numb to the pain
Of normalcy.
MG Feb 27
Writing and taking pictures.
Those are the only two things I do for myself.
I feel like I can finally breathe.
It's amusing how unleashing inner creativity
can make you feel whole.
Like a child, learning to color their world for the first time.
Out of the womb, taking your first breaths.
Or taking your first breaths,
after feeling like you've been suffocated for months.
As an "adult"
being cast inside a 'box'
I've learned to fall in love with the beauty
of others art.
And basque in the comfort of my own.
thank you
Grumbling engine underground
Again
Rotates and repeats.
The echo
The steamy yawn
Mellow fiend unseen
Creeps
Bearing teeth in metallic joints.

A fat snake's yawn
Blows and bellows quietly.
Uncoloured ornament at ten feet
Floats through that crawling wind
Full from everything it could eat.

***** sand in the far east
Rustic in the sense of dripping spit.
The blue walls painted over the white plain
Are scratched
White walls slain.

Drilling ripple
In the black pool
Ink
Coloured the lonely riddle.
A cold under the sun
Blinds our noses
Disguising away our senses.
© Teri Darlene Basallote Yeo
Madison Nov 2018
Music devours me.
Every note
Every verse,
Chips away at my existence
Until I’m lost in its rythme
Lonely day and solemn night
Guide this pallett to the light
& Let the fear and need create
What words cannot communicate

The Painter;

a slave to love and duty,
Passionate anguish;
Desire and beauty.
self poem vs self portrait

Poems pointed with meaning while paintings uniquely described certain feeling s
Marla Jun 7
Jump on the web
From your cozy stead
And surf with elation
This sensation's spread.
Reams upon reams
Of coded lines lit alight,
Together they stream
Bringing all of these
Terrific writes to life.

As we all beam,
Shook to the core
With contemplation,
Let us release our dreams
To be borne by all
Overlooked by salvation.

Thus, I bid ye an axiomatic decree:
"Poetry is life's garden and life is her tree."
Justice is just is
never changing always broken
the powerful get rewarded the weak get mistreated
morality gets wounded and then healed by fake promises
we gave justice eyes
because it seems to only serve those with lighter pigmentation
hidden in webs of lies, truth is not to be mentioned
justice is just is because no one wants to rightfully serve it
I want to run, I want to hide
From all the pain he caused inside
I want to scream, I want to cry
Why can't I just tell him goodbye

I want to move on; I can't let go
I love him more than he'll ever know
Memories come, when I'm alone
Thinking about all the things that I've been told
I want to start over, I want to be free
But this pain and memories just won't leave me

"If I am stressing you out, then you should just forget about me,"
How could you think it's so easy?
He hurt me bad, the pain is deep;
From all the promises he couldn't keep
All the things I heard him say,
Are in my head and just won't fade

How can I forget him, leave him behind?
Erase the memories from my mind?
He doesn't love me, and he never will
He will never care about how I feel
Originally written and inspired on 24/8/17 by Chloe Keane Sapphire Lim
Edited on 22/11/17
©2017-2018 Poems_expressions_words_truth. All Rights Reserved.

Instagram: Poems_expressions_words_truth & clej__chl.oeelim
Jme Love Jul 2018
Only i am to blame.I carry with me this heavy burden of self pity and shame.
I took time for granted always thinking I had enough.Wasting it,losing it,always in a rush.
Never did i realize what was passing me by.All those memories that should have been disappeared in the blink of an eye.
The time I wasted is no longer around.The time i lost can longer be found.
I sit and I dwell.My thoughts are proof im living in my own personal hell.
Only I am to blame.I wasnt there and everything changed.
I missed all those special moments in time.Now im sure im the furthest thing from your mind.
It breaks my heart.Please have no doubt it tears me up inside and out.
Only I am to blame.Im the one that left and nothing was ever the same.
I hope you know you are always on my mind.If time would allow I would surely press rewind.
Time was no friend to me you see.I took it for granted now its left me empty.
There is one thing tho that can not be taken by time.Its the bond between your heart and mine.
Please remember no matter how much time we lose,You will forever be a part of my heart and i will always love you.
mothers day 2018.a letter to my 3 children
Bella Dec 2018
true expression,
a look in the mind of a poet.
writing is all about bending:
words and punctuation and rules to your will
to make your work sound the way you want.

Because in writing there is what is written,
and there are the directions,
which are the punctuation.

And if the writer chooses
for them
to contradict
it makes
everything oh,
so beautiful.
This was part of a comment to a poem "ME" by another author "Lidya" that I wrote a long time ago
And I turned it into a poem
Speak Slowly Sep 2018
I write to you, to you my dear. I write now but I'll read to you soon, I hope you'll hear me then. I need to get it off my chest, words I want to express. I'll tell you three things, to express your worth to me. I hope you keep this close, to free up doubt in anytime of your life. I hope you think of me, when you read these three poems.

To you my dear, I fear that anyone who comes to know you, will discover you're true beauty. Not just looks, not just pretty eyes but a beautiful soul behind that lovely personality. I love how you care so deeply about me, seemingly so when you are troubled yourself.

To you my dear, I adore how kind you are. You see, I find myself smiling every time you do any small good thing around me. I appreciate your deepest qualities and your kindred spirit. Even when I see your inability, I can't help but adore and love you.

To you my love, the enchantment of being with you, are moments I enjoy most. Latent with so much love and chemistry, I cant wait to see where our path goes. I'm so fond of the idea of 'us', I wonder where this river flow will go.

To you
From me SS
-SS
Day 25
Gabriel burnS May 2018
I hadn’t spoken for so long
a tiny spider had moved in
at the corner of my mouth
eating my words

my tongue laying limp like a
slain dragon at the bottom of the cave
like a king who passed away right there
on his throne having given the last order

my arms almost as still as uncontested borders
only palms carry out maneuvers
and fingers patrol the manifestation of expressions
commanded by thought fibers
like puppet soldiers

and the lines in the sand are words
born of themselves
telltale heartstrings stalking now the realm
just outside the eye orbit
Sing to me what you wish and curse,
in a choir or solo verse.
Scribble down A poem or rhyme,
i’ll give it all of my time.
Sculpt and carve me your heart,
with all its many complex parts.
Paint me all that you dream,
the simple or thee extreme.
Draw me things of what you fear,
or what you hold close and dear.
Speak openly about your thoughts,
all that you seek and all you sought.
Suggest it in A metaphor,
so I can envision what you saw.
Act it out in A scripted story,
so I can marvel at what’s before me.
Write it like A biography,
so I may behold your odyssey.
Free hand me how it is you feel,
so I can see something that’s real.
Be yourself come as you were,
that’s the you that I prefer.
For D.J.H
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