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Akira Chinen Jul 2016
Love is not a singularity
It is a whole
One cannot extract a part
Or worship only one piece
It must be accepted as a whole
One cannot only enjoy the soft warm places of love
The pleasent corners and pools
The weak seams that easily split
The lose threads that unravel with the slightest mistreatment
It takes great and delicate strength to walk its halls
Love is complex
And beautiful
It has hidden shadows and dark nights
It cries to the moon and begs for the sun
And it comforts them both in turn
Love is filled with dreams and hope
Longing and doubt
Wishes and tranquilty
Torment and viciousness
It resides in both angel and beast
Heaven and hell
And earth
In the tears of god
And the blood of the devil
One cannot claim it as there own
One cannot truely love any other person
Before loving them all
One cannot give love
Without giving themselves
First to love
Love is of our time
Our blood
Our soul
Treat it well
As you treat others well
Give your all to love
And give all your love
To those in need
Life and love
Though never perfect
Are always
Beautiful
...I couldn't stop thinking about what would have happened if I had allowed you that second chance. Would I have stayed? Would I have been happy, merely because I would have had you again? Would I have still left? Would we have stayed in a relationship? I suppose we would have because VHS is only two or three blocks away from BHS. But I suppose we probably wouldn't have because it was all just too much of a sad situation.
And c... I wonder this quite often... If I had asked you to allow me to explain myself to you... Would you let me? Would you want to hear the truth? Or would you be content with a lie?... I wanted to reach for your hand that day, so badly that it stung. I wanted to hold your hand; see if I could still feel the warmth from your hand radiate through mine into my bones. I remember how it felt to slip my hand into yours, and I desperately wanted to see if I would still feel that now. I so desperately wanted to know how you feel about me... And whether or not you wanted to hold my hand too.
"If only" is just a cliché phrase isn't it? I seem to cling on to the If Only's and What It's more than anything.
You chose the Stage, a Water's Board extend
Which by it's Nature was meant for Sight's View
Yet this Binary Journal I resent
Your Box-Turtled yet Begraced Attitude
Of Purpose made, decide to Advertise
Should keep your Values so firm and intact
Easily submit, to Pressured Teen's size
And forsook Important Treasures extract
If you cannot keep the Job, then resign
Rather than waste Good and Honest Support
With Hooks on the way, hanging Love's design
Wrinkle her Face to your White-Washed Rapport.
I care not your ears waxed; Still this Scroll writes
To Care and Consider; Though this Praise bites.
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
Nat Lipstadt Oct 2017
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


This is not a poem.  This is about a poem.

Poems require words.  This poem does not require words.

This poem requires memories' muscles.
This poem requires what is called colloquially love.

Learn that what we share here is not poetry.

Your poetic senses that produce the words that mark you present
are but surgical tools to extract, release the whole and the parts of you that help shape that single sense borning in your chest that defines you at any particular moment.

Quæ est mater Laureat.

She is the Mother Laureate.

She is the boundary you must learn to cross to be more than a re-arranger of letters and alphabets, but a translator of the human essence and fill our veins with the a sense of awe and wonder felt when we read each other and think aloud,
"yes, exactly, that was and is precisely what I was feeling."

She is the glue that keeps us sticking here, sticking together, each of us sticking to it.  

You do not know her?  
No worries, she will find you when you least expect it, perhaps
when you need it.

This is not a poem.  This is a human who's a poem.

Understand the difference and then you may begin a journey
that has no destination other than weaving the connective tissue that makes us anticipating excited when we log on.

Happy Birthday Mother Poet Laureate!

I do not think I can write a better not poem for you.  
Forgive me then, if going toward, I repost this every
October 24th as long as the chemical composition of
blood, God, spirit, logos or reason runs free within,  
exiting as words encased in tears that formulate into
human poetry.

nattyman

P.S.There are 800 poems here with Sally in the title, and least 700  are about Sally B.   If you like, please  feel to free to add yours, old or new.
Danny Wolf Feb 2017
Here lies all the pieces of my existence
stolen from ignorance,
taken from my hands without question.
Seldom did I even notice I was being depleted.
My hands left to sieves,
even what I wanted to hold onto slipped through.
I created my new existence from the ground up,
debris collected,
what fell through the sieve I swept into bones and skin.
I am made intricate like spider webs,
like little fingers ripping heads -
when did I lose my ability to discern the truth?
I made it hard to find myself.
A couple times swallowed poison I thought was medicine-
takes a while to extract from the bloodstream.
Followed me sometimes into the depths of my dreams,
shape shifting into snakes
and endless seas.
Woke up those nights drowning
in the depths of my own fear infused lies.
I learned to weave quite intricately,
presenting beauty that is a trap for death.
Learned to live without mind on my shoulders,
ripped up my own head
and plucked out each limb.
Funny, though,
how weaving intricate webs taught me
to put myself back together again-
weaving beauty into the veins,
trapping poisoned blood
and killing the pain.
Draw out the demons,
and only truth will remain.
carminayasmin Aug 13
Extract the blood,
the metaphor for this euphoric movie I had directed under the fall of night, alone.
The film began to develop as the bottles began to pile
and thus I began to envision these delusions which I lust would become a reality.
We were a movie.
Especially when your smoke filled my mouth and you fed me love off worn keys.
Made me hazy it smelt so gentle it burned so numb.
Tacky hands rode my skin,
engraving scars of diamonds.
My ego erupted; became so ******* rich.
Illusion said I could buy your love
but your eyes were guilty of unfazed.
Debuts don’t faze millionaires, we just look like more money.
Millionaires don’t even watch our movies.
Scarlet Mar 25
Can I ask something of you?
Just a small favor
I want you to take a knife, and cut me.
Allow me bleed out all my insecurities.
Drain me of who I am
in chance that I’ll become who I once used to be.  
Extract my flaws and allow me to shed this **** image.
Guide me towards who I want to be.
Help me
Renew me.
Please just save me.
Can you do that for me?
untitled Apr 28
the smell of fresh dew tickles my senses,
but an even sweeter aroma draws me closer

your flower, blossomed and in full bloom,
draws me in and I cannot resist my craving

for your petals are fully open and waiting
to extract that sweet, sweet nectar

like a sweet tooth in a candy shop,
your honey is dripping from my pretty mouth
Evan Stephens Dec 2018
On my eleventh birthday
Dad gave me
this book -
The Eyes of the Killer Robot.
Inside the peach
cover was
gothic baseball,
malevolent wizardry,
small breath
horror, and
magic, cut
with 1950s
science.

In the book
a madman
learns how
to extract our eyes
and uses them
to power
an evil
golem ace.

This morning,
twentyseven years later,
in the pre-Christmas rain
that pools black
in the brick
I suddenly wondered
if Dad
with his incurable
glaucoma
his eye drops
and surgeries,
realized he'd given me
a book about
the fears
of stolen eyesight.

And the son
came to know
what the father knew:
the terrible softness
of a trembling eye
under the blooming
steel of
the speculum.
GoAA Apr 9
Extract the scent from my fragile body,
Soak it with your soft, burning lips,
Inhale me like the aroma of a fresh brewed coffee,
Demolish me like a wall, into a pile of bricks,

Play me with your fingers, scratch me with your sharp nails,
Move them up and down me, like the train does on the iron rails,
Torture me, arrive at every station, along your imaginary trip,
Cover me with your attention, don’t dare a spot to skip,

Do whatever you feel like, feel whatever you may do,
Cover every inch of me with your tongue, follow places in a queue,
Drain my energy completely, bite me, even slowly chew,
Once I am weak, infect me, like the deadliest flu.
Aspen Welsch Feb 24
Stop looking at me
as if I’m some
- thing
to swallow up
or spit out.
A berry, black, swollen
ready to be chosen for your
consumption. I sour on your
tongue, assaulting your
taste buds because you
thought the only
- thing
that mattered was the purplish black,
the juice that produced for your
pleasure, my ripe, plump bumps,
my green hands
outstretched ready and there, for you?
Still you pluck and **** and stare
and **** me up with your
barren compliments stripping
my sweet substance
one by one
by one, you
extract it out
of me
Rhoni Marjonelle Jul 2018
HE
Among those people
For me, you're the least lovable
Among the crowd
Your voice tells me you're the most proud

From the first of the days
I listened to your music
I can't find a way
Out of such sound so still

Distant as the ocean,
Bright as the sun,
Eyes of the soil,
A well-versed soul

You're a  flower that blooms in winter
I'm a bee who preyed you last summer

That "first" of the days
It was more than most
It was more than best
It was more than you

Then came another season
There you go, trying to know
That "me" I never wanted
That "me" I never liked
That "me" whom you preffered

But strokes of fate
Unleased its power: hate
Its not yet late
To be each other's soulmates

"He," i preferred so much
Wanting his touch
Seeking for that match
Made in heaven, so please watch

How "she'll" extract
His beauty and love
His songs and poems
His words and notes
UNDONE
Andres Martinez Sep 2018
Headed in the wrong direction
seeking out a prince to make her a queen
Little does she know she rules without a King
The crown she wears made of the purest of gold
harvested deep with in her soul
chipped out of that giant heart she firmly holds
no one can come near it
last **** who did tried to exploit and extract
she never seems to step back
strong willed as ever
she's met some nobles but she deserves much better
No Need to share the throne you've done it all and more while being alone.
stop and think everything you've ever accomplished has been on your own without needing a hand to hold
much greater than I only word to describe you is bold
Out shine the rest out grind the rest
Chin up crown nice and polished
hold that head up high let every one see the pain you've abolished
Queen of Love and all kinds of malice
let some pawn try to woo you all they can do is run back and say their effort was valiant
Rain! Timpany sounds
on the roof and from the gutters
call me to my front porch.
Such music! Like little
silver hammers striking
the drumhead summer-baked
desert floor. Magical music
murmuring to my muse.

Petrichor, after an extended
dry spell, lingers. Nestling in
my nostrils. How could two
chemical reactions create
such delicious desert desiring?
Duplicity of dust and drought
with a wet, wondrous wealth
of water! Whew... hoo!

My eager eyes behold emerald
instead of dull khaki, brown
and olive hues, odalisque
forms of the prickly pear
will become plump in their
passionate love of
precipitation! Ahhhh...!!

What a joy to behold
the crystal curtain once more!
Small beads of moisture
form on my forehead
and fingers. Fascinating
to feel the hairs on my arms
stand up with the
electricity of negative ions...

Every sense is smothered
with summer storm extract...

ECSTASY!!!
Ghazal Nov 2018
I am the cushion that life first rests in,
The crib meticulously created layer by layer,
The soft bed of flowers, glistening like blood,
The protector of all beings, the seat of care

My love is fuelled by the silver calmness
I gently extract from the first lunar night,
When the moon emerges from its dark sabbatical,
Armed with tales it gathered from the other side

Each day, its luminosity deepens, its stories
Turn more vivid, more wrenching, more morose,
I soak it all in- the pain, the suffering, the injustice,
And colour myself, in the darkest shade of rose

My red is no ordinary red, it is the
Culmination of every sister's deep cry,
It is the crimson of anger that can only be felt,
By the cradle entrusted with preservation of life

I am full and brimming, with pangs too strong
And hues of vermilion too dark to contain,
I rock back and forth, my cot full of stories,
Twisting, flailing and writhing in pain

And then I burst out and let freely flow,
The dam I created with laments of loss and love
Painted with conversations lasting until twilight,
With my cratered friend in the skies above

Petal by petal, as I lose my form and disintegrate,
She is connected to each woman's cry that I assimilate,
Flexed at the pelvis, helpless yet so strong, she listens,
And understands the lore I sing about, every twenty-eighth.
The alarm blares, its seven in the morning exact.

Her mind is bare and her memories can not extract
the happenings of the days that hurriedly passes,
burdens on her back, stranded, sigh; “surely the grass is
greener on the other side... it has to be! As this,
is no way to live, seemingly stuck in the abyss.”

Stiffening day to day regularities; mundane.

Everyday the same - soul crushing, she’s turning insane.

No change. Nothing to remember, a routine ingrained,
by her brain. Life cycle? The cycle through life remained
on the same routes without fail, no twists or turns in sight.

10 pm - night, wishful thinking she holds onto tight,
yearning for the twist of fate her days have greatly lacked.

The alarm blares, its seven in the morning exact.
- tried to keep it around thirteen syllables per line
Nebi Nov 2018
One day the sun and I rose in synchronicity
and I stretched up as the light shone down
warming the cracks along my back
from everyone who broke me.

Suddenly it came on strong
the flowing knowing of why I am alive
I speak it as my truth because I can't make this **** up
but I caught on to this notion while the pieces make up all I am.

With you it was the first time in life I could breathe easy
as if I could lean back, close my eyes and finally relax
Noticing all the right small things
I knew you saw me, who I was and could be.

I thought I could trust it because it was imperfect
my secrets glimmered in the dark and you crawled there too
that even though we didn't choose to be human
we could find solace in choosing each other.

I'm not one for being out in the open
my way is to keep my feels on lock and throw away the distraction
then you introduced me to encouragement
and like you and sleep deprivation I was done.

It's all about perspective
I learned you were the light and I the reflection
you act as if I could extract you
to go back to before we met.

Someday I hope you realize I can't just choose love
I am love, unequivocally, eternally, inside and out.
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