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Rich Hues Jan 13
In Manolo Blahniks,
While her chair wears her jacket
And her fingernails play Orpheus
   On a cigarette packet,                                      
A cold goddess in stone                
And in a flounce of french lace,
     Gravelled footsteps don't lift
Her resting-*****-face,                                        
So I announce my arrival                      
With an unconfident cough,
                Her eyes still on the sunset,  
             She tells me to...
                                           *******.
Kleigh Oct 2018
Performing full of passion
Watching you through my vision
You catch my attention
And I ended with admiration
You don't have an exact description
'Cos you're the best than my expection
And totally beyond my imagination

Before, I live for nothing
As you came it's worthliving
You are life changing
You give my life full of meaning
Everything you do keeps my heart beating
You are the reason behind this feeling
You keep my heart trembling
Can't help just keep on admiring

It is not an obsession
Just giving me a daily motivation
And become my life inspiration

You always makes me smile
Even the distance between us are
thousand miles
This kind of situation is totally fine
I love you as a man
But you love me as a fan
I love you even though you are not mine.
Dedicated to a man I never have
Where Shelter Feb 20
~for Allison~

she loves your poetry,
ok you think,
cause you just love her his-stories of her/here life,
the children, the musician, nominate her as daughter,
her poetry and her yay’s spontane-us,
we are fan fanatical
of each other

and she describes us perfectly -

“So I am an idiot standing in a sad storm of letters that are unrelenting”

ok you think,
not bad, for surely
only the most precious things in life are
unrelenting

2/20/19
When a white woman is victimized they'll scour the streets, fan out, stop,
harass, detain, arrest any black man. Any one they can finger for the crime.

They say things such as they all look alike or something to that effect.

A black woman is abused they'll look around, see white males everywhere but they cannot find any suspects? None of them fit the description.

Why is that?

Yeah, that's right, it is because they all look alike! Too many of 'em. Can't arrest everyone now can we? People have rights!

Yep,
          I suppose they do...



As long as you consider them,
                                                        "­people,"  
                                                    ­                           -they have rights.
For those who bother to check..my father told me about the original T.V. media on this and I deduced the rest by a sheer enjoyment of the man. Love you AL.
Anne J Oct 2018
Lady of the pale pink fan
Who's covered in the faded blossoms of your clan
I'd like to see you move away from the brown tree
So I can touch your kimono as I go on one knee
Today I made a poem about a Japanese man proposing to a Japanese maiden who lives in a **** that loves blossoms and the color pink. I hope you like. Just realized that this is the first positive poem I've done...xD! Lol.
Tommy Randell Dec 2014
To loosen with my bare hands
the wide air between us
in explaining something of meaning
I almost feel
I am pulling flesh
from the living and moving moments
possible here.

It is somehow breaking
the natural order of things
to use words alone
of all viable means
in setting out the wind-waves and rivulets
of ideas internally flowing -
but I must try and get something out for once.

I circle in bad phrases
prickling with the itchiness of sharing,
I send out a few vague words
horrified and perplexed
at their translation now they are naked
knowing you too listen
and they are at last unalterable.

Deep in the brain, far back
this is my bad time
but I know where the roots go
down into me
and from the storm’s heart
perpetual agitation pumps hand in hand
with calm acceptance.
The self *****, alternately
to fan and to freeze
whatever doubts or unease are burning.
Talk travels the spaces between us
through the clear air
in the kind of silence
surviving bones may know swinging in a wind.

But I know stillness can become alive
when living mouths bring their hearts to bear -
ears can well hear
what the breath has to say,
as the eye sees
the body’s smallest noises -
face to face we are a field of listening.

The warm comes without sound.
This is only the edge of a becoming.
We are not trapped in the lips -
already we lean inward
to know of each other and to give
not words for the wind
but a dance at ease with all that flows.
Steve Page Mar 23
The bridge character
is essential to the narrative,
it's just not HER narrative.

And later,
as if because the readers
have asked for more,
as if something about her
caught their imagination,
prompting fresh fan questions,
she features again
and the panels frame
more detail,
more of her back story,
her motivation
and perhaps we learn
her true name.

In a few years time
it may be that
a reader develops into a writer,
or perhaps an editor,
and a story is commissioned
telling HER history
with colour,
with space
and we see, at last,
her scars
and at last we see
the essential essence
of how she came to be.
And we identify
with HER.

But one night
when we look back
when we read again
that first appearance,
we realise that there remains
some unexplained detail,
a few missing pieces of her jigsaw

and as we put the final touches
to our too tight cosplay,
we wait, with hope
for her OWN title
that just might reveal
her full narrative.
Reading my back catalogue of comics.
sara Jun 2018
I'm transparent like a window
but I'm prone to keeping curtains closed
to cover up my youthful,
aching, naked soul.

I used to be promiscuous;
my essence on my sleeve.
a charming laugh; a crystal glass
from which many a fool drew drink.

A chalice of life;
warm like cinnamon wine,
soft like angel's delight.
Beheld by every eye.

But it never felt right;
I was smoke off a fire,
yet still smouldering coal.
Just a young, beautiful

byproduct of desire.
There's no smoke without fire.
Although, I tried to fan it cool;
the flames ran only wilder.

But as the old wind blows, it seems
a withered tree still grows new leaves.
A dandelion spreads its seeds
but they lie far away from me.

Now, I move transcluently-
ultraviolet invisible ink-
I speak in soothing whispers;
they travel further than you'd think.
Iridescence is things seemingly changing colour on their own- I think we all have the power to grow and move away from our pasts.

I love how fire is a destructive yet cleansing force.
Bow Sep 2018
I see things from the corner of my eye
I've never told anyone that

shadows
walk
back and forth
on my front porch

a man
a lost woman

the monster under my bed
now lies beside me

when you asked me an important question
I lied to you

be happy
it wasn't to your face

camouflaged in the dark
If I see things
I should be their friend

Your God blessed me with no sound

I'll never hear the shadows
walk around me
Lost Soul Sep 2018
It
Try not to think about it
Shove it down ....way down
Don't show it
Its bubbling up, it wants to escape
I don't know how long I can hold it
I'm not that strong
I want control over it
But it consumes me
I am it
And it is me
I wasn't always this way with it
I never would shove it down
Until one day I was mocked for showing it
I was told I was weak  
Because everyone has it ... and they can control it
Its all in your head , your a cry baby
I believed it
Why couldn't I control it ?
Next time I'll try my best
But I  feel it again....its about to escape
I can't let it
I try shoving it down ....way down
But that doesn't stop it
Now its flowing out of me like water
I need to stop it
I run to my room , lock the door,shut off my phone
So no one can see it
I look in the mirror
Puffy face and bloodshot eyes are the result of it
I sit in front of my fan
The cool air dries it
I sit until all the evidence is gone
Until I can walk out of my room and deny it
I have to ... I'm not a cry baby
I can do this  
I am it
And it is me
I wanted to write a poem that could be interpreted. When writing I didnt know what "It" was . I wanted the reader to fill in the blanks.
I also wanted this poems to represent my childhood where my family didn't have a name for  mental illness.So i would have to try to describe what i was feeling but as a little kid i just describe it as "It"
Which of your Favourites you take to Trust
And hoping One of them will fill your Void
So Alone, though in Many you Adjust
Though their trifle pertinence you carry
Those Nerds ahead just consider you Strange
Yet Groupies counteract with their own Praise
Now who is Correct? They sit at the Lounge
Then settle to offer your own Fresh Space
That around your College are Ideals formed
When Some in Prayer may publish their Book
Took you as a Model; And Critics scorned
See their Used Lives in a Better Outlook.
You just have to Smile; And Happy you did
Fan their Frustrations of that Love you hid.
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
Paul Mar 13
Over the bed, a ceiling fan revolves
elliptically. The yellowed walls speak
of anxieties archived by the lungful.
From his fingers the snaking upward blue
smoke of burning tobacco describes tumult.
She has gone back into the world. Alone
in their aftermath he smokes like a figure
growing distant in a cinematic moment
emptied of heroism. The worn sheets rope
about his ankles and recall an  inmate’s noose.
She'd been inside. And for years. How she assumed
her role in the act, face to the wall, silent
as though taking a meal frankly, work-like.
It was a thing they laughed about. Her parting
glance was inscrutable. He drew deeply, and a ring
of orange fire bloomed, briefly proclaiming love
remained a chance. Who could know? The arhythmic
rocking of the fan beat the hot air back
onto him, the lone smoker, smoking blankly.
The curtains billowed into the parking lot
like some great tongue, wildly, mute. And under
the window, in the shadowless heat, a dog,
limp with thirst, laps at the drips that drip from a pipe.
a re-write and re-post. I've strived for meaningful enjambments and a sense of metre while attempting to sound contemporary
Sueño Oct 2018
Fan
I just can’t get it
A whole new meaning to
‘Try to forget ‘ and
You’re only insecure when you know she deserves better and
There’s no cure but
She feels untethered and,

We could walk
See what’s right
I can almost taste all of  your tears tonight
No rules on a hearts desire
One day you’re here
and on another expired

What’s the point of doing all this
When you know you’re wrong
And not seeing all of this
And even writing a song
-
Woah, but her face is so pretty
A woman I’d bring to every single city
You know what I want
But it’s very very selfish
Close your eyes and come with
Anything you’ve got
I’ve crossed my line and now it’s time that I
get lost.
Just a smile ago
Dead Rose One Mar 2018
nobody gets the cancer twice.  
(a blues guitar riff)

blood in the stool
ain’t nobody’s fool,
whent to high school
did not graduate,
but know it wasn’t no thing I ate

scale greets me friendly like,
long lost buddy from yesterday morn,
‘let get right down to it,
let’s see how much less of you borne
leftover alive from the prior day’

spirit spit blood from my gums,
got me a woman, she’s way over town,
woman said I’m brushing with
too hard a brush, alright, alright,
make no fuss, she’s good to me

nobody’s fool whent to school,
though I did not graduate,
a mean riff is better than a
slow moving woman blues cry,
got the strings to do my screaming

doctor is a fan, name is Jimmy,
played music like last time round,
Jimmy-jamming, dancing in the waiting room,
“that cancer got kick, it’s gonna get ya,
think I told ya that about hunner times before”

‘nobody gets the cancer twice,’
an old wives tale for unlucky po’ somofabitches,
do you some tests, tell ya the specifics,
right now, lay, lay down them new tracks,
no quitting time less the good lord comes a-calling’

blues guitar makes a man
cry shiver scream and shake,
progressions licks and tricks,
so you can’t tell what’s making
a grownup man cry and laugh louder

bring me my medicine
bring me my guitar
all I know is how it makes me feel,
oh baby once a night it’s true,
nobody gets the cancer twice
King Panda Apr 2016
I try to cry
but I can’t
I mute my tv
so I can hear
the pain reverberating
from my nostrils
like I am being
clamped together
in the fetal position
until blood squirts
out my ears

I try to cry
but I can’t
I mute the dog by
giving her a bone
I mute the sun by
drawing the shades

I try to cry
but I can’t
this muted pain
it’s locked in the attic
deteriorating
I mute my neck by
taping it to the fan
I mute my breath
with my belt

roll down my eye
to my lips
I want to taste
this ******* stupid world
for myself
ryn Sep 2014
Elephant in the room*, shoo the hell away!
Don't stick around; I wish you wouldn't stay

Don't mess with my head, inciting all I feel
I don't need you here, I want to heal

Stop blaring in my ears, your noxious lies
I'm sick to the stomach with my pathetic cries

Resist flapping your gigantic ears
They simply just fan the rage in my tears

Quit blocking my view with your sheer enormity
Get out of my thoughts so better I could see

Halt your incessant skin rubbing against my sores
Chafing me raw on top of my existing scores

Pull out your pointy tusks, they poke and jab
I'm bent in many places; I don't need more stabs

Take your infernal rear out of my face!
I'm self-destructing, counting up the days

Cease your retaliation, leave with no protest
Go find and sit yourself in someone else's nest

Drop your intentions to stomp me broken
I'm mangled enough; almost misshapen

End this mindless rampage...please
Let me iron myself straight, in peace...

Dear elephant, have you gone?
Thank you for the blight of my time, you've spawned
It is from gentle thoughts
that love is always born.
The first tender image
is the wellspring from which
all further affection does flow;
it can quench the thirst
of even the driest among us.

ღ ღ ღ

Every gentle thought
that drifts through my mind
speaks to me of only you;
the logic of love
sounds like madness
to those not being
nourished by it,
but to those that
have love's taste
upon their lips and
in their mouths,
they know the
truth of it.

ღ ღ ღ

The logic of love
is truth itself,
and tastes much
sweeter than all the
more accepted types
of reason. Alas, the
heart that will not
let itself be conquered
will never accept these things,
for it all sounds so very foolish.

ღ ღ ღ

When the heart tells the mind
to love, and be loved, the mind
answers, And who are you,
who with honeyed words tries
to ****** our intellect;
do you think your power
so great that it would
convince me to reject
the wisdom and sense
of the world?


ღ ღ ღ

The heart smiles
(its genuine smile)
and replies, Mind,
I am but a messenger,
and am newly sent by
the master of us both,
for Love is our ruler,
as always this has been,
though we've never taken
our notice, for the Master
is often away; you, so
distracted with your words,
and I with my desires. Let go
and we will be free of word
and desire; let Love as our
natural sovereign reign.


ღ ღ ღ

All of my life, and all
the strength I can find
(for at least a moment),
love mercifully lends
to her sweet eyes, and
I don't hold on to love,
as my lower instincts
would have me, but
just let it flow through
to settle as it chooses
on this page, for to be
treated in this way was
love always intended.

ღ ღ ღ

for her alone
in secret words

and i
can see you
in these yellow
butterflies resting
on sleeping branches
so lightly and i just
listen and stare and
don't need to touch them
even though their beauty
almost demands it of me
no need to get
even a step
closer
i just watch
and stay quiet
inside of myself
and just love you
and me and all those
butterflies can stay...
they never need
to fly away...


ღ ღ ღ

I still see you
in those butterflies,
and remember the lesson
I should not have forgotten,
that love can only hurt
if we try to hold it.
I love you still, but
I let go of it, as
I let go of you,
and I don't,
and you don't
need to hurt anymore.
Alyson Lie Oct 2015
The way a devoted fan
refuses to wash the hand
touched by the one they admire,

I recoil at the thought
of thoughts that may interfere
with our most recent talk,

close my eyes so no new images hide
the sight of your smile, your lips
pursed in thought, your thin fingers
brushing the wind-blown hair
from your face, your leopard print
sneakers, your hands in mine....
Or was it mine in yours?

This is the dreaded foretaste
of suffering. We both know
what harm can come
from holding on too tightly.
We have learned by now
that all things are impermanent.
Nothing, not even this,
should be clung to.

We have wisdom
on our side, you and I,
and this is why we
should survive this unsettling
flood of love we feel.
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