"felts" poems
I laugh when I cry
Poison in my eye
Crazy fuggin guy
He who looks ablauf
Could never figure out
What clouds cry about
Cause a dream I wanna had was raining on my best days, and every boring morning there was a blue moon, started after meeting lost souls
Names locked in poetry
Immortal permanently
Unfortunately woe to me
Mind melts
Star belts
Deep felts
-Luca Ivaldi
Jul 30, 2018
Jul 30, 2018 at 11:57 PM UTC
Is this raining sumer ending into september
With the bang of thunder coaxing the
Eight ball into the felts green exit rolling down the tubes of
Las vegas like red boxcars rolling away with
All the cash.
I hope so
I want our team to play
And shake cans of raineer
Beer in the pinical moments
Sucess.
And spray broken chalk conversations after
We harpoon the no 7 whales with our maple
Mcdermits. A universe of of black hole eight *****
Will mark are sucess in the end
When we shatter the rack like
The uviverses biggest bang
The sound creating the foot note
Of imtimidation after sinking melodic
Rythems and strokes in to
The corner pockets surrender.
This is how we win
This is the unicorns
Hope
We are and will
Become
One of the silver dollars
On the glorified bar.
Sep 6, 2013
Sep 6, 2013 at 5:30 AM UTC
I've got this frozen heart inside-
at the same time,
that fire of desire is still burning me alive.
I couldn't level out these feelings if I tried,
so for now I'll cling to the few good memories you left behind
just to survive.
Thinking about those nights that felts so good I could've died,
and I did, now dealing with this ghost called conscience in my mind-
telling me I should quit this.
We were with it,
now "we" isn't,
and I was just one out of
God knows how many so-called b*tches
that you played, and now I'm enslaved-
by the idea of you and I.
Which now I know can never happen,
I realize everything you claim to be is one big lie.
But I am stronger than I know,
I am not your precious little prize.
I've got the courage to look right into your manipulative eyes.
I see straight through you,
through all the arrogance, the wrongful pride,
I look at the kid I thought I knew and see he never even existed,
so we can never coincide.
Perhaps none of this is true,
maybe it's not your fault or mine,
and you didn't intentionally ***** me over-
you're just
devious
by
design.
Jun 28, 2013
Jun 28, 2013 at 12:56 AM UTC
*In her Easter bonnet
It was so very long ago.
The world was full of hats
in those far off years.
In the spring
the hat maker came to our home.
She pinned her felts and silk
to my mother’s head.
Added feathers and flowers.
My mother would be beautiful
for the Easter parade.
I still can see her lovely smile.
I tried them on when she was out.
Until my head became too big.
One hat in each box
representing one more Easter.
The hat maker came until the end.
Then when the
chemo took her flowing hair.
We sat outside of her bedroom
all of her children.
The hat lady came that year
for the last time.
She left solemn and quiet
her old eyes cast to the floor.
We all went in her bedroom
to see her last creation.
On her head a beautiful
hat with flowers and fruit
and ostrich feathers.
Her head perfectly covered.
Not even a sign of her lost hair.
And that was the last time
I saw my mother smile*
Feb 22, 2016
Feb 22, 2016 at 1:49 PM UTC
Biccets and pizza for our tea.
Blankets and toys that talk to me.
All this fun, what a world,
full of cakes half eaten, hurled!
Coloured in with a felt tip pen.
Was my new game, in trouble again.
Green on the face and in my ear.
Thought it was a good idea!
Two years old and full of beans,
no time to sleep, the tiny wean.
Imagine how much fun She'll be,
next time she gets to play with me!
Jan 9, 2011
Jan 9, 2011 at 1:54 PM UTC
..over ....there.. ..... .. . ...
in the fogged....corner ... ......of my mind.... ..sits.........
a ragged girl... ..making.. knitted scarfs. ....out of archaic thoughts... of fear and darkness.. ..she knits .. on rusted steel pins....
with sinews of .... scar and ...mis-threaded ... ......thoughts of disdain...the scarfs..... great.............spiderwebb-ed ...........things designed ....not .....for warmth....but to catch ......and.. choke...and.. confound......the ....mind unwary. ...she...... the girl ragged and........unkempt .....plucks
...... .. .fluff..
and ........lintcrap ........and ....feared.. ...sacred.... fuzz. ....then felts and twists it..... ......into ....straggle-taggle, tangled...... twines.......
she is .......the keeper.......... ...of the ..drives..... i.. took.... with my father.... of the nights..... stood upon ledges. .. gleaning courage to stay...or ...to leave same... courage .....different
outcome....
of the ......blackouts.... and ............grey days of the words... ........
.....spoken........................
. ......................unspoken..... that stripped ....my youth... of meaning and life....
and joy... these are the ragged ...straggled......scarfs of memory....
i will not wear.... .
........ .....this is why........ ..... she.........the ragged unkempt .... relic..... of my youth .....resides..... unloved.....
in the ...back... alley..... ............corners of my mind... so that..... ninety five ...percentofthetime.........
i can forget .......
.....she is there...
....itisthefivepercent.....
like .....tonight ....when she raises her eyes...
.... and stares me down..... that it is the time...... for the tide ....of regret to run.......... .....for a short while.....
before.. the ebb...of memory.
Jul 22, 2014
Jul 22, 2014 at 7:02 PM UTC
*The hat maker
It was so very long ago.
The world was full of hats.
In the spring the hat maker came.
She pinned her felts and silk
to my mother’s head.
Added feathers and flowers.
My mother would be beautiful
for the Easter parade.
I tried them on when she was out.
Until my head became too big.
One hat in each box
Representing one more Easter.
Then when the chemo took her hair
We sat outside of her bedroom
The hat lady came for the last time.
She left solemn and quiet
Her eyes cast to the floor.
We all went in to see her last creation
On her head a beautiful
hat with flowers
and ostrich feathers.
Her head perfectly covered
Not a sign of her lost hair.
And that was the last time
I saw her smile*
Dec 4, 2015
Dec 4, 2015 at 7:33 PM UTC
I'll sort out the regrets of tomorrow,
And look forward to yesterday,
Heart-felts are expected but,
They do nothing for my heart, I felt,
For now I want this dying to stop,
But I won't speak until it starts,
I thought my heart was only theft,
The way you stole mine for joy and used me for less,
Now to rescue a time so divine,
But it moved me like a statue,
Forever to look forward to my next,
For never to look beyond my best.
Apr 17, 2012
Apr 17, 2012 at 2:49 AM UTC
*It was so very long ago.
The world was full of hats.
In the spring the hat maker came.
She pinned her felts and silk
to my mother’s head.
Added feathers and flowers.
My mother would be beautiful
for the Easter parade.
I tried them on when she was out.
Until my head became too big.
One hat in each box
Representing one more Easter.
Then when the chemo took her hair
We sat outside of her bedroom
The hat lady came for the last time.
She left solemn and quiet
Her eyes cast to the floor.
We all went in to see her last creation
On her head a beautiful
hat with flowers
and ostrich feathers.
Her head perfectly covered
Not a sign of her lost hair.
And that was the last time
I saw her smile*
Feb 13, 2016
Feb 13, 2016 at 6:00 PM UTC
Count the stars ohh fairly dust
as the phantoms of love touch
in linguistic anticipation of chance
trading meanings, making winnings
In a room full of laughter and fantasy
on the different levels of unplanned
stormy felts of felt emotive response
of eons ago and pretense of the present
Count the stars ohh fairly dust
sprinkle this self sustainance in plenty
Unweighted and unchained from locks
clocks and clicks of despair and want
In a life full of obligation and expectation
Let me be within the dreamt memory
of the light casts of alone and bliss
as the night caress the unspent future
Jan 7, 2017
Jan 7, 2017 at 5:21 PM UTC
The milliner
*It was so very long ago.
The world was full of hats.
In the spring the hat maker came.
She pinned her felts and silk
to my mother’s head.
Added feathers and flowers.
My mother would be beautiful
for the Easter parade.
I tried them on when she was out.
Until my head became too big.
One hat in each box
Representing one more Easter.
Then when the chemo took her hair
We sat outside of her bedroom
The hat lady came for the last time.
She left solemn and quiet
Her eyes cast to the floor.
We all went in to see her last creation
On her head a beautiful
hat with flowers
and ostrich feathers.
Her head perfectly covered
Not a sign of her lost hair.
And that was the last time
I saw her smile.*
Nov 27, 2015
Nov 27, 2015 at 11:09 PM UTC
*It was so very long ago.
The world was full of hats.
In the spring the hat maker came.
She pinned her felts and silk
to my mother’s head.
Added feathers and flowers.
My mother would be beautiful
for the Easter parade.
I tried them on when she was out.
Until my head became too big.
One hat in each box
Representing one more Easter.
Then when the chemo took her hair
We sat outside of her bedroom
The hat lady came for the last time.
She left solemn and quiet
Her eyes cast to the floor.
We all went in to see her last creation
On Mom's head a beautiful
hat with flowers
and ostrich feathers.
Her head perfectly covered
Not a sign of her lost hair.
And that was the last time
I ever saw her smile*
Jul 23, 2016
Jul 23, 2016 at 2:39 PM UTC
Dragon tears in clover fields and purple clouds and golden coins
magic carpets genie lamps and wishes of the everlasting
Kisses, promises, fireworks.
Gloves and scarves and beating hearts
Winks and doorbells
Hopes and Dreams
Everything oh everything!
Melted snow and dazzling intricate
Roll like waves over air and sound
Fantastic fabric enveloping darkness
Swallow my soul and make me whole.
Leperchauns and green garb of irish
Brown tattered top hat and world of emeralds
Surround my heart and take me to paradise
Open grasslands making the ocean bright.
Faerie dust and technicolor
Blue shiny sand as the wings flying flutter
Something like amber and something like granite
The psychic feeling of everything manic.
Blue energy genie man
take me away to neverland
The reality of withered trees and golden paths and bumble bees
Of pink roses and lively rivers
Swirling like potions and arrows and quivers
Make me elixers and bake me a cake
The breathes in the bottles and dreams that we make.
The sadness the laughs and the corners of rockingchairs
Chandelier whiteness and gleaming silver chalices.
Green golden robes and blue tethered rope belts
Magic of zealots and fine shiny cloth felts
Gloss me a glass of a wine so delicious
Make me a drink made of all of my wishes.
Bake me a cake of beautiful kisses.
Draw me a bath of sun kissed implicits.
Nov 17, 2017
Nov 17, 2017 at 1:45 AM UTC
I cant escape
My life’s ******
My mind won’t take a break
And broken
Is all I feel
Wounds and scars
That will never heal
Feels like I’m drowning
While everyone’s breathing
Gasping for air
While everyone’s looking
Reaching out
And no one is helping
Fighting for my life
All I know is this suffering
No handouts and no savior here
I see emptiness when I look in the mirror
I see this life as a reflection of self
No home no heart
Cant relate to anyone else
I know I’m not the only one
With his finger on the trigger of a gun
I know I’m not the only one
That’s felts this way and wanted to give up
You’re not alone
Let these words be your home
Let this feeling help you to know
We all feel the same
It’s all part of the show
Why is life ****** up like this
Worse and worse
Is all it gets
Like a sick joke
Made at our expense
One day we’ll win
And it’ll all make sense
Apr 12, 2019
Apr 12, 2019 at 5:18 AM UTC
There's nothing left to heal
though most of pathetic anixety feel
no longer love would be rotten
quite after you betray.
all i do is screm to myself
Everything, Doing everything I can,
It's all about part of my pride...
but, i hate to say I'm proud
still i say, do you hear my echo aloud...
Which type of mesh is it?
too much lye between in pain,
nobody beware it's vain.
for these pleasure SCARS,
i never ment to spites...
i went out of my insane
heart felts torn apart
too much bad at goodbye...
Need to take off "circumstances"
wishing for time machine
to change the past of we
yet it hasn't built...
no magician can do or so
do i shut up? god !
-clean up all the mess
"Lit, the flower
Dare to expell the fake,
SHE'LL back with the asthethic face"
Jul 8, 2019
Jul 8, 2019 at 3:22 PM UTC