Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Woody Aug 2018
Do not listen to hunting dogs
baying in dark woods, or the black
flies buzzing around in your head
remembering long dead friends

Poets have done this before
and they’ve wandered off
alone and unheard of to bury
the caul of their own stillborn

Every time I open a bottle
of red wine, the bad Moon
dowses blood from the ******’s
stone thighs and I think I am
handsome, young and drunk
again, eternal as a ****

Poets have made love and gathered
at the cheap joints, cutting their fingers
toasting one another, curse words
hidden deep beneath low breaths
and the noise of a singer’s raspy voice

They’ve gotten cold feet
at the crucial moments when
left alone with the student
that had the saddest blue eyes

Poets have done this before,
I assure you, my friends

Every time I see a young man
tucking a gun in the back of his pants
I want to say forget it and drink
or have a seat, my brother, let’s rap

Poets have done this before,
I seen it behind dark eyes at night

We are but dust under the hooves
of horses running side by side
with the fog, thinking all that moves
us to write is something new, like light
that shines for the lonely bone moth

Poets have done this before

I know it like the cigarette holes
she burned through my tablecloth
on those cold nights she spent writing,
like her cough I could hear, so long
a time ago, I’d rather not remember.
interesting. Those disappearing downward thumbs skurrying away like rats.
Antino Art Sep 2018
Who draws strength
from watching the passage of time
after midnight
blur against the windows
of a moving train bound
for ends uncertain.

Who walks most balanced
on the beams of empty tracks.

In the shuffle of strangers
at a crosswalk, who finds
direction.

Who sees
clearer through rain.

Who finds their place
in the limbo of airport terminals,
on delayed flights
between chapters,
over open roads that branch
into tales of cities unseen,
in the turn of pages unwritten.

Who can keep track of time
during the improvised chaos of jazz,
catching notes scattered
in the winds of horns.

Who understands
that wind moves
fastest through dark places like tunnels under Harlem,
during storms named in late August.

Who finds their center
hurled in flight,
always coming and going.
Storm flight trains movement
Shofi Ahmed Aug 2017
The flight is
   already
      booked
         at the right
           time and space.

   Get
      going!
        Don't wait
          to be dead.
Shofi Ahmed Jun 2018
Without a rope but
squaring the circle
the giant man gives it a try
takes a flight off to the sky
only to fall flat on the ground.

She turns around
gives the circle her pi.
He bounces back
and retakes the flight
Que Sera, Sera on the way!
If I had wings
And I could fly
I'd watch over you
Wherever I'd go

But what good ever
Could come out of this
When all I ever do
Is falling hard for you

Not that it would change much
You never needed me
Yet here I am still falling
Hoping that one day you might

No if I ever got wings
I would leave, fly far away
To the deep and dark oceans
Where falling would hurt much less

But then I would be sinking
Seeping deep into your lies
Your dark, beautiful eyes
Never to leave my thoughts

Drowning in your shadow
I would then realize
Flaws to my demise
Needing compromise

So if I grew wings
I'd cut them clean off
Fall down and cry
Never to fly
This is my second original piece. Please like, share and spread the word, also feel free to leave a comment and give me feedback. Any reaction is support to me!

Also feel free to visit and support me on my other social platforms, links to which are in my Bio!

Thanks millions!
-The Positive Pessimist   {  ):)  }
Dawn of Lighten Feb 2017
Dimension beginning of vile ****** exposed,
And the Emperor has no clothes,
While helplessly strut a mighty walk without a shame.

Course of history repeating itself,
Like the flow of water meeting in the river of streams,
But recycle through the clouds and back to the ground it flows.

Are we so blinded by the glimmer of the mirage of oasis in the desert,
We toast with sands of dune to quench our thirst of our plight,
And all is but a fickling light ducktaped by words of unintelligible muddled murmur?

This is truly the flawed design of our time,
When we no longer promote arts and crafts of philosophies,
And religious cults of zealots condemned the science and Academia by berating it's achievement.

Likes of ancient times of Agora and the height of it's human enlightenment,
There are forces of deconstruction of society of choas ensued by hateful fear mongers,
And systematic inward of national fevor of berserkers leveling progress.

Maybe another dark age is inevitable,
But little seed of hope I feel tangible,
And sometimes event maybe a phoenix.
Religion is all sense of purpose is a illumination of hope in human plights,
But those who seek absolute power by controlling devotees, then it is no longer a religions but a cult of designed by vanity.
Tori Sep 2018
Soft, moonlit wings glide under the light of the moon,
while shadows dance on the snow below.
Flying into the unknown, breathing in whimsy,
she refuses to land or succumb to the fatigue.
But the frosty silence lulls her to sleep
with pinstriped stories delicately written onto her skin  
until her mind succumbs to the stillness

and she no longer flees from the snows embrace...
Alyssa Underwood Dec 2016
O morning sky of endless blue
Tinged with purply-pinky hue
You tell me of His mercies new
Whose heart pursues my own

O geese in wingèd winter's flight
Your honking cries arouse delight
And lift my gaze to seek thy sight
As wooing from His hand

O softest breeze which skims my face
And stirs with such mysterious grace
My soul to reach for Love’s embrace
You brush me with His kiss

O snowflakes falling to the ground
You pierce my heart without a sound
To crave a purity only found
Beneath a bloodied cross

O setting sun in half-light glowing
Waning day’s last glorious blush showing
You paint with fire my spirit’s own knowing—
This life is fading fast

O stars of midnight’s blackest sky
Paraded forth, you pull my eye
Toward One Who speaks this ceaseless cry:
“I’m coming back for you.”

O creeping fog to dawn’s light clinging
You whisper, Love’s veiled message bringing,
With haunting echoes faintly singing,
“Lose all of you in Him.”
~~~

"The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of His hands. Day after day they pour forth speech; night after night they reveal knowledge. They have no speech, they use no words; no sound is heard from them. Yet their voice goes out into all the earth, their words to the ends of the world."  ~ Psalm 19:1-4a

~~~
atlas voyager Nov 2018
there we were, late for takeoff
and too early for landing.
all bruises and tears,
and ringing in the ears.

there we were, barely standing.
we were clinically, morbidly,
gloriously grotesque,
and **** picturesque,
nonetheless.
heart is heavy today
Logan Robertson Jun 2017
their passage of time
tick-tock in unison hands
thick-talk in chorus

Logan Robertson

6/07/17
Hannah Jones Nov 2017
Forgive me
as I learn to
soften the blow
of my words.
I have a gift
for slipping daggers
into conversations,
making you bleed
before you realize it
with my sharp wit
and cutting edges.

I want nothing more
than to retire
this arsenal
because I know
picking fights
is no way
to win hearts.
I've always had a quick wit and dry sense of humor. I've also had a hard time knowing where to draw the line. I'm glad to have friends willing to tell me when I've hurt them; here's to learning how to avoid further injury as I mature.
Softly Spoken Oct 2018
As the air thins you are called to memory
I am as yet
Unsure of what relationship exists
Between the flitting nimbus and velocity
And me
Perhaps the times I fell away from the earth
Skirting through layers of atmosphere
Between the curvature of horizons
And a past sunset far behind me
I left traces of longing In contrails
I left vapour trails of emotion in the sky
Understandably you are filtered from my gravity restricted musings
With feet on Terra Firma; no contrail exists
Only here with vermillion slashing the clouds
Carving a wake through air so fast sounds can’t catch me
Do I remember how I howled
The leaves dead brown
Softly hummed and feathered
A few storms they have weathered

Chase the wheels on the road
Hop skip and jump in between
The mirthful laughter on mute
All in a competition cute

At the traffic signals
Behind the wheels
They stop short in their tracks
Joined by new mates
In the last flight of their fate
A little observation on the road
When
Flight delayed
For one hour

I got time
To remember
You
Genre: Romantic
Theme: Boarding Pass
Purcy Flaherty Nov 2018
I booked myself a ride;
On a galactic flight,
through the atmosphere,
out towards the light,
unity and pride;
is one satellite,
I'm a spaceline pioneer;
whistling through the night.
We're verging on a new beginning somewhere out in space
We're verging on a new beginning somewhere out in space ! !
We're setting out on a new adventure;
somewhere out in space,
buy a ticket !
secure your seat;
and join the human race !
Oh !
Space race is still in!
patty m Nov 2017
Sharp evening birds shadow the sun
setting across the water;
in dreams the ocean
comes to full river.
Many times we've climbed this bridge
weeds changing the color of the water,
stirring glints of conversation
the uplift in the veins
beating a flight to autumn.

I hear your string of broken bird call
raucous and wild
as years turn it to echo;
Startling paleness
a reverie of winter's chill
how boneless is bird flight.
the solace of wings.
                    
Now there is only one
                                      where once there were two.  

          clipped wings
          the imprint of fossils
          the rain's guilty tones
          smearing the dirt

Planks wobble,
                            set as they are
                                                    haphazard­, uneven.

Now there's a blur of impressions,
                                  the nonsensical strings in a litany of sound
                                                           ­                                 
Today,
. . . reflecting on  you,
I walk this bridge alone, touching air no one else can see,
                 one step at a time,
                                           learning to be ME.
Jovanni Oct 2018
Sweetness shall never be as sweet
life with all its twists and turns shall never pry us apart

Twist of fate has us mending destiny
Two angels each with a difference
together as one pulsating heart

Angelic faces floating on a ceiling of clouds
never descending
to a lonely abyss

But as a real life can be
cruel and unusual
what goes up
shall have to descend
shima May 2018
awoken from a dreamlike state
i sought out
the you
that had already set flight
not
seeing
the fleeting feathers
Greenfield far far away
In droves luring Africans
Across the foaming flames
Through the Sahara ****
Scaling the stormy Sea.

The sheep in droves
Galloping across the desert
Taking risk in risk, hoping
Till every breath of wants
Dies in want of want.

Many have died
Some are dying
Many will still die
Tell me not why!

Humanity in high flames
Burning in crimson clouds
Coming to outlandish rainbow!

The dead dead!
Would they come back?
To bite the hunchback
Hounding the donkey's back
In search of the greenery​.
Ruby Payberg Nov 2018
I know butterfly with broken wings
He’s made of smiles and light
Oh, he loves it when I sing
I’ve seen it make him cry

He said he found a way to fly
Even with that broken wing
I told him I’d never seen flight
Quite as beautiful as his
He claims that he can fly
But cannot move his wings
He only rides the breeze
I fear the wind will leave
Next page