"folio" poems
I laid on a dune, I looked at the sky.
And saw the clouds passing by.
The Moon was peeping through the clouds.
To me it seemed so fake; like a plastic in a vase !
But if I had a mind,
I could write about Pluto, Jupiter and Mars.
I could folio on a rainbow from Venus,
and have breakfast with stars.
Or I could spin the galaxies,
And play pinball with them.
But, I felt so helpless and small;
'Immense', that is what I could say in all !
Sep 27, 2014
Sep 27, 2014 at 7:54 AM UTC
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Sep 7, 2015
Sep 7, 2015 at 5:43 AM UTC
***In our autobiography
Another chapter ends
In our life’s folio
Ready to script new events
Let’s refill the ink-pot
And rejuvenate the dry quill
Stanzas to be added
In the poetry of life
Autobiography will continue
The coming year
Shall see a happy muse***
Dec 30, 2014
Dec 30, 2014 at 8:16 AM UTC
Everyday I pass by the twin arcade
Everyday I pass by the twin store
But I never perceived the old man
with his blue turban ,
with his credential,
with his assign attire,
checking the folio of every passerby
But instantaneously,
my eyes seize the eyes of the old man
but he gyrate around
He was white as the winter snowfall,
He was cute as my Grandpa,
He smiled with torment,
He looked with keen eyes,
But I wondered why?
In this hazy cloudy cover
where the old man is waged
I evoke the days of my mother barking to wake me up,
but her utter ampthy of beholding me dormancy,
let me took off from my phronthistery
did someone showed the same affection to the old man
I awe why he was working at this senility?
I awe where was his progeny?
I awe did they left him?
I awe was he alone?
I desire to blather with him and ask him to be my Grandpa
But the old man was overshadowed
with my beau tight embrace
and I left the arcade
but in a hankering to meet you again Grandpa
Feb 19, 2016
Feb 19, 2016 at 2:38 PM UTC
I see your name and a wave of disdain
Surges and breaks over my countenance.
I sneer and want to spit the foul taste from my mouth,
Though stumbling across you was pure accident.
No ill-intent, no malice on your part, only the hate burning,
That blackest brimstone smoldering away in my heart.
I thought it was put out - thought the fires extinguished.
I thought the pain of you was gone, but obviously I was wrong.
And as I look through my folio of writing, a thought strikes me,
A fancy which I follow, leading back to you.
I arrive, and not to my surprise,
"You would do that", I seethe inside.
You would still read my poetry and 'like' what I write, but then -
As a bitter little quirk of a smile grazes my face -
What does surprise me, is that other than you,
I am now your only favorite in this artistry.
And worse than anything else,
that hurts me.
Seeing this in the face of all that has been placed between us
Leaves me bare and rent, of everything, even my hate,
Which is revealed only as a stopper on this emotional bottle.
Only sorrow, a sadness that has adhered to my core remains when the course is run.
That last little bit that you never want to sip,
Those last drips you leave on the bar with the tip.
Long after I thought I could cry no more,
The tears return unwanted and unbidden,
Showing the true rebellion within my soul,
Telling me that there is still more hurt in store.
And when all I want to do is yell and scream,
To say anything to make you hurt:
To make you hurt the way I did, do,
To make you hurt how I do for you,
For you to hurt as I crush you heart as you did mine,
For you to need me as I wanted you,
And for me to give it all up, to turn from Love and walk away.
But it can never happen that way, you could never let that happen,
You could never be vulnerable the way I gave myself in trust and faith,
And in the end, that hate is not within me, I do not carry that cruelty.
I am too forgiving a person, but I will not forget.
So I live on, burdened with my pain behind these eyes, stoppered by a thin hate -
My only defense against you in my life.
Mar 1, 2011
Mar 1, 2011 at 1:13 AM UTC
Mr Monsanto has a monopoly on the GMO market
his products fill many agriculturist's baskets
there harmful affects have been well documented
the damage they're causing can be circumvented
those men and women who work the land
can deal Mr Monsanto a crook poker hand
discontinue buying his bad chemical sprays
recommence those old pest controlling ways
he's been making big profits from the stuff that he sells
it is time for the agriculturists to hear the alarm bells
he's had the ear of the administration for too long
and it has always listened to the pitch of his song
Mr Monsanto keeps telling the world that his products are fab
but he never mentions a thing about adverse discoveries in science labs
the people are becoming informed on the land
they're waking up to the unsafeness of his brand
the public will not abide Mr Monsanto's crap
they know when a dodgy product has landed in their laps
cancer causing agents in cornmeal
this sort of thing doesn't make for edible appeal
big companies like Mr Monsanto might like to explain themselves
and enlighten us as to why his purulent stuff is on market shelves
behind his fortress walls he hides a folio of dross
uncovering it would ensure his company ran at a loss
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 10:06 AM UTC
¿Por qué es difícil la poesía?
Como de un venero brotan,
luego perdidos en demasía,
versos al estanque de descartes,
¡tantos que creo se agotan!
Mas, ¿por qué no gozan
de escaño en la verbal melodía?
Alma que al papel hiere con arte
deja como sello un verso.
Sea eso sólo cierto en parte,
no sé si el folio terso
como el cuero se ha visto curtido,
o es de mi pluma fallo,
cubierta por azafrán de marte,
o soy yo que mi alma he perdido,
pues de lineas queda el papel vestido
y poesía en ellas no hallo.
Dec 8, 2015
Dec 8, 2015 at 7:55 AM UTC
~ following “A Simple Poem”~ (1)
But of course, we reference revelations,
for our brief self-description are guises,
meant to hide, meant to impress, reveal
little, enhance our mystery, preserve our
secrecy. expose and hide simultaneously
within our mid-of-night aura mystiques
Safe behind the curtain, we wizards speak
in voices and tongues, giving up our innermost everything in verse, write of our blessings and our curses, holding little back while we give ourselves away, hint by hinting, writ by writing, a series of
+++++++’s
I choose, I chose, to dress my chess pieces
in a clear varnish, **** the consequences,
sail towards the torpedoes, heading direct
to meet your eyes, giving up my forest
tree by tree, poem by poem, a leaf and
a branch, only tinkering and fussing like a new parent over each new virtual birthing,
and then once tidied,
once spent,
my secrets unconcealed,
we wonder quick if each
puzzle when connected
to its predecessor is
understood
as a tiny pointilisme dot,
a speck
and that you are wise enough to
comprehend how each speck,
lives only unique in its
conjunction,
only tandem-with both the one
nearest and the ones dabbed a decade
long ago, and when you connect
my dots, I stand before you completely
a full and a naked folio,
one book of a single reveal,
the sum of my totality,
an addition of many integers,
summing up to 1
So,
should we pass by each other,
our eyes will pierce, each wrinkle,
solving the equation of who we are…
a single human, readily identifiable,
total recognition, via the reconnaissance
of our letterered footsteps
Nov 20, 2024
Nov 20, 2024 at 11:12 AM UTC
-Flip thru my pages...-
-
{Reach into my bones}
-
Feel my unborn world of humanity
The golden pansophy
Holding together the marrow
Nerves sending signals to a brain
That constantly feed on meaty morals
Rainbow veins pulsing gifted murals
Bounded in a book made out of human skin
Teardrops glued to each page
Tells a story of manic glories
Paragraphed with an insane biography
-
{Touch my soul}
-
Feel your fingertips
Vibrate
From the sorrow within
The urgency
The depression
The hidden plea
-
{Look into my mermaid eyes}
-
Drown in my dreams
Which the fairytale people
Help me create
Those goals I want to complete
But were forgotten
Like buried photographs
In a dusty attic
-
{Now flip thru my hearts folio}
-
Flip
Until you’ve reached the end
Have you guessed it?
Have you?
That I am
The beginning and the end
A forbidden book
Made out of human skin
-
Aug 31, 2015
Aug 31, 2015 at 7:34 PM UTC
You've picked out a folio
and wished for a dream
yet the nib of your pen has ran dry,
like yesterdays thirst.
The bridgehead that spanned
your momentary stride,
is someone else's iron cast certainty,
their vibe having read
the better book,
a change champion
more successfully ascribed.
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 5:31 PM UTC
El mar es un azar
qué tentación echar
una botella al mar
poner en ella por ejemplo un grillo
un barco sin velamen y una espiga
sobrantes de lujuria algún milagro
y un folio rebosante de noticias
poner un verde un duelo una proclamados rezos y una cábala indecisa
el cable que jamás llegó a destino
y la esperanza pródiga y cautiva
el mar es un azar
qué tentación echar
una botella al mar
poner en ella por ejemplo un tango
que enumerara todos los pretextos
para apiadarse a solas de uno mismo
y quedarse en el borde de otro sueño
poner promesas como sobresaltos
y el poquito de sol que da el invierno
y un olvido flamante y oneroso
y el rencor que nos sigue como un perro
el mar es un azar
qué tentación echar
una botella al mar
poner en ella por ejemplo un naipe
un afiche de dios el de costumbre
el tímpano banal del horizonte
el reino de los cielos y las nubes
poner recortes de un asombro inútil
un lindo vaticinio de agua dulce
una noche de rayos y centellas
y el saldo de veranos y de azules
el mar es un azar
qué tentación echar
una botella al mar
pero en esta botella navegante
sólo pondré mis versos en desorden
en la espera confiada de que un día
llegue a una playa cándida y salobre
y un niño la descubra y la destape
y en lugar de estos versos halle flores
y alertas y corales y baladas
y piedritas del mar y caracoles
el mar es un azar
qué tentación echar
una botella al mar
823
They say
rêverie
made
the human heart.
I say
we first unfolded
our heart
gazing at trees.
Hypnotically
we watch the dancing leaves,
waving green,
flamboyant canvas,
single brown hanging on.
Delusionally,
we learn the longing,
we portrait our storms,
we are taught transitoryness.
Is this not
why, as a child,
we handed leaves
- the most special ones -
to eternity,
in between the pages
of our favourite books?
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 7:44 PM UTC
The night is a ship of wonder,
and the bow and stern lines have been tossed to the shore crew.
The harbor pilot has checked his folio of channel maps
and sets a course that's true.
You and I, in our bark of dreams,
have an untethered universe to be.
Feb 13, 2012
Feb 13, 2012 at 8:29 AM UTC
You are a book i read
By definition metaphorically
Everything is on the page
Chapter and verse not hidden
But i do not see it!!!
Gaping holes in consciousness
Normal!!! Normal!!! Normal!!!
If i could comprehend you always
I would never fear one moment
Of your existence is precious and holy
To you not me unless
I make it so
Through effort
Perhaps i will see you as
a
Folio in a wayside shrine
Jun 21, 2016
Jun 21, 2016 at 2:16 AM UTC
Good news: I got into a Literary Folio as a Staffer for Poetry section in my University. It is a great oppurtunity for my writing.
Bad news: I cannot update often since i would be submitting my works to the Folio.
Good news: There is a chance that I would be published :)
Bad news: I won't be able to post right away but if my works will not br approved i will post it here.
Feb 13, 2014
Feb 13, 2014 at 1:43 AM UTC
Slow as a growl
Go some verses from a folio,
Like little frogs in dozens wake up on a lily pad,
And I'm singing them inside.
Cloaked is an owl,
Toads converse as roams an embryo
Like fiddle logs and cousins make up on a silly path,
And I'm singing on a ride.
Float does the vowel,
Go some verses from a folio
Like tittles fog in fuzzes flakes up on an ill leafed pad,
And I'm reading them with pride!
Slow as a growl
Go some verses from a folio,
Like little frogs and cousins make upon a lilly pad,
And I'm reading on a side.
May 28, 2022
May 28, 2022 at 9:10 AM UTC
zombies eat the living and ghouls eat
the dead and i ask which you're going to be
when they lower you into a hole in the ground
because there's no god, no jesus to save
you or any of us--
maybe i shouldn't have spoken out of anger,
but what did you expect when you came at me
once more with exhortations that i
"not do that"
when we've already had that talk,
a million times we've had that talk
and it end in the same way always,
with me not swayed and you not swayed and
the two of us exchanging the same ****
words we always do
when you've found i've injured your dead god,
your absent god, your non-existent god...
but maybe, too, you've forgotten
i used to be like you
all pious and looking at the yellow moon
shrouded in freezing clouds like
he had made it when all he had made
was a ******* mess of your life and mine--
and have i held my tongue?
for too long you know i have,
but i think you like it when i lash out
because it gives you just cause to lash right back
and we both know you're good at that, but
now the question is will you be good at it
when they're gnawing away at your face
and you've found you can do nothing about it,
or will you simply smolder as you curse me
for being right when i'd said it a hundred times
already: i never wanted
to be
right--
© asgarth 2017
Creative Commons License
This work by asgarth is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.
Based on a work at midgarth.blogspot.com.
Feb 10, 2017
Feb 10, 2017 at 7:04 AM UTC
There one was a man named Malvolio,
A fictional man in a folio
Who was played for a fool
By some rascals at Yule
For acting like such an assholio.
Feb 1, 2025
Feb 1, 2025 at 2:17 AM UTC
while soaring the heavenly heights
many hours ago
every major metropolis appeared
about a million miles below
the rarefied atmosphere
ideal composition beckoned angels,
who bustled, hustled, and jostled elbow
(which bedlam, flimflam, and mayhem
intimated Hells Bells)
wing trying (heavens to Betsy) to flag attention,
and snag coveted soundcloud Netherland Award
cap ping bulging port folio,
which hubbub charged crackled, popped,
snapped amidst light emitting diodes
with a snazzy aura, charisma
harp pulling, piping, and chiefly
paying praise (CI years post haste)
to William Henry Perkin
whose credit able karma
(and unwitting) claim to fame didst glow
purple, which jumpstarted incandescent halo
couture culture club, via constant comet inflow
of Plasmodia vaguely resembling microscopic red Jello
illuminating swath of dusky
shutter flying sky sustaining
self contained feedback instagram loop know
wing lee broadcasting mauveine staccato low
to the groundswell of chemists dyeing, Googling,
and gratefully huzzahing insinuating
killing, kindling kissing
malaria goodbye, an outlook
(nee a once in a lifetime moe
mint - je nais sais quoi) win out loud
respectably sedulous honoree, a no
bill sine qua non bit player aniline
(to conclude this short poem) about his oh
penning accidental discovery kickstarting pro
noun est contribution to the fashion industry.
Mar 12, 2018
Mar 12, 2018 at 4:09 PM UTC
Max than 100: He who keeps the herbs they grow up in the cold,
and it must be in the shadow of the sky, German, rising from the spinal cord; Noise is set before thee, and that which was taken in which my knee on the ground, a warm heart. I have read that the outcome of the raving rabbi is to choose the right dog collar around the neck, his friend, a friend of a friend of a friend's anger; Saving for a change in memory, not too much in the dark,
so as to teach young girls lying is bad; for a small amount of mulberry, the beach, shopping, and dining room; unknown to ad-a-go-go can be molded with the fantasy of the treatment depends on a lot of various intertwines the city of kissing, touching; Who calls, and that it may be like the ****** of hits; that which is of love to lay claim to a protest to the lovers of their own, cupid, they saw his glory, and the friends of a friend, of things and of men, the insignia of the Mermilitary in a dark room, and at once, lying on a staff,
and 2, there are three things the middle of the balloon, obtains the order to start; A cup of vitamins and vitamins, the child died, read a hymn to life,
to love, it is a good song, and persecuted and individuals; R & 500 will not be together in a heartbeat cords, swiftness and system independence autumn window is enough for shoes, boots ® separate movements of a hot, refrigeration, social diet sticking to the peacock green cases of valentine coins operated by imps; petite love's rumblings region net flight night to day, at 3 in passing water, in the 1 out of heaven, and an unhappy I beg you to calm down, in this world to stop the flow of the injured is "the history is the subsidiary of the one of the most common eud-free downloads and freedom, and wisdom", in this case it is the focal point, that is to say, it does not mean those of the world of men, who are angst in form but the folio of the child out of love. ||
Oct 20, 2018
Oct 20, 2018 at 7:36 PM UTC
In that moment
In that twinkled dark harshness of truth,
When the bona fide reality was slathered all over that
Covered folio,
I cut the noose,
I let go..
Jun 8, 2015
Jun 8, 2015 at 10:23 PM UTC
Spaniards voice
Culture scents
San Antonio, Texas was my vacation
My account being my personal proclamation
The enriched history inspired me being pure rejuvenation
Here is my presentation
Do you know what San Antonio in Texas means?
Saint Anthony
So what’s in a name could be a person born with the same
My exploration took me on tour of all the highlights that made San Antonio, and why it is a major city
It was Medical Centers, Universities, and San Antonio Zoo, which I witnessed from an Aerial view
I even visited the famous, “ALAMO”
The Mexican Spanish War fighting for independence
But there is a unique side of San Antonio, and it is the “RIVERWALK”
It’s those floating taxi’s that bring the Riverwalk alive and extends into the suburbs
Yet, there is a European atmosphere culture at the Café’s at the Riverwalk edge
You hear the serene tempo music of Violin’s acquaint sunset going down and the evening air sets the stage for a romantic evening under the stars and moon
This is all happening at all Café’s tables as you wine and dine
Enchanted as I was, I took in all the San Antonio accord
I stayed Seven days at the Holiday Inn Riverwalk in Downtown San Antonio, Texas
So you know my Folio
It was a venture of delight
Those Texans know how to shed light
Friendly citizens within San Antonio, the city
Having to return back home to New York City was my pity.
May 5, 2020
May 5, 2020 at 3:26 PM UTC
disfrazados entre multitud
ignoramos nuestros rostros
un neurótico tropiezo
ésta
mi irracional realidad
interrumpió un tenue atardecer
bucear desorientado entre
lodo
&
hielo
viajando sobre un avión de papel
entre horas de sueño
un folio observado en blanco
Jul 26, 2019
Jul 26, 2019 at 6:51 AM UTC