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Slur pee May 2016
I am Hephaestus,
Festering,
Alone in my home
Of infidelity. Pestering,
My goddess, my queen,
With pleas, that I may reach
And touch her beauty,
That my ears may hear her sing.
Hoping I could snake my way
Around her olive tree,
With the courage of Athene.
She's the amor in the air,
Armored by her disgusted stare.
And I'm ensnared. Tangled,
In her hair. Amongst dead roses,
And broken mirrors, I repair.
Mending what was never there.
Convincing myself I'm not impaired.

I am Hephaestus,
Festering,
In this forge.
I'm scorched,
By my heart's
Endless scourge.

-SLuR
CK Baker Dec 2016
six lanes
in a sight line
past the cedar shims
and trim tempered insert
past the washed mural
and water stained tiles

covered eyes
fight for focus
over cork strung ties
and dark distant bridges
foot crawlers on lemon pegs
teaming
under clouded halogen light  

dreamers contend
in a variation of chant
(throwing it off in a
drawl sequence)
a glimpse of the guard
and warm towel assignment
forge comforting relief
in a task filled day
PoserPersona Dec 2018
Iron and coal fused into a steel sword
torn from the comforts of an idle home
Against both will and wish into the forge

Mere foot to pedal unshackles the horde
onto that which was ****** into the dome
Iron and coal fused into a steel sword

Crude earth melts into an effulgent form
that once cooled will become harder than stone
Against both will and wish into the forge

Burning is sequestered by drowning boards
that go unnoticed but for hissing moan
Iron and coal fused into a steel sword

New pain begins despite what came before
anvil and hammer fashion the unknown
Against both will and wish into the forge

Those who endure will still need to be honed,
to be, of their own soul, the highest lord.
Iron and coal fused into a steel sword,
against both will and wish into the forge
“Mastering others requires strength. Mastering yourself is true power.” -Lao Tzu
Alyssa Underwood Jul 2016
It is out of the heart’s cavernous longing and furious search
for love, significance, acceptance, approval, identity, security,
freedom, belonging, innocence, intimacy and transcendence—
out of its primordial memory of what was lost to us in the Garden—
that we begin to ***** idols for ourselves.

Unconsciously we hope they might restore to us a taste of paradise,
taking away our fear and shame and isolation.
We yearn to go back but, alas, we cannot get in from there.
We ache to connect to beauty, to be desired by it as much as we desire it,
and Jesus is the only door by which we may enter.
He is the Beauty, and all the rest are simply there like pealing bells
to arouse our hearts to Him and tell us that He is coming for us.

Still, as if we haven’t quite yet heard and believed the message, we keep
aimlessly trying to forge a false righteousness through our false gods.
When they are lost or the dreams of them unrealized we are devastated,
for the shadows, echoes and reflections we had supposed would finally
make us feel good about ourselves have been exposed as frauds,
and once again we are left to feel naked but without fig leaves to cover us.

It is at these precise moments, when the bottom of our false hope falls out,
that we are best prepared to encounter Christ in His intimate
fullness and most apt to recognize at last that He alone is
everything we have been so desperately wanting.
It is our boiling point, where the unbearable weight
of failed expectation so crashes in on us that we are finally
begging God to lift our idols off of us and deliver us from them,
pleading with Him to come and capture us,
crying out to Him to possess us fully.
~~~
Rob Rutledge May 2012
Take only what you can carry,
Only what you need.
Just enough to feed and water
You and a faithful steed.

Forget the path well trodden,
That will not help you on your way.
Instead forge your own trail
For others to follow one day.

Never shy from an opportunity
Throw yourself through every door.
For this life is an adventure,
Now go,
Explore!
Alyssa Underwood Nov 2015
It is out of the heart’s cavernous longing and furious search
for love, significance, acceptance, approval, identity, security,
freedom, belonging, innocence, intimacy and transcendence—
out of its primordial memory of what was lost to us in the Garden—
that we begin to ***** idols for ourselves.

Unconsciously we hope they might restore to us a taste of paradise,
taking away our fear and shame and isolation.
We yearn to go back but, alas, we cannot get in from there.
We ache to connect to beauty, to be desired by it as much as we desire it,
and Jesus is the only door by which we may enter.
He is the Beauty, and all the rest are simply there like pealing bells
to arouse our hearts to Him and tell us that He is coming for us.

Still, as if we haven’t quite yet heard and believed the message, we keep
aimlessly trying to forge a false righteousness through our false gods.
When they are lost or the dreams of them unrealized we are devastated,
for the shadows, echoes and reflections we had supposed would finally
make us feel good about ourselves have been exposed as frauds,
and once again we are left to feel naked but without fig leaves to cover us.

It is at these precise moments, when the bottom of our false hope falls out,
that we are best prepared to encounter Christ in His intimate fullness
and most apt to recognize at last that He alone is everything
we have been so desperately wanting.
It is our boiling point, where the unbearable weight
of failed expectation so crashes in on us that we are finally
begging God to lift our idols off of us and deliver us from them,
pleading with Him to come and capture us,
crying out to Him to possess us fully.
~~~
Dean Russell Oct 2018
This is the biggest lie
                                           The mirror told me;

Don't speak.
                                                          ­                                                   Why?
People can hurt you when they
know too much.
                                                           ­                                           Will they?
Can they?
                                                           ­                                         Yes, when?
Yesterday.
                                                ­                                I don't remember that.
Because you think you know it
all, stupid boy.
                                                            ­                                               I don't.
Good, because you don't, you're
wrong. That's right.
                                                          ­ I think I need to speak to someone
But you have me; I know
everything


                                             Mirror, mirror
                                On the – communal - wall
                            Where strangers **** and ****
                             And always avoid eye contact


There's power in silence
                                                    But then how will I find things out for
                                                                ­     myself, if I am quiet always?
Know the power of knowledge,
ledge of knowing
                                                         ­                What if I fall off this ledge?
You think too highly of yourself,
you're shallow it won't hurt.
                                                           ­                                                  Right.
Or is it wrong, I told you to be quiet and you still speak.

                                  Nobody listens to silence
                                                - Quiet **** -
                                      Tie the noose for one's
                                               - Own neck -
                                Maybe the small knife from
                                              - The kitchen -
                              To carve on flesh, escape from
                                              - My skin -
                            I want to keep it safe, not scarred
                                            - Not always -
                                         Fatal, just curious.
                                  -Does that make sense?-
                        It's not real. Let me ask someone I think
                                                -I trust-

Stop dreaming!
                                                       ­                                I can't control that.
You said this was your body,
you're control?
                                                        ­                              But that's different.
See, you're not always right!
                                                          ­                   It's not bad to be wrong,
                                                                ­                                    sometimes.
Then why are you still speaking?
                                                       ­                      I'd like to lie down now.
Okay.

                              What sacrifice will I leave to the beast?
                    “Kind can be the inflicted, and also the ignorant.
                       Gracious can be the dark; or else too the light.
                              Afraid are the lost, and so too the able.
                                                        Bli­ss is real”.

But you aren't kind!
                                                           ­                                Neither are you.
Gracious? Look at your posture.
                                                        ­                                           I'm looking.
Are you telling me I am old?
                                                            ­                                       Sometimes.
Filth. You are ignorant.
                                                       ­       I am going to light a candle now.

There is a church I walk past everyday. It is orange, not like the fruit, but like the sand when the sun is half way between this land and another. When the skin of water is cool, and not blue like the crayon drawings' of a child. Sometimes I want to knock on the heavy, mahogany door of the church. Not for permission to enter; I want to know how thick the door is. Orange with dark spots, that is how I remember the church. Points to the sky, and I would need to take a detour to see it close. I am always late, maybe one day I will be later. You said I could just wake up earlier; I told you I will not do that.

You must love yourself,
look how many mirrors are in
here, ha! Just kidding. This is cool.
                                                        Ha,­ I know. I love and hate mirrors.
Really?
                                                ­        They're tender and tough. Depends
                                                        who's looking. Does that make
                                                         sense? I want to
                                                        say more about them, but there's
                                                        not enough words.
I've never thought of a mirror
like that before.
                                                         And I've never thought that I can
                                                         stop thinking that way about
                                                         mirrors.
Do you want some more water?
                                                         There's no more in the fridge, but
                                                         let me get some from the bathroom
                                                         sink. It's better from there.
Don't worry, I'll go. You're tired.

Neither quick or slow, but delicately, he walks to the bathroom. I hear the door open, the light switch on, a pause. He walks, runs the sink; I can hear the glass filling. It is a small apartment, and the walls are weak. He turns the tap off, the flick of darkness and I can hear his footprints returning. He hands me the glass; I know it is cold before I touch the glass because of the condensation. His fingerprints are there, and so too are mine. He relaxes his shoulder against mine, presses his lip to my ear. His breathing is calm, like the water at the beach. Then that small chuckle, I hear him, exhale. Hard and protective, like the door of the church. Stable and seductive, I know he is going to tell me his witness, or a joke.

                     You don't have mirrors in your bathroom.
karin naude Jan 2014
my ******* affair
a blood covenant
continues negative on the balance sheets
a constant power struggle
my soul and unwavering obedience the prize
secretly a grudge grows
(encouraged by continual love famine
inclined by love withdrawal punishment)
poisoning the source

uncomprehensible to me
why i am always found unworthy
fathers love, blessing and protection
unattainable
withdrawal, nonacceptance and deliberate bad wishes
fertilizes the acre
what will the harvest be
tug of war for my sanity
my Heavenly Father and mum
vs
the enemy and dad
forge in this firepit
born among ashes
Nico Julleza Jul 2017
Oh Honored,
and Everything shall be done
so still as the rising sun
an enmity of good and evil
a creole out place for all ages
and lo his nights are sacrosanct than days
yet thee remained Avant
than ever more so could change
thus, change forge to my heart
like rebels facing an empyrean, a tragic dream

As their ethereal mind queries;
Could Silence be heard?
Could Uproar be held?
Could Tranquility be forever still?
Could A Wayward be in place evermore?

A life so query,
a mind so wild as spirit so free
for youth is ****** to be astray
and still continues to find its way

Yet in its Maker thee will know...

what lies beyond the depths of shallow springs

what message can be read in papers of blank

and what eyes can see when the world is blind

Am I affront to pry?
when I query for once was mine....
#Query #Love #Self #Peace #Silence #Tranquility #Dreams

"A Poem For Once who was Lost, Forgotten, Untold. Now Returns To Take What Once was His. Unafraid, Brave, Bold, Unshackled.."

"One of my Inspiration is the Story about An Interview with the Vampire, a movie in the 90's. which a life of a man, who wanted to have joy and peace for himself. Ended up being in Hell for the rest of his days, to decades, till even centuries have passed of his life."

Re posted: Because I love This Poem So much

(NCJ)POETRYProductions. ©2017
Vicki Kralapp Aug 2012
Let me go.  Set me free to be all that I can be.
Let me rise up against this blackness that encompasses me.
I have worked in this stone box for too long,
without looking at the world outside.

I cannot recall the freedom that was once mine
as I’ve become so accustomed to this prison that I’ve made.
What I could do, what I should do, these elude me,
leaving me lost, without a map to follow.

How do I find my own path?  It continues to find me.
Desire overpowers me to forge my own,
to create new life and freedom for the person I’ve become;  
freedom from the struggles weighing me down
that have kept me from the life I could live.
All poems are copy written and sole property of Vicki Kralapp.
CK Baker Oct 2017
a slow walk up centennial
and i still can’t find the place
it's menacing cold, and muted
and the street sweeper and winter breeze
move the turkish blend and dust pack

a novice mixed duet plays
brahms on broken strings
an erhu and overcoat
veiling the blue heeler and sphinx

maggianos is settled in the center block’s
luminance and seasonal drape
it's festive warmth bringing home bedford falls;
the flavour and character and social circles

annie’s playing and the keeper's singing
(his word pool and slander
raising everyone in arms!)
the crowd chants and mayhem breaks
as crawlers and contemporaries
smash their steins

dark alleys and dripping holes
hold a grim reminder of the pierced underside
paddies flutter and forge their words
with a broad manifesto

night gardens come alive
(slowly sapping the respite)
hunched figures and ladies in lace
shuffle inside the big orange door
The Sane:

“A madman would have done it better, I think. No doubt it takes the gall of a brain on the brink
to forge a broad banister upon the staircase of such a prideful pleasantry, and draw out a deep crimson from pink”

The Mad:

“Indeed, one must possess a certain degree of misanthropy, or be stagnantly steeped in iniquity, to wound the facade of poetry, and expose such intoxicating insecurity — Something the lost avoid at any cost to postpone the sting of complacency”

The Sane:

“I’m not sure I follow you”

The Mad:

“Exactly”
Karisa Brown Aug 2018
I want to believe in my
OWN truth
The many times I've come
Through on my own
Did what needed to be done
Without being told how

By using my own intuition
I was brought here with
To forge a place around
my Own tree of life
My surrender
My sovereign
My light

And the best thing is there are others
In my life that show up and stay
From time to time
To wake me up into this
To help me grow
Into the Meet me

First of all those
Who see that best me rise
And to compliment
Not control
Who endure through
Not who back down

Who drown inside themselves
To get to this unconditional love
Which they Know
From lives thousand
Before them

To make this time
Ours to shine in
And do more than
Just march on
But to EVOLVE
To become a
Revolution in their own
Knowledge is inapplicable without wisdom,
Wisdom is impotent without passion,
Passion must be tempered by knowledge
(to build understanding and forge compassion).
These aspects form the basis for comprehension.

To grasp comprehension one must acknowledge
that the great equilibrium does move unevenly.
Only in motion can true balance be maintained.
To do this one must conceive (in mind and hold)
the absurd notions of belief, ridiculous but bold.

To be aware one must seek truth.
To be sublime one must have conviction.
To be oblivious one must embrace ridicule.

To comprehend we must perceive
context and continuity simultaneously.
To attain mastery over their psyche one must first
achieve existential comprehension.
Mastery leads to an intuitive state of being [seemless progression]
which enables zero-summing.
Such is Living In Progress.
First Plane: Precursory Aspects To Comprehension (Prerequisitive Anachronism)
Thesis: Knowledge
Antithesis: Passion
Synthesis: Wisdom

Second Plane: The Equilibrium Paradigm (Discordian Hypothesis)
Thesis: Equality
Antithesis: Imbalance
Synthesis: Motion

The Sublime/Oblivious Trifecta (Aware/Ridiculous Decision):
Truth, Belief and Choice.

Third Plane: The Mastery Convolution (Existential Apotheosis/Entheogenesis)
Thesis: Context
Antithesis: Continuity
Synthesis: Comprehension
Ultimatum: *Living In Progress*
Marla Apr 6
Art is-
   to the consumer
What the sun is to plants.
It gives the heated
forge
We need to-

energize our souls.
Skaidrum Jun 2015
The seven deadly sins of man
have just slaughtered a
mocking bird.

The sound of willow drums
                     & laughter at 1 a.m.

The Lion's sin of Pride
                   "Hail the poet within you."
The Dragon's sin of Wrath
                   "Your words forge death on the page."
The Snake's sin of Envy
                   "The clock counts more words than time does."
The Fox's sin of Greed
                   * "Crave the words as if they disgusted God."
The *Grizzly's sin of Sloth

                     *"Immortality flocks to your pen and paper."

The *Goat's sin of Lust

                     "Dress like a daydream or a nightmare to write with blood."
The Boar's sin of Gluttony
                      "Don't be afraid to **** to suffice your poems."

Oh poets,
for those of you who've figured
it's also a sin
to ****
a
mocking bird.

The secret is in the eighth deadly sin of poetry,
                                  Don't.
              ­                    Tell.
                                   Poets.
                                    What.
                ­                    To.

                                    ­Do.
.
This is for
The Dragon Prince & LycanTheThrope

© Copywrited
Marshal Gebbie Aug 2018
Calamitous collapse of structure forged
With steel and concrete built for time,
Since Roman times a formula endured
With engineers additional design.
Why, then, did this structure fail,
Did mortar crack, did reinforcing strong,
Shear and plummet in an instants time
To crush and doom this bridges song.

In teeming rain a  silence hung
Where watchers gaped in stunned awe,
A magnitude of devastation lay
Pulverized in valley floor.
Astonishing this expanse of space
Where seconds past, huge edifice,
Imbued with its’ charge of lives
Unknowingly to meet abyss.

Innocence has lost its’ life
Blame resounds around the room
Someone shall pay the price
For negligence in causing doom.
Truth be told it’s shared by all
For Italy has lagged behind
Cost cutting infrastructures’ purse
Because of economic bind.

Time to reassess the plan
Time to weep and bury dead,
Clear the rubble from the land
Rebuild well then forge ahead.
Blame not the engineer
Nor the man who drew design,
Blame not the hardhat
Who poured the concrete in the line.

Reassign the budget spend
To infrastructure, pay its share
For sentiment is running hot
To axe the fool who pares the fare.

M.
Storeman
Civil Infrastructure
Hamilton, NEW ZEALAND
This calamity is already impacting on construction projects and future design , cost and planning, worldwide. Risk is, very much, a major perilous factor in bidding and negotiation in the relationship between an infrastructure provider and buyer.
i will write simply
like a snow melt in the spring
water brings music
and our feet are washed clean
remind the stars that we named them
even if they take our souls
we will forge them again in the fireplace
and breathe life back into them
soon we can rest in the music
but first let us use them
just like we were meant to
now is the space
to give your heart its grace
so we feed the lakes
their icy beverage
and make the songs that melt the frost

i arrived like fire
when rain was your only hope
our souls washed in the burning sun
the conundrums of love
somebody escaped with our watermelons
sundrops upon the lake
feelings we can never shake
our ecstasy is awake
and we have outgrown our shallows
swallowed by the hand of fate
our lives we did partake in
yes we have reached further
into the thick of it
into the blackest night
i walked into my own dismay
and displayed upon the sky
was the light that caught your eye
like threads of shredded rope
as darkness could never
cope with the worst of it
i sold all of our hope
for you should never
have to ***** for emptiness
send me the wisdom
to unleash you from this prison
so please give me another kiss
and fill me with your stories
for now we will forever know
that dreams are only allegories
Casey Aug 2018
when the dust all had settled
from sunrise you appeared
a memory from my past
a net of emotions finally released
they suspended my disbelief
my endless days of thinking
ended in one humid evening
this reunion like a blade's oven
the iron forge alit once more
and you grabbed my face
and brought it to yours
i
i

i smiled and held my breathe
cried like you had come back from the dead
until sooty ash was all that remained
until the fire dulled its searing heat
and became a weak fading ember
from my bed of flame i was ******
the bite of the atmosphere returned
as i took my next breath
quenched before the steam and hiss
tempered by my disappointments
and this endless summer of burning desire
ended one cool night
this reunion
Nico Julleza Sep 2017
∙∙∙◦◦•◎•◦◦∙∙∙
Scent like its spring
feel like the summer breeze
in the meadows were chartreuse weeds

Sweet Gardenia, dearest one
your petals shine the moonlight
and grace the rays of the sun
a touch of you,
deliquescing as canvas hues
how the world's heart told tales
in visions anew

Of any color you choose to be
white, as resemblance of purity
your scent forge to every desperate nose
a sneeze which bring forth arose
and with all to guarantee
your aroma is no match in any of thee

Oh Gardenia, Sweet Gardenia
vulnerable, gentle and free
sailing the skies above, praising every tree
sigh, as she waltzes with me

But Gardenia, Sweet Gardenia
when will the world stop hating you
grieving in delitescent
burying your every truth
shadows washing, dreams forgetting
soon as winter swept all of you
#Gardenia #Flower #Nature #Death #Life

My Love and Appreciation to Flowers that Inspired Me. Enjoy Dear poets

(NCJ)POETRYProductions. ©2017
Allison Nov 2017
Unmoved by your arrival from the west coast,
ten thousand little things are different.

It’s October and the trees are on fire:
a forge that you won't notice, 'til you're gold.

Your Kicks don’t leave footprints on these cobbled streets;
even the children have old, leathery hands.

Try to paddle-board the Eno and the bass go belly-up:
that river’s for scattering ashes and making moonshine.

All they sell at Aldi is ethnic shampoo,
so now your hair twists like the roots you’ve lacked

'til now, because all you’ll ever need is two hands:
for prayer, and work.

Life moves on like a cigarette’s drag,
while somewhere Hope’s fiddle strums;

Take off your headphones and
go put your ear to an oak.
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