Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
CK Baker Dec 2017
sages and brethren
gather, and share
and slowly souls
are bared
their tempered voices
and quiet eyes
reserved of judgment
with passing smiles

moments blend
in current trends
opinions wide
and reflections deep
the concepts
and irregularities
once murky
now clear

they prioritize
and familiarize
that staunch resolution
of generation net
will remunerate
and illuminate
through the checkpoints
and formal reviews
through the purple curtains
and open stage
nothing tainted
or bitter
left for taste

cause its they
who’ll plant the seed
the captains of commerce
healers and jugglers
the coaches and councilors
negotiators and compromisers
the kings and queens
hustlers and hellcats
(who've all found their way!)
let us tip our hats
and salute them
KM Hanslik Jul 2018
Keep your eyes soft and your dreams
up on the highest shelf so you won't take them down too early;
keep everything that you spill in the dark locked
behind your teeth during the day, don't bring it out before dusk;
like secrets we drip over sidewalk cracks
from cotton-candy sticky fingers and leave our names
dissolved under each other's tongues, the warmth of you is keeping me company
as I try to crawl out of my blood again, they told you to leave
a bread-crumb trail in case your heart becomes too watered down by just visiting
to even remember the vacation at all; you carry
kisses on the knuckles of amputated arms,
driving through parking lots with your seatbelts on,
collections of constellations growing
in the bruises on the insides of your thighs, reminders
of salt & the whites of your eyes;

I'll always carry you around
like scuffed knees and the last time I told you "I'm okay",
I wanna press my fingers into you until your skin is melded
with fire and scraps of things that I could never be,
I hope steel rods grow out of your bones and I hope you gather
bruises before you gather dust,
we are all a little lost and lonely but that never stopped
the accumulation of well-spent nights
coughing up new ways to spell my name
(it sounded foreign before you)
leave this on repeat,
we're going in again.
Anecandu Jul 2018
The gilded opening is terse and with age defined,
Locking away the pathway from a golden mind,
Hairlike roots of tiny letters form a braid,
Ficus-ing along stretching prongs of Purple and Jade,

Pushing they gather and spider around its ovate curves,
occasioning sprouts from cracks lips perturbed,
grammarized rain fertilizing delicate pods of flesh,
blossoming frosty lemon blooms of T's R's come to rest,

The bunched words hanging, dangling like grapes, of frailty,
dipping on fickle branches barely holding on to reality,
threatening to fall like daggered swords,
But alas are some silently whispered Jamaican words
CK Baker Oct 2017
Iron bench, open sore
dragon rock, three in score
flesh on body, tortured soul
arms high, in ****'s hole

Corner bulb, neon light
drake hotel, second flight
jolly pop, rizla plus
open flame, behind the bus

Broken fixtures, tully hat
channel swimmer, at the bat
blind alley, words of cuss
dealer waving, in a fuss

Grim reaper, boys in blue
super bee, armored shrew
****** sips, swollen glands
potpourri, on demand

Black death, huddler's arch
beat the cold, and summer parch
toothless grin, ****** glare
obituary, to be shared

Dead of night, decontrol
cheeva tar, black coal
east central, chinatown
mr. freeze, is coming down

Foot soldier, skidder row
chicken feed, and white blow
silver spoon, casted hand
demons surface, on demand

Frantic sounds, below the glass
poison waiting, to be passed
***** pipes, over coat
bodies flat, begin to float

Gospel sounds, from union square
friends gather, deep in prayer
guardian angels, now deployed
thornton park, without a void

Covenant house, in holy charm
welcomes all, with open arms
salvation spreads, on chapel row
kindness that, cannot be sold
bones Feb 2016
Hoards of leaves hurry to gather
at one worn headstone after another
like a funeral party uncertain whether
these are the dead who they grieve;

Time and wind tug at the memory
left in this absent minded cemetery
visited only by them and I
and those lying under the trees

with stories that no-one can read.
Jesse stillwater Aug 2018
Driving up mountain miles
of washboard switchbacks;
jarring the dusty rearview mirror
in my mind:

"but don't look back in anger"  
... I heard you say
stuck in the cloud of dust
befogging my daydream
back somewhere thereabouts
the washed out bridge
that tore us apart
like a flash flood

It was so long ago
since you were running
and I was hiding in plain sight,
from what the storm
in my eyes did tell

Mindful — you were only watching
the growing distance gather;

finding what you didn't lose
looking back to see
   what you can't forget —

like a hesitant child
reluctantly wondering
if anyone was still looking back
at you ―  still running away
from each passing storm


Jesse Stillwater
June   2018
Thank you for reading my soul scribbles
Timothy Aug 2017
Time ebbs away so craftily, so fast
     An hour, a day, a month, or yet a year—
     A decade too—they all shall disappear
And soon the present will become the past.
Death waits with ready sickle for the blast,
     When that appointed Time draws ever near,
     And greets us all with trembling hand, or tear,
With knells and saddest dirge, buried at last.

     But God shall one day waken all these bones,
Which now lay mould’ring with damp worms and clay,
Shall gather all our dust and bid it rise.
     For now, each dreamless head sleeps ‘neath these stones,
Soon God shall raise them to unending Day
Our blissful, heav’nly home, beyond the skies.
19 March 2017 9:28am EDT
jane taylor May 2016
my heart breaking
into a thousand pieces
i fade away
looking for a distant wall
to dissolve in
and evaporate

unable to vanish
i slowly gather the shards
ground fresh and smaller now
i gently blow them
and watch them magically disappear
into the night’s silver moon

©2016janetaylor
Ashley Chapman Nov 2018
In a playful vision sent
Your ****** homologue
Of amber shins and pale phalanges
Weaves three-leaved clovers.

In response,
***** spurs
And protean winged descent
To float into your kaleidoscopic star:
Gliding,
Freely falling,
To rest in lace extremities.

There in our bed of sensual feet,
Sunflowers breath,
Whose burnished rotating petals
Gather me in wisps,
Each spiral frond,
Gyring
Before death's voids
Is drawn in purls.

And in pleasures held,
Cossetted in latticed limbs,
A ***** lustrous rich embrace;
Denuded and alive!
And with abandon kissed:

    Bony toes
    Tendons
    Deep arches
    Shins
    Ankles,
    Sweetmeats,
    Light and delicate.

As here between pretty shins
And fleshy silken feet
Our ascent begins
Rising,
From low regions,
To scale new heights
And crown our night.

This lovers' leap into prismatic
reproduction
In the empty Cosmic wastes
     In a web is caught!
Where feet and toes inspire
Continuity for pointed stars.

As material possibilities collide
The **** for life
Is born in non-existence:
So in our nest of feet,
Mating in the game
With heads thrown back,
Of **** drink deeply we.
A friend sent a mesmerising image taken from a kaleidoscope. In that image so many ideas came together that I was able to put this down. It tells of what I know, the line between life and death, or more succinctly put, between our conscious and the great unconscious. In mind, to love is indeed sublime as it removes us from ourselves and plunges us to meet our heart's desire. Out in the wastes of time and space we also see ourselves writ large where whole galaxies collide and in so doing, the resultant chaos, new stars are born. So I take solas in such thoughts, even if my soul does at times yearn to shuffle off this mortal coil and be at peace and know Truth at last.
Lizzy Jan 2015
"Poor Yorick!",
His soul is saved.
Safe and sound,
In cold unbeing.

Cold unbeing,
For whom I am so hungry.
It's bitter tundra will fill me,
But my fire won't go out.

The burning won't stop,
And my ashes only gather.
There's something very wrong,
With a blistering winter.

Oh Yorick,
I envy.
Your sleep is undisturbed;
Where I am only tired.

You are bones,
And King Hamlet is a ghost.  
Floating like him and stagnant as you,
I cannot rest.

My sleep is disturbed.
Like the king, I can't find peace.
But like Yorick,
I am hollowed bones.
Timothy Aug 2017
Sweet Springtime blossoms bud and bloom again
     When all that Winter frost is done away
     Each nodding stem, each petal zephyrs sway
That’s laden with petrichor after rain.
Hard by the lea and meadow grass and grain
     Which toss about in breezes from clouds gray
     Along yon wold where creeks flow all astray
And ferns beneath old oaks trees bend and strain.

     O yet with gentle passing day and hour,
All emerald green trees resort their dress
Which one beholds with awe all eagerly;
     So bask in joy and gather up a flow’r,
Time now to cherish Spring in loveliness,
For soon cold Winter comes on greedily.
12 May 2017 7:50pm EDT
laura Aug 2018
nippy thursday outside
black berry clusters gather
in their dark matter conclaves
silent is the August essence
it’s morning and it’s laundry day
got only your boxers on
Jesse stillwater May 2018
.

He liked to gather up the silence in the springtime
  Pack it up and carry it in an old timeworn leather rucksack
From a distance it looked like he was a senseless fool
  Picking up handfuls of nothing then putting it in an empty jar


No mind is paid to the fleeting glance in the corner of a stranger's eyes
  They were out of reach from the box he was living in
He kept gathering up the endless silence like missing pieces of a lost soul
   It seemed to be everywhere ―  and in it heard,  the only voice he knew


Supposing all his thoughts pondered come forth of silence
  Often resting sheltered beneath branches where it grew on the trees ―
It wasn't just the songbird that broke the stillness in dappled sunlight
  It was the dearth of love that rivers through a strong heartbeat’s
silenced words ...


Jesse Stillwater

04   May   2018
Thank you for reading and considering "gathering silence"
gather and collect
and then offer your sympathy
feelings deflect our sorrow and antipathy
life is brimming with good deeds
i remain steadfast in all that i seek
sweet love is among us now
her eyes and hands
feed the mouths of two rivers
i chase winter into her bed
our eyelids lift as we drift south
and lots of people desperately
cling to their doubts like old lovers
bones Feb 2016
She reaches on tip toe
through windows and tries
to take hold of the outside
and gather it in,

for to feel the wind
and the pull of the tides
on the shrinking inside
of a life growing thin..
ryn Jan 2015
I can't write...
     I have a stash of twenty drafts, bearing a couple of lines each
I can't *****...
     Every draft seem to have developed a shell I can't breach
I can't gather...
     My thoughts so I could nurture these drafts to fruition
I can't think...
     The clatter in my head meant only to deafen
I can't fathom...
     What went right from what had gone completely awry
I can't find...
     Much needed sanity to let soar and fly
I can't cry...
     The tears I've beckoned for so very badly
I can't scream...
     Only muffled gurgles of notions drowned at sea
I can't see...
     The bigger picture...that consumed us both
I can't hear...
     Except for the dreaded voice of reason that I loathe
I can't piece...
     Together one decent little write

I can't breathe...
     I can't breathe...*I'm losing this fight
Ivan Brooks Sr Jan 2018
The world's gone mad but my mind is made up
Time to let ya'll into the darkroom of my mind
A place where I'm referee of a poetic world cup
This where I am creative even though I'm blind
Don't get me wrong I am not leaving from town
No more radio orTV saturated with very sad news
I have got enough breaking news of my very own
Breaking to me each and every moment as it brews
Come and meet the hard drive of my creative doom
That contains my beautiful and liberated mind
Welcome to my one bright side I call my darkroom
This where I feign affection to know who is kind .

You have to know that I always act blind but I see
In my mind I can walk stack ***** and levitate
My mind is where I remain totally black and free
Come join me set my poetic dial and help me activate
The code that will outshine any power on this earth
My mind is where I live and where nobody has access
Here I can run a poetic marathon without taking breath
Call it my playground and intellectual fortress .

My mind is deep, a place of absolute calm and refuge
Somewhere I will always see as the final frontier
It is dangerous and toxic like a nuclear centrifuge
In there I am all alert and vigilant like a soldier
My mind is a darkroom where I give birth to new ideas
A vessel and place in which I gather loose letters
It is my holy land of thoughts, my own creative judea
Where each idea is sacred and light as bird feathers .

Welcome to the epicenter of my creative mind
This is where I turn loose letters into spoken words
A front line of creativity where no one leaves behind
Come and see where all words becomes useful swords .
My mind produce powerful words like some light beams
Courageous and powerful words for extra motivation
Spoken Words that will light up people's faded dreams
Now you know that up in my mind are no limitation
There exists an enormous capacity of time and space
Welcome one, welcome all to the darkroom of my mind
Take a seat and be calm, be quiet this is my place
For this here is my personal creative post of command .

follow....comment

www.poemhunter.com/IvanBrookssr
#Vanguard-poetry23
#IvanBrookspoetry
twitter @ivanclappers
My mind is the final frontier..the bright side I call my darkroom where I process loose letters into spoken words..
patty m Apr 2016
Smoke witch
gathering storm clouds
just past the peak of mushrooms
litanies of cicadas sing
scratchy melodies
to blustering winds
setting dust flying.

Rain let it rain, end the
violent extremes of this
desiccated land of summer.
Let it rain
where brooks once gurgled
and rivers rippled,
before entire  fields vanished
and we became the starving..

Anthems of thunder rumble
accompanied by bolts of lightning,
At last it comes in downpours,
sheets flattening in the wind. . .
rain-washed black branches
blend with overcast gray.
silver puddles shimmer.
Ankle deep in mud we twirl  
catching rain on parched tongues;
oh the blessed relief.  
The end of drought
and soon seeds of hope will rise
green against the dark rich soil,
food to appease hunger.

Moonlit gathering,
liquid bliss like tears moistens our cheeks as
we **** the marrow of acorns
and a handful of pine needles,
whispering in ancient tongues;
Shrouded figures among the trees,
a silver eye watches ferns uncurl,
We will endure,
running full force into the eye of the storm
stopping only to gather gifts from
earths shadow..
If I could look into your eyes, I would tell you how I feel.
If I could look into your eyes, you would see that I'm for real.

If I could look into your eyes, you would see I adore you most.
If I could look into your eyes, at the same time I'd hold you close.

My heart is a lock, but my darling, you are the key.
I admire you so much, you just don't know what you do to me!

Tell me what you want. Your wish is my command.
When the chips are down, then by your side is where I'll stand.

I don't care about your present. I don't care about your past.
All I want is a chance to be with you is all I ask.

I watch you from a distance. I desire your affection, but when
you look my way I have to look in another direction.

I try to gather my thoughts. I try to make a way; but when I
see you, I loose control, not knowing what to say.

How could I come across to get my point of view?
I wonder if you even know that I have a crush on you.

I adore everything you do. I cherish everything that you say.
You make me blush, smile, laugh, and sing...you surely make
my day!

My whole day could be bad. I could be sad and blue,
but you change it all just by simply looking at you.

So I hope you get this letter; being with you is my only
wish. I will now close this letter and I seal it with a kiss.

Please accept my letter, for your affection I desire.
Signed, sealed, delivered, it is I, your secret admirer.
Christian Ek Jul 2014
The band starts playing at a ***** and crowded backyard.
Rebellious youth gather to cast their vote with the stomping of their doc martin boots.
Beer cans everywhere, everyone's trying to let loose the raw stranglehold their society has produced.
The guitars go off and the ritual begins.
First they assemble in the heart of the pit.
In the center individual tragedies bring fourth the wrath of a God's army.
Anarchy you call it, Ha! I call it reassurance, reassurance that this anger is surely communal.

I never saw it more clearer, the youth's power to resist: If the government wont hear us, we will create our own sound even under the batons of fascism, we spit on your rule, your control of our art.

We wont bow down to a law with our names written all over it, while another politician walks free from corruption.
While another officer guns down an un armed child and calls it self-defense.
While suspicious mass shootings continue to occur and mass cameras grow in recording.
While you send more people off to war for another countries resources.
These thoughts explode out of me into shoves, screams, ****** cuts, reckless behavior, and then finally release. Pure psychiatric release.
Cné Aug 2018
The evening's still and quiet
and the katydids abound.
The flag is hanging listlessly
as I listen to their sound.

Desultory the summer air,
as though the world awaits,
"Something evil this way comes."
the foe is at the gates.

A feeling of impending doom
accompanies the air.
Nothing moves.
A stifling presence hovers over there.

Like a blanket, smothering
t'is much too hard to breathe.
And yet, my arms are paralyzed
and sword, I can't unsheathe.

I watch as shadows gather
in miasma up the street.
A harbinger of evil
with an odor, sickly sweet.

I feel it getting nearer
and my heart beats fast with fright.
What imagination ...
on a stifling summer night.
It’s the dog days of summer!
Deb Jones Jul 2018
I miss the way you laughed
Your head thrown back
And a hearty bellow
Full of mirth
I miss that

I miss the way you whispered in my ear
The sweet music of your voice
Pulling me into sleep
Wrapped in your arms
I miss that so much

I miss your voice
So intelligent and wordy
I would gather your words in my arms
Like bouquets
I miss that too

I miss the way you walked
So sweetly quiet
Making the smallest carbon footstep
With your size 13 shoes
I miss that

I miss your smile
That started at the edges of your mouth
And ended with a small curve of your lips
I miss the pleasure I felt when I made you grin

I miss your touch
The loving sweep of your hand along the curve of my hip
The way we start off making love
And ended up having ***
I miss that

I miss your smell
The way you smelled of sunshine and wind
After going outside
I would bury my face in your shirt or coat
I miss that so much

Most of all I miss us
The way we loved each other
We were a circle of two
Full of passion and purpose

We thought we were invincible
No one could break our bond
Yet they did
We were wrong.

I miss you.
Next page