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MeanAileen Mar 2017
It's my best friend,
and my nightmere-
it's all that I love
and everything I fear.
It's my fulfillment,
my bottomless sorrow-
bringing dark thoughts
of no tomorrow.
It's my strength,
my greatest plight-
this evil addiction
I try to fight.
It's my oblivion,
my heartbreaking pain-
a toxic cloud
that's killing my brain.
It's my protection,
my paranoid lies-
the Devil himself
in crystal disguise.
It's my sanity,
my endless strife-
this methamphetamine
destroying my life.
It's my reality,
my make-believe bliss-
I just never imagined
I would end up like this....
Truth be told....
Alyssa Underwood Nov 2015
God's love is delight itself
it is beauty itself
it is tender yet fierce
sweet yet wild
steadfast yet unpredictable
enveloping yet freeing
captivating yet boundless
protective yet empowering
certain yet never boring
relentless yet gentle
secure yet mysterious
trustworthy yet exciting
all-consuming yet unfathomable
He is everything
you’ve ever hoped for, dreamed of,
longed after or imagined
and so much more
He is the Lover of your needy,
thirsty soul and He fights
continually for your heart
Kewayne Wadley Jan 2017
And there I saw the perfect bed.
Just the perfect size, height width everything I could have dreamt.
I imagined the perfect sleep in my perfect bed.
Never quite seeing home the same again.
It came equipped with sheets and blankets even a heated mattress.
This bed was better than anything I could have imagined.
I climbed her leg and slipped myself in her pocket.
I haven't slept this good in a long while
John Mendoza Jun 28
I once met a girl, named fire & desire, though far from ordinary, I couldn't help, but admire the way she inspires,

But it’s more than just, giving to the lust, it’s about building the trust, cause something like this, can never be rushed.
Yet we’re both eager to win, even if one of us has to lose, cause no one ever knows, how love really goes

But something tends holds them back, whether it's their past, or it's their last,

Yet they say, you can't truly love someone, if you don't hate em, but what if you don't hate em, you hate who they become,

Or can it be that, they were really something else, even if you know couldn’t help, but not see, cause your eyes were  blind, until you took back the key, and set yourself free
Rose Amberlyn Jan 12
I’m painting you a million colors.
But none of them will stick.
They drip and drop,
From the canvas to the floor.

Without a face, without a name,
Who are you?
You’re mine.

But I’ll sit here colorblind,
And wait for you to come.
Alyssa Underwood Nov 2015
Promises made by mortal man
Are rarely met by mortal hand
For though they strive to win your heart
Such passions land far from their start

They'll paint, so clear, a future bliss
And draw you in with blinding kiss
But just when you have bought the dream
Man finds pursuits more worthy to deem

Ambition, sport and other girls
Whose flattering words and smiles like pearls
Will tempt a fellow to leave his nest
And lie upon another's breast

'Tis pain so sharp you think you'll die
And tears aren't found enough to cry
A torture rack would be better friend
With all its tearing limb to limb

To have your innards disemboweled
Or face the fiercest lion's growl
Would be kinder punishment than this
From one who knew your ****** kiss

And yet within this darkest night
A hint of moonbeam's softest light
Might rise upon such blistered soul
And shine into its gaping hole

For romance still may spark a flame
And whisper to your heart by name
To woo you in your bleakest hour
With promises of healing power

Promises unlike the others you've known
Whose good intentions were quickly thrown
Away by the frailty of human flesh
When sin's entanglements did enmesh

No, this One's words are wholly sure
His heart and mind and will are pure
His faithfulness cannot be shaken
Nor His covenant love ever be taken

He chose you before He made the sun
And said to the Father, "I want that one!"
He searched you out through all your years
Through all your joys and pains and fears

And now He waits for you to grasp
That deepest pleasure lies in His clasp
That His own kiss brings highest delight
That His face is eye's sweetest sight

It's He alone Who can fill you up
And saturate your empty cup
When life has left you hollow and dry
And numb to further wish to try

When memories lie tarnished with stains
And not one worthy dream remains
He reaches in with perfect hope
That pulls you up like saving rope

And as He wipes tears from your eyes
He says to you: I am the Prize!
Take hold of Me and drink My love
Come sit with Me in realms above

For I have blessings prepared for you
That you've never imagined, but oh it's true
I long to give you all of Me
To draw you close and let you see

That in your pain you know Me best
That heart's rejection finds its rest
In this sweet fellowship of intimacy
Where you are made to look like Me

I'll give you love like you've not known
Enough to see your will o'erthrown
Enough to pour it out upon
That very one who did you wrong

For that one, too, knows thirst of soul
And needs My love to fill the hole
Which, though he's tried hard to ignore,
Pleads, "More and more and more and more!"

But if he never should respond
Still, that pure love will seal the bond
That ties you to My own heartbeat
For then you'll see My love complete

For though the world resists Me still
I love them fiercely and always will
I've known rejection like no other
From bride and kindred and friend and brother

And when you love through hate and scorn
A jewel within your heart is born
For then you glimpse My own heart's breaking
And learn My secrets of rarest taking

To rejoice in the face of bitter spite
Requires sure death but will invite
Your soul to dance in gardens of bliss
Where you will know My Lover's kiss

So come and dance with Me, make haste
There's no spare moment left to waste
Abundant life waits through this door
With thrills and pleasures evermore!
~~~
Paul Hansford Aug 2018
The first cold letters, alone on the page.
A quick pencil found them,
and the lively and beautiful syllables blossomed.
The pale book felt the pencil,
and the terrifying, hot words entered.
The lines grew, living and sensitive,
gleaming as never before,
and I knew the unheard lines!

First, a tiny and unselfconscious sound.
A noun struggled to appear among overpowering words.
A strong, golden adjective ran out,
a short, fragrant adjective, beautiful in the early spring.
A young verb grew among tiny blue conjunctions,
and a fortuitous adverb understood, instinctively.

The first sentence dreamed of trees, and a sad cloud.
It dreamed a grey rain,
and the tall trees felt the rain.
There was a first and unknown river,
imagined, inconsequential, like snow in summer.
A red bird glided beyond reach,
as if it had never happened.
The soft sounds fitted the lines,
and the quick bird cried,
Remember the short rain!
Remember the sad poem!
This one was a "collaboration" between myself and an app that I imported to my computer. First I entered lists of nouns, adjectives and adverbs (including adverbial phrases), then clicked to start the process.  The computer didn't "compose" the lines that you see here, but it gave me lots of ideas, and I had to work quite a lot on them. Streams of sentences poured out onto my printer, most of them complete nonsense, and when I had enough I pressed Stop, and started the process of weeding out the *******, editing the more promising lines, and re-arranging the order. My favourite line is "There was a first and unknown river," which I could never have dreamed up by myself.
ryn Nov 2014
I've stared...
Longingly forever into you
You'd stare back but you never really knew
Hands of hours, minutes and seconds I've shook
All the time I've carelessly took

I've witnessed...
That etched on each one, that amazing smile
A crutch forged of sunrays that had carried me many a mile
It's all that I have to know of you
In this endless chase I've sought to pursue

I've envisioned...
Different ways you'd wear your crown
Various trimmings on lavish gowns
Smitten by the way you sport your paint
The nectarous song sung in your gait ever so faint

I've imagined...
The addictive rise and fall of your every breath
Bringing me back to life after every death
Pulses of sweet nothings that never did ebb
Ensnaring my heart with your silk spun web

I've believed...
You are the queen of my future tale untold
I've felt it so real like verses written in bold
But I've awakened from slumber into terrifying reality
Pains me to realise that you're nothing but
imaginary*...
JayceeJellies Nov 2014
She comes over for the night,
She seems to be alright.
I'm not sure if I like her yet,
But that doesn't seem to matter,
She's just that close to my sister.

She started to stay over on school nights,
Something just wasn't right.
Soon enough she never left,
I began to feel like I was being replaced.

I'm not trying to sound selfish,
And no I'm not jealous.
But I am confused,
Why are you telling me this unfortunate news?

She hasn't left for weeks.
I'm sick of being the subject of greed.
I want my family back.
Just tell me that she'll eventually leave.

I'm now starting to feel neglected.
I've been replaced in every way I had imagined.
But you don't seem to see it that way.
I don't think the girl is leaving any time soon.
madyson shaye Jan 2015
"what does she have that i dont?"
I imagined asking, I imagined calling hours after the fact and letting you hear me squirm out muffled cries,
the grey area between please, please no and thank you for doing this now

"what does she have that I don't?"
I imagined asking, I imagined calling and begging you to give me a better reason why I wasn't enough to show you that you deserve so, so much better, that you deserve to not be a wreck, but I stopped.

"what does she have that I dont?"
I realized, in that inexplicable grey area between want and loss, there is one and only one thing she has that I never will,

you
ryn Mar 2015
.
     Seems much smaller than I had imagined.
     It only stretches as far as my eyes could
     see.
     It reeks of the past, with no hints of the
     future.
     The present is here, the present is me.

My world tonight...
     Sees me nestled,
     watching silent but with mind
     dishevelled...
     Unnoticed on this kerb...
     Unnamed and unlabelled.

My world tonight...
     Is filled with familiar strangers,
     ushering their lives along.
     I know their faces but not their names.
     I'd call this home but I don't belong.

My world tonight...
     Is spinning regardless...
     It stays on track.
     Never waits for me.
     Never looks back.

My world tonight...
     Has no intention to soothe my thoughts.
     It is baring its bite...
     It's leaving me far behind...
     But I'll catch up at the break of light.



                                        *As I always do...
Alyssa Underwood May 2017
Promises made by mortal man
Are rarely met by mortal hand
For though they strive to win your heart
Such passions land far from their start

They'll paint, so clear, a future bliss
And draw you in with blinding kiss
But just when you have bought the dream
Man finds pursuits more worthy to deem

Ambition, sport and other girls
Whose flattering words and smiles like pearls
Will tempt a fellow to leave his nest
And lie upon another's breast

'Tis pain so sharp you think you'll die
And tears aren't found enough to cry
A torture rack would be better friend
With all its tearing limb to limb

To have your innards disemboweled
Or face the fiercest lion's growl
Would be kinder punishment than this
From one who knew your ****** kiss

And yet within this darkest night
A hint of moonbeam's softest light
Might rise upon such blistered soul
And shine into its gaping hole

For romance still may spark a flame
And whisper to your heart by name
To woo you in your bleakest hour
With promises of healing power

Promises unlike the others you've known
Whose good intentions were quickly thrown
Away by the frailty of human flesh
When sin's entanglements did enmesh

No, this One's words are wholly sure
His heart and mind and will are pure
His faithfulness cannot be shaken
Nor His covenant love ever be taken

He chose you before He made the sun
And said to the Father, "I want that one!"
He searched you out through all your years
Through all your joys and pains and fears

And now He waits for you to grasp
That deepest pleasure lies in His clasp
That His own kiss brings highest delight
That His face is eye's sweetest sight

It's He alone Who can fill you up
And saturate your empty cup
When life has left you hollow and dry
And numb to further wish to try

When memories lie tarnished with stains
And not one worthy dream remains
He reaches in with perfect hope
That pulls you up like saving rope

And as He wipes tears from your eyes
He says to you: I am the Prize!
Take hold of Me and drink My love
Come sit with Me in realms above

For I have blessings prepared for you
That you've never imagined, but oh it's true
I long to give you all of Me
To draw you close and let you see

That in your pain you know Me best
That heart's rejection finds its rest
In this sweet fellowship of intimacy
Where you are made to look like Me

I'll give you love like you've not known
Enough to see your will o'erthrown
Enough to pour it out upon
That very one who did you wrong

For that one, too, knows thirst of soul
And needs My love to fill the hole
Which, though he's tried hard to ignore,
Pleads, "More and more and more and more!"

But if he never should respond
Still, that pure love will seal the bond
That ties you to My own heartbeat
For then you'll see My love complete

For though the world resists Me still
I love them fiercely and always will
I've known rejection like no other
From bride and kindred and friend and brother

And when you love through hate and scorn
A jewel within your heart is born
For then you glimpse My own heart's breaking
And learn My secrets of rarest taking

To rejoice in the face of bitter spite
Requires sure death but will invite
Your soul to dance in gardens of bliss
Where you will know My Lover's kiss

So come and dance with Me, make haste
There's no spare moment left to waste
Abundant life waits through this door
With thrills and pleasures evermore!
Repost
jane taylor May 2016
all seemed chaos
incoherence and seeming defeat

it was as if in crucifixion i walked
but for awhile

resistance commenced corroding
to surrender

in quiet then the gift appeared
more majestic than i possibly could have imagined

oh god you were there all along
and i never journeyed alone

and lo, but with acceptance of this truth
all was revealed

©2016janetaylor
Smoke Scribe Mar 2018
all poems write themselves, following plans that are drawn only
as the poem goes along, neither leading or following, but
carrying the writer along as first violin, a VIP passenger,
the first viewer, a consultant but not a conductor

a poem is written based on what has happened
a poem is written based on what was hoped to happen
a poem was written based on what could never happen
but is so well imagined that it is more real than if it happened


I willingly tell you I will not tell you which is what, for there is no difference between them for the writer, the first passenger,
though undeniably fully aware of the quality of the ware
that is proffered, plottered or just perchanced

perhaps you are thinking, but of course,
this is the way,
the way of all of us,
the way it has and will be and no
disclaimer needed for no believable claims are made

perhaps
for the weave is oft tight, tight as near-truth, and so well imagined, it wraps the first passenger in a cloak of skin
that actually feels, though cloaks cannot feel,
but belief is easily eased

there are no lines or lies in my writings
there are no definitions and
perception is only your truth


Therefore,
my poems are splats and drips.
you make them into paintings that hang
in your own private museum
but authenticated by me as
first viewer,

3/13/18
1:09am
RK Dec 2018
The rain lashed down and the storm didn't abate 'till late next morning.

On awakening after a disturbed night sleep, I noticed a tree had fallen. The sky looked bright and more blue than I ever remembered. The calm after the storm seemed quite uplifting and remarkable.

In the distance I heard birds singing. The blankness of emptiness,
dissipated. My friend, who was working in our garden was whistling, and I swear I saw the wet mud, glistening.

Even the unkempt home and garden on our Avenue looked beautiful.

I imagined flowers growing there!   I visualised the new growth of Spring and the birds KNEW  what I was thinking. Holding my eyes shut, I saw daffodils growing, glowing in the gentle breeze.

Neither looking outward nor inward, I saw new ground. New seeds! The storm left a strong vibration, an opening to new possibilities. The old way seemed unbearable!
Everything is beautiful.

The storm moved me.

Peace
A storm inwards and outwards resulted in writing this poem.
Storms or not , the stillness remains.
Marília Galvão Jan 2018
He came as he was
And she, as he wouldn't have imagined
Cracks of her artistic nature
Overwhelming every cell of her palm
The fragility of an inviting craziness
Captivating his instinct for drowning
her impetuous gaze
Shouting a child's malice
The absurdity of her coherence
Killing him of laughs

He read her silently, she was the book that turns off the light
of the room
And
The reader's, drenched in the revealed chapters

Torn between the doctrine of his sense of justice
And
The torment of smiles caged in 'if'

Oppressed by an unfamiliar circumstance
And
unpronounceable desires

Ripped between her disarming perfume
And
His non-existent suicidal vocation
August 2017
Sam Hawkins Apr 2013
What we have named Fire Escape
(an ordered, angular tangle of ladders and rail)
had made picture geometries in my west window
well-framed and flat--set foreground and background
in two dimensions, as the sun hid,
and my round eye opened.

What we have named Fire Escape
was flaked-paint brown orange, as if
first it had been born of a flame
and then had taken up living as metal--
tempered itself into usefulness,
which I should trust now, in case of the yelling
and the engines.

What we have named Fire Escape
was happy Jungle Jim or Jungle for Jane
for the sparrows I saw this morning
which flitted and wildly played
within, rising up
arched and back again.

Made of the square pairs of ladder rungs--
a tunnel entrance or ducking posts,
or highway bridges to clear;
the birds like small plane, daredevil pilots
each following each, going under.
No sparrow would ever crash.

And what is this I remember now?
How one bird eased its engine and perched there to stay?
As if to offer me, with a little turn of head gesture--
a thank you, for the bread I'd left on the sill? Or to say  
I'd better shut the curtain and make my exit?

Either prideful guess gets me nowhere fast.
Failed even is speaking in any sparrow languages
from my recline stuffed chair; again, but now imagined,
to draw beady eyes to fix on me, telling me much less.

That morning, with the very last sparrow gone,
I remember that nothing in my sight moved,
save an American flag at a distance in the wind,
with its one red-white striped wing
waving toward the cold north,
as the white church spire,
framed in open quadrilaterals,
held its position.
written and posted a few hours before the Boston Marathon Bombing, Monday April 15th, 2013
Jesse stillwater Apr 2018
Nightbird perches high
beneath the shooting stars
that dapple the bouquet
    of sleepless peace
... his soft downy breast      
    has lent breath
to the sweet April afterglow
     heaving with song

The mystical feathered troubadour's
     swooning echo
A melodic twilight serenade
conjures a moonstruck metamorphosis,
sprouting magical wings of flight;

rousing a lonely heart's esprit
     to fly away unfettered
     in constellations of song

How dare imaginings spilled from the big dipper
enchant such an enrapturing magic spell?
It's so far to fall from swinging on a star!
It's so far beyond nearing crescent moon
     when you wish upon a star  

Thereupon struck by a bewitching bolt of starlight;
Dropping asudden as a shooting-star!

    Rolling like trailing thunder;
        tucked and tumbling ―
             somersaulting,

           celestial rumbling
blossoming with an unearthly joy

A nascent winged heart splayed bare,
soars upon cresting wind waves;
    dreaming of that shapeless  
          w h o  o  o  o  s h ―
         gathering beneath
        ~ uplifting wings ~

  Suddenly ― gliding freely,
       winging gracefully
  upon wafting star drift glitter;
lilting lightly upon the arising cadence
of nightingale's melodious fluted song

Nightingale sings sweet April perfume
beneath the star shed lamplight twinkle

... and it makes no difference if it's only a dream
    if my heart had wings



imagined by:   Jesse Stillwater
22nd  April  2018

Imagination set free ... perhaps rooted in the branches of a tree
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2397540/a-lost-angels-wings/

Luscinia, nightingale -  songbird noted for its melodious nocturnal song
.
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