Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Osiria Melody Mar 24
he was quite the talker, words flowing like alcohol.
his words were always blurred, indecipherable.
could never consistently express coherent thoughts,
for his silence always spoke louder than the words
he intended to say.

he slipped through Support's embrace and poured
his troubles out of a bottle of wine.
glass after glass, a crowd of the only visitors that
come by.
submerged his soul in Despair night after night.

his loved ones assume that he's tired and hates
company, but never see the cave of darkness
through his eyes.
in this cave of darkness lies a stash of bottled wine,
inconspicuously hidden in his abode.
as his heart overflows with wine's toxic kiss, the
life within him drains to Death.

The most painful thing is regret over not saying the words that you wanted to say, so say what's on your mind before it's too late.
karin naude Oct 2013
neglected terrified animals with blank stares
move humans to action
a stance to stop this
we prosecute these humans that brake the code
yet we allow young beautiful women to be treated the same
with no repercussions
young beautiful wild powerful tigresses
broken over time till blank obedient stares
family, communities, society sits and watch
the husband praised and hailed
wow what a contradiction
and you ask me to marry?
why would i choose to live forever in a cage?
i choose to be wild and free
to live as god intended for me
Bohemian Feb 17
Caught your back
That is the only feature of you could I spec
So fixated were the steps
Such to mitigate out of the meandering voyage
Towards your path to trace you turned
Beyond my suspected alley
Intended to glimpse your face
I swirled ,shifted and turned
All astood for the whole while
Yet escaped you unaware
I,too,moved ahead jollily without doing you an unnecessary 'peak a boo'
multi sumus Nov 2018 was the sun that was most honoured in that day, When it found itself glistening, Casting its light through Your auburn hair, It was only the strands that i saw but i knew it was You that very moment, Reaching so fervently for the book, All i could do was stand in amazement that before me stood the woman that i will spend the rest of my life with. i wanted to kiss You then but im sure that would have not been received as intended.
   Canvas back, i believe it was a 1954 copy, Due to its scent, First print of...i dont remember, i knew You had a tattoo but it couldnt be seen because of Your shirt length

   i want to tell You everything, how ive seen You not only in my dreams, But in visions , Temporary moments that i find myself lost in another place, Transported to the time when we are together.
   i am not who i need to be for You yet, Theres still much work to be done.  Not only to myself but also, i have not yet built Our home, i am preparing a place for Us that we can live in our own private world.
   In Love, True Love, The kinda love other people wished they had.
   i have sought You out, Astrologically speaking that is, Hence the Birthday wishes.
    i, i mean we, Will know when it is time when it is time.
   This is the first "letter" to You, my hopes are to continue doing so until i am granted the opportunity to speak with You in person.
      Have, Do, and Will, Love You for the full extent of my existence.

    i am grateful for Your birth, And look forward to celebrating its day for many years...together.
Until then my Love.
Ted Sep 2018
You flood the corridors of my mind
With teachings of empty promises
Intended for the blind

Holy lies, forced on my eyes
A poison now swells in my veins

In self-fulfilling prophecy
You create a hell on earth
Burned, I rise from the ashes of my childhood

Well intentions, wound just as deep
These burns my only keepsake

From my innocence
I craft my disguise
to blend with those who believe your lies

As an imposter among my peers
None of which, can ever see my tears

Hidden now I lay,
No amount of your fear
Will bring me back near

Your cross,
The prison which you will hang
Nat Lipstadt May 1
check in at the library, my card scanned,
per the terms of my sentencing agreement

to the poetry shelves dispatched.
row after row, book after book,
all blank awaiting my affections,
all demanding my sensei sensations,
seeking a creme filling of honorations,
words of all shape, roots and origins,
the occasional new combination

some, never heard before, timelessly awaiting expulsion
from the birth-vocal canal where comes origination,
but for me, death by enforced creativity,
that’s what the judgers desired,
a punishment that fits the crime

my misdeed record unsealed, intended for
world envisioning, the ego audacity to imagine
I could write a single good poem,
thus the punishment fits the crime

may1 9:19am ‘19
this for CJ
Q Feb 2017
Forgive me, mother, not
For the things I have done
For they were done with the purest of intentions
Forgive me, rather, please
For the things I intended to do
Yet failed to bring to full fruition

And if you think it so just
To incriminate me thus
For crimes I have no evidence of committing
Your punishment I will accept
Like sweet nectar on my lips
And I shall live forever buried
In the turmoil of my everlasting shame
thejohnags Jul 2018
never been so unsure,
all i need is a little more time.
no, i'm not walking out that door.
no, i don't know.

i'm a sinner with no trace,
when did the rush fade away?
when did i think you were a mistake?
no, i'm your mistake.

i'm yet to see your eyes,
will its spark outshine my pride?
you're yet to prove your lies,
wait, no, i'm the lie.

my mind keeps on changing
i've some trouble breathing
it's not a beautiful feeling,
when you're guilt keeps on knocking.

what do i do with you?
what do i do with me?
i have never intended to hurt somebody.

i am a gun, i don't run out of ammo.
you're a good target, i just can't let you go.
what i'm about to do, i'm afraid it would hurt you.
so before i shoot, just hide.

don't take a breath.
don't fight.

please know i'm thinking of your heart,
but i gotta think of mine too.
Steve Page May 2017
And when you give
Give like the widow would
Quietly and thoughtfully
Wholeheartedly and consciously
Like you know the value of costly
The value of giving til you laughingly
Really hurt in your fund for a holiday.

And when you give
Keep your other hand wondering
If it's sufficiently
Not knowing if it was slight of handedly
Or open handedly
So you're tempted into giving more
Than you intended previously.

And when you give
Give hilariously
Be gutsy til angels agree
On the degree
To which you plunge
The depths of your karki jeans

And if in doubt
Just focus on the tree
And the costly sacrifice
He willingly made
For you and me.

Give like the widow would -
Like it's just between you and God
And then you'll be free.
So many ways to give.  And it does the heart good.
I Love You,
Words That Indirectly
Cause Wars When Directly
Said To Whom Intended  
A Face That Launched A
Thousand Ships
You Are My Helen Of Troy
Beauty That Marvels The
Minds Of Men & Predicts
Their Untimely Demise
Bloodshed Worth Shedding
For Your Name Will Not
Be Said In Vein
By Common Mortals
Only The Gods From
Whom You've Derived
Shall Speak So Freely. . .
Nat Lipstadt Jun 2018
(from “A Love Song” by William Carlos Williams)


familiar that apple google and amazon
have me under 24 hour surveillance
e-specially now
as I am in their
geosphere of influence

but sending me a love poem of WCWs that isolates my locale, my intended inebriation status,
and is addressed to me personally (“you”),
that’s just creepy

so charged am I, obligated to oblige,
to counter-compose a love song of mine own,
under the pinot “influence,”
(in a manner of speaking)
which a love taught me to love

what if,
a new love song ecrit,
to an old and loverly land,
a woman-land designed to be desired,
no difference -
kissing a new girl first time,
a wet and unforgettable
when falling
on the neck of your one beloved anew renewed

now I tremble-tread
for the line of great predecessors,
“the land lover scribes”
skilled in natures homaging,
is like a line out the door,
around the corner as if
a new flavor ice cream
has just been isolated and mined and I...

but a novitiate
in a far away, wild untamed world
where my nature taken by her nature
cannot deny paying my just due:

late middle English, from self + edge

how perfect!
“an edge,
woven on a fabric during manufacture,
intended to prevent unraveling”

the pacific coast air
the irregular shoreline - expanding/receding,
god’s own forestry reserve,
the cascades, a goal on the horizon,
country roads where ancient wheat stalks grow wild
all a tonic intermingled, an alcohol to
imbibe through mouth nostrils eyes and skin

all will be my own selvage!
preventing the eastern unraveling disease,
a nearly incurable permafrost low grade
kate spaded infection,
brought along with me for decades,
my loon June companion, now stalling out,
lost from my happy head

a vineyard on every corner,
marijuana growing next door,
rivers that change like children growing up and down,
cheek to jowled property line
live the berries and the hazelnut groves,
god’s hay bales wrapped in plastic
like marshmallows dotting the landscape

all daring you to say

I could
it  here
A Love Song
William Carlos Williams, 1883 - 1963

I lie here thinking of you:—

the stain of love
is upon the world!
Yellow, yellow, yellow
it eats into the leaves,
smears with saffron
the horned branches that lean
against a smooth purple sky!
There is no light
only a honey-thick stain
that drips from leaf to leaf
and limb to limb
spoiling the colors
of the whole world—

you far off there under
the wine-red selvage of the west
JayceeJellies Dec 2014
You're adorable in every way imaginable,
You've caught my eye and pulled me out-
From that blind, situation.
It's as if you intended to emancipate me-
From my fears.
You gave me a reason to not shed my tears.
It's almost like you can read my mind from-
The inside.
And it's so nice,
To feel like,
Someone understands,
My insights.
Penny Iloa May 2018
Please release your humble fear.
The road ahead is windy, yet clear.
The pedestal I built for you is high, indeed... To protect my love from all evil creed.
I have dug a moat around it too,
To drown the sorrows that still haunt you.
Take another look and you will see, the pedestal was intended for only me.
Amateur. I appreciate you reading this.
Nat Lipstadt Apr 2016
passerby words plain hidden
in a wall sconce of a
fly-bye compliment,
sent to the thankee intended,
creating an instantaneous,
Slam! Bam! Thank You Man!

yeah come , face slap me,
with open palm instant recognition,
there's a poem lurking therein, within,
that uncommonly good common observation,
like hearing a drill bit roar,
demanding with insistent persistent demandation,
"come out, come our, wherever you are"

the good lord makes 'em in
all kinds of shapes and flavors
then makes sense, most eminent,
to favor the good kind,
who go on marching in our number,,.

no claim here to good,
certainly not, sainthood,
that would be quite the hoot,
so settle, man, do settle
in and for the right kinda,
nothing could be finer,
than to be
in the company
my kin and kindred,
the kindest,

God bless all...
April 17, 2016

"I like it when the good lord makes the right kinda people..." SPT
a poem title found in a message,
which seems the source of my best
your words
your uncommonly kind words
Girard Tournesol Oct 2018
Oh, how I delight in the taste
     of my lover’s scent
     as she cries out my name!
In my arms, a slender orchid
     worshiped to soft placidity,
     she murmurs
     do I still yearn for my virginity?  
And I whisper, my love,
     ten thousand times
     ten thousand times, no.

For what we tender feel in lost virginity
     is not for lost virginity alone
Not for a shred of skin or a drop of blood;
     what human being mourns this?
That small ***** we feel
     is the eternal mortality
     of all lost first experiences.
Then let us thank the Gods they spare us,
     for now,    
     our last virginity.

Think now upon the family and friends
     we have lost
     to disease or hunger, to time
     or accident, to addiction or war.  
How shall we remember them
     if not their names?
How shall we speak of them?
Will you remember me?
     Or shall I become as dust in this temple?

Loudly, all my loves, hear me,
      come now with me!
Let us leave this temple for a time,
     walk with me to my secret garden
     where we shall remove these robes
     and look upon one another
     with the gift of acceptance
     and where
     we shall place flowers in our hair.  

Where we shall hold hands
     and walk a bit farther
     to the river and bathe one another
     in the moonlight.
Then let us return here to celebrate
     the memory of the fallen
     as the Gods intended.
Let us remember the names,
     let us speak the names and lest we forget,
cry out their names.
A tribute to Sappho
Tristan Currie May 2018
Words... even the wrong ones,
are often times better than
the ordered world
spewed out in silence.

Language lives and dies not by the value of words
or the protection of grammatical norms or cultural standards
but in the urge to communicate
to express...

and expression always lands
hitting the ground harder and louder
than your intended message.

For this reason whispers echo throughout the ages.
and louder action isn't always what is needed.
Todd V Vance Jan 2017
If you let this architect interject
My subject you'll dissect effectively correct
I'll try to make it clear
If you inspect or introspect with intellect these indirect
Pretentious scribbles misdirect
Collect your wits my dear
If you elect I'll be direct
No intended disrespect
I don't expect that you'll reject
A change of atmosphere
If you accept I won't defect you mustn't reflect this henpecked insects unchecked neglect
Tonight with luck I'll in fact infect
You with a grin from ear to ear
Carter Ginter Nov 2018
It begins as a beige cylinder
Atop a slightly smaller beige cylinder
Upheld by a flat foundation
A beige circle
Equal in size
To one side of the smaller cylinder
Spin spin spin
With gentle fingertips
Until I reach 3/4 of an oval
Attached to the larger cylinder
Instead of closing on itself
It fuses with the wall
Melting into one piece
Speckled with black scrapes
And brown stains
Proof of its use
In ways intended by its creator
And maybe a few that weren't
Working with descriptions. Plan to do more with this later.
Prachi Aug 2018
Lots of things happened today,
Even the time changed its speed,
So quickly it passed before I could say,
Wait!after a long I have been freed.

I got up two hours late;
And sat half an hour in trance,
Realized the clock laughing at my fate,
As I took quick lazy glance.

Then I hurried some work,
And delayed a lot of them.
But I don't like to shirk;
As for today I had a whim.

But at the end of the day I'm contended,
Had a question so I  asked the clock, Was it intended?
Nassif Younes Mar 2016
How do you manage it,
You people with plans?
With your tendon-tight schedules
And checklists in chains;

With diaries strapped
To both of your feet
Does anything happen
That you haven’t foreseen?

Do you map out the cracks
Before heading out
For your hourglass walk?
When you’re looking at flowers

Are they already dead?
As your mind races forward -
With your crystal ball pen
And possible cards -

Do you keep a spare arm
In case one falls off
In a war even Nixon
Would never have called?

With your cutthroat calendar
And insurance tip-top
Will you meet the deadline
And die on the dot?

Is there an alarm in your coffin
Say, just in case
Somebody buried you
Alive by mistake?

As you prepare every moment
Has this one been lost?
I intended to ask
But I guess I forgot.
Val Ajdari Nov 2016
Arrow upon arrow the poisoned heart endured,
Strife and doom its woeful dream ensured.
Vile phantoms of creed with deception en route
Intended to thwart, unveil their wicked fruit.
Then satan withered the spirit's purpose and flame,
And gathered an earthly militia; among those to blame.
A maze encrypted, the light yet unseen,
All prospects stolen, great efforts wiped clean.
Creative the mind twilight art it presented,
The Sphere's evil hosts were reflected and resented.
Lost was all hearing, faith and sight,
Misplaced sense of wonder and good sense in flight.
"I worship nothing!" our soul once preferred,
Such was the spirit in high degrees deterred.

       "Paragons of justice, will I ever get to see
The day my misfortunes cease to be?
They shadow, entrap and starve my soul
Of love and joy and all control!
So tired I am, and tired I shall stay
If purpose here is merely to convey
No purpose at all, except for one:
To enslave the soul, casting punishment for fun.
My simple wish, then, is simply to impart
An end to this misery and to my sanctioned heart."

       Our despairing soul put in motion so
An idea most frightening, its telling shall forego...
But immerse in their demise, allow for stricken grief,
Then foresee the King's hands and His graciousness in fleet.
He gathered around, with love He replaced
Satan's troubled minions conspiring in space,
And severed The Pit's shackles with incomparable might,
He then enlightened our soul, who could not see the light.
All calls to heal had reached The King's mystical vibrations,
Had released the soul and nullified its  limitations.
Profound divine knowledge our soul now espies;
Seeing The King's glory and the destroyer's lies.
Great wisdom and revelation now fill our faithful heart,
Yet, a tale best left for another form of art...
Next page