"invitational" poems
You're an inspirational exciting jolt
Like an invitational lightning bolt
I'm suddenly shocked by the results
When I am blocked by your revolt
You have my beating heart in your hand
Holding me hostage where I silently stand
Staring at your ****** butcher's cleaver
That morphs me into a landlocked ******
You're a two-hander
Like a sledgehammer
Or a radar jammer
I start to stutter and stammer
When I see your weekly planner
And the lack of my presence
Because I'm incessant
You hold a pencil and an eraser
You delete when I become a tracer
And start to draw a better replacer
You hold the scales of justice
Though I claim you're unfit
You say add that to the list
From the throne where you sit
And there's no avenue for any recourse
When your other hand holds so much force
I must deal with your actions
So I can stay in your faction
For my heart's attraction
I am never right
So we never fight
And we never might
Understand each other
When we're taking cover
From exposing vulnerability
An exploding soul is filling me
Because the cold mist killing steam
Between us until you are only a dream
And my mind starts bursting at the seams
Until there's a monster barely mentally caged
But the bars shake when it is constantly enraged
When your saccharine emotions are cynically staged
My bustling brain will unfortunately always be plagued
By your neutral reactions which I'll never be able to gauge
You hold two hands behind your back
Will it be an attack?
Our two hands should meet
Instead I'm trampled by feet
Nov 23, 2017
Nov 23, 2017 at 5:00 AM UTC
night
wears
her
stunning
and lovely
ash pink rose
dress
to
The
universe ball
invitational
Oct 22, 2015
Oct 22, 2015 at 3:15 PM UTC
2am Friends
winter has set the boundage, bars of chill, escape-urge killers,
self-imprisoned by our ruthless timidity, that both comforts yet,
worse violates our truthful, unwanted inadmissible-neediness by
purging the touches and the knowing kindage, this then,
this preface, your reminding of-as-of-yet untouched,
half-invitational, half-regret, half-cursed, whole red need for
2am friends
to fill the void that poems can n’ere fill
1/1/18
Jan 1, 2018
Jan 1, 2018 at 11:36 AM UTC
***perhaps if you are
one of the few
multiyear variates,
still here, still seeking
solutions
to the
equations of
human formulation,
one of the veterans of the
early word wars,
when the line between fellow poet
and human being was full of
invitational openings,
tween those dots and dashes,
we all eagerly entered those places,
crossing over into
those human openings,
making poets into friends***^
yes,
we were social for the humanity
patented in the very word
social
we encouraged,
we critiqued wearing a flag
made from the fine fabric of fellowship,
crossing global borders and time zones,
even planets,
with only a hand-made
poetry passport
constructed from the
tissues of our hearts
each one of us,
A Little Prince,
lost
from other worlds,
but all
found
ourselves together in a
hospitable desert
so strange,
we found companionship,
genuine in ways that
make me weep when I recall it,
so many aviators,
flying low, neath the radar screen,
speaking one language of a thousand dialects
the networking was spontaneous,
friendships formulated,
real hugs exchanged,
no ulterior purpose, no quantity of glory sought,
no favors traded,
there were friends,
not followers,
just sharers
we valued the first amendment of our lives,
the right to speak freely in poetry
***I wish you had been there,
here,
back then***
Jul 16, 2015
Jul 16, 2015 at 8:21 AM UTC
I want to see you from inside out
And know where your eyes gaze about
I want to know what you always see
What could you maybe someday be?
Tell me after you have slept
-When passion awakens from its depths-
The whisper of senses that crash upon your shore,
The ones I hope you do not ignore
I wish to see you gaze at the skies
Maybe you'll frown, or even ask, "Why?"
Those waters, a place I wish to swim
Will ask you with an invitational whim
Maybe- just maybe- you will not deny
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 1:07 PM UTC
21 hours ago
received the message below,
from a fellow poet, here,
now somewhat, more disappeared,
resting in the shady quietude of
Elliot's servers
a mere 21 hours ago,
a thunderbolt telegram
of virtual dots and dashes,
well received
she,
whose name
you have forgotten,
even if you knew it back when
and,
I shan't knowingly now reveal...
***perhaps if you were
one of the
multiyear variates,
still here, still seeking
solutions
to the
equations of the
human formulation,
one of the veterans of the
early word wars,
when the line between fellow poet
and human being was full of
invitational openings,
tween those dots and dashes,
we all eagerly entered those places,
crossing over into
those human openings,
making poets into friends,
yes,
if you webbed here back then,
you may have known her too...***
21 hours ago -
"there's a reason
I got to know you,
even though that might
sound silly.
In a way,
you saved me
two summers ago..."
~~~~~~
this message,
teaches me to remember
the power of words
supercharged,
be careful what you
write,
you just might save a
soul...
didn't not ken, well enough
the pressurized curve of her bend,
though read all her private journals,
her thesis academic,
her private ascetic analysis
and poems that milked & masked
the angst of a life
really real hard
today
reread,
tried anyway,
two years of messages
***could not feign
the pain
unintentionally recovered
while looking for
clues to myself,
this purported savior***
all I recall is
a woman near her ends
woman near no means
but knowing the meaning of
the power drink meaning of
"just going on"
that was dug deep in between,
and how we traded poems
for each other,
and I called her,
daughter
but from now on and within,
when I see a message
time stamped
21 hours ago
I'll be
better ready
for the
explosions of myself
Apr 4, 2015
Apr 4, 2015 at 6:34 PM UTC
come to me,
my beloveds
with long nails
and squinting eyes,
spare neither
claw or hook,
delve and devolve,
critique and solve
the words of this prophet
scribbled on plastic
bus seats
give me
my due,
my comeuppance,
my downfalls
will me
to be better
or worse
if that be betterment
so eagerly
will embrace,
grasp, insert
your benailing fingers,
soften, grasp,
repoint thy claws
taking thy earnest joy
at pain inflicted
as my own
as long as you dare
just say something!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A bus poem
in honor of my invitation
my digital birthing
April 8th, 2015
May 1, 2015
May 1, 2015 at 6:31 PM UTC
You were the one that never got picked.
Almost like the girl at an invitational dance.
You were the one always chosen last.
Similar to the child's football player with limited skills.
Look at you now.
You are the envy of various ladies in town.
Those that were, is trying to be.
Those that claim to be, never amounted to anything.
So, look at you now.
You're respected in important corners around.
It's not that you changed.
In several truths, you're still the same.
You didn't adjust to fit in the "in group" squad.
You stayed yourself.
Which wasn't all that hard.
Cause you always been yourself.
Now, look at you.
You're the prettiest bride around.
Mar 17, 2014
Mar 17, 2014 at 7:30 AM UTC
Beautiful girl, I don't know why,
It's not that I don't try
I would roll with your pretty self everywhere
Enjoying your smile like the priciest fare,
You have no idea how I yearn
For your company; your trust to earn
I love how your words roll off your tongue
Like the curves on your body as if sung,
I don't want to admit it but this teasing
Has got me all worked up; thinking wishing
I don't like my mind playing tricks
When you call me I envision your lips,
Uttering sweet nothing to my burning ears
But teleportation won't exist for another few years,
Words can't describe how my heart falls
When I say no to your invitational calls,
Wish I had no other priorities
But I have to pay all the utilities,
Hanging with me might be like no other
But the way things are; you shouldn't bother
Just thought I'd let you know how I feel shorty,
I'm missing out on being around you; really...
© okpoet
Jan 27, 2013
Jan 27, 2013 at 5:25 PM UTC
This is my invitational suicide,
My final coup de grace,
I can't handle this anymore,
I stand so close to the edge leaning over thinking about it,
My mind screams yes,
But my heart says no,
To wait...
The thought runs through my mind,
again,
It never fails to stop me at the last moment,
Just when I want to give up,
When self-Immolation and penance seem to be the only answer...
She runs through my mind,
Her deep brown eyes and soft brown hair catch me everytime,
No matter how fast I fall after I jump she catches me,
She tortures me,
She is the reason I live when I wish to die,
She is the reason I know my life is worth living.
Sep 23, 2013
Sep 23, 2013 at 10:09 PM UTC
I am scarier as an invitational being
Draw me a context and watch me come to life
Strive with me, we will be friends
Come and watch as unity does commence
Try and wake up in Arcadia
And watch as you lie still
The rings of Saturn turn
And the world turns downright cold
But you won't wake up again
Trust me; I've never been so timid
Every grin grimace is as lifeless as my own
Even our souls have begun to tendril shut
Forward thinking and forward feeling
Did I take you? Sorry, I didn’t mean to
Each breath drawn colder
Each breath taken lightly
Shoulder to shoulder
Beings of all shapes
Beings with minds shaped, molded and singular
They all hunger
For you, one way or another
The eyes once drawn apart
Have found their way together
Right and left
Every breath
Working on into forever
Like it or not
And I'm sure you don’t know
We will surface soon
And then we will float
Try waking up in Arcadia
You will never wake up in Arcadia
The rings of Saturn turn
And the world became void
But the dream is all there is
You have been awake
There is no awareness
I am doomed
Mar 25, 2017
Mar 25, 2017 at 3:28 AM UTC
By: Abaigeal Skye
Society's guidebook to being a "successful woman"
Was surely written by men who wanted to be more "successful with women"
For it is graced by the grimy fingerprints
That bound these pages with the soot
Of burned out attempts at seduction.
Look how
She turns her face away from you
As she erodes inward
To escape your invitational glare.
Hear her
Breath as it catches on each prickling remark,
Slowly unravelling from politeness
To annoyance.
Threatened.
Your mother
Must have told you that
We're humans, worthy of respect, of decency,
But
The posters boasting flesh and flesh alone
Invite you,
Condone.
This is the coward's excuse.
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 2:47 PM UTC
except,
when the old eyes tear, with the greatest of ease,
hitched a planetary ride round the sun, more times
to know that the square root of the human is not
his exterior, which without fail, grows and erodes
on a timed schedule not of his own choosing...
but the mystery that never ages, the arousal of
his base metals, when the women looks upon him
with a intriguing askance, tasking a masking of an
invitational challenge, a whimsy expression of hither
confusion is the reigning ruler, mining for her actual
intentions, the push~pull of her contradictions and
her puzzling diction, impossible to interpret until I
admit, jingle jangle woman, I'll come following you
this is a familiar newness, a fresh candle lit for burning,
and every time is the first time, so there you have it,
I'm no ****** but born renewed, when the heated heart
quavers, with the anticipation of the known unknowns
and the old tears free falling, she finds its puzzling,
even troubling, till she grasps my smiling countenace,
and my head, two~handed embraced as she studies my line~age,
my map of wrinkled experiences that whisper yes, I understand
and she kisses my forehead, acknowledging acceptance that our
paths have never until now crossed, what a delightful surprise
will be the reading of a unexplored map of our conjoined palms,
the greatest wonder be that surprise has not died, and I
with one hand waving free, welcome it all, and she grins at my
exuberant silliness, and that we choose to be with each other, on
a treasure hunt for a poem as of yet unwritten, but so so wonderfull
comforting that its mere outline and its composition~completionition
familiarity speaks of the good things that experience has brought
and now, again, will yet bend time to our wills and what fun that
will be, defying odds, reliving new moments unique, hot created,
and this adventure reinstills the awe of wonder at familiar unknowns
*that early morn smell of
buttered brioche bread,
fresh, virginal,
like the sweat
we have shed
and laughs we,
just baked this
day*
Apr 8, 2025
Apr 8, 2025 at 7:43 PM UTC
If you really don't like this
give me an alternative,
give me that,
give me reasonable cause
to live,
give me proof of my
existence
and pay no mind to
coffee spoons,
measure me in millimetres,
amphitheatres or
a
lions roar
and keep score
of my mistakes
if what it takes
is that.
Jul 30, 2017
Jul 30, 2017 at 7:11 AM UTC
So, a president got a thrill while in office.
Who don't believe Congressmen wouldn't have lined up?
For a invitational thrill.
We aware none of them were better than him.
So, a minister broke his vows of sermonial preaching.
And committed one of the hateful sin.
This is when the truth of news begins.
News report on everyone but themselves.
Not about the reporter that's an alcoholic.
Or the one that abused drugs.
They are a protect class.
Exposing others visual past.
Put them under those glaring lights.
And watch them avoid the cameras like bugs avoid lights.
Jul 24, 2014
Jul 24, 2014 at 5:54 PM UTC