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Left Foot Poet Apr 2018
(seep yourself to leak away)

all reveals are feints;
I take you right
but I am moving left,
always left,
then left again

when I turn the faucet of me on,
brown, rusty pipe water comes out,
never turning clear,
even if the flow
went on for a millennium

someone traveller passerby
reads my excellent explicit illicit words,
with kind sweetness
observes a valid conclusion:
Poems take.a lot out of you


not take, give
they are the slow seepage
of my overburdening
which is
yes, yes, I know, all relative,
but perspective is a
sometime summer thing,
and all the springtime streets
filled with filthy frozen slush

having  come from some rusty water leakage,
never turning clear
no matter how long the street runs away
from you

so you take yourself to give away,
seeping and leaking

ah words;

so useful and so inadequate
crushed petals from the Tree of Life

you ask me If I have read my brother,
the prophet-poet Jeremiah?

The heart is deceitful above all things and beyond cure.
Who can understand it?

When your words came, I ate them;
they were my joy and my heart's delight

Then the Lord reached out his hand unto my mouth and said,
"I have put my words in your mouth."

these are those words
written months ago
C Davis Dec 2016
I am not a waterballoon, bursting at impact.

I am a hot ***, a cauldron





I spill onto the street,

Weeping for my world.
Shofi Ahmed Apr 2017
At times I heard the songs of the giants
who opted to sing for a glass of wine!

Like Omar Khayyam would sing to the grove of vine,
while singing their lullabies they wouldn’t mind,
defying the bloomer stars in the moonlights
gladly treading on the black alleys of the night.
Didn't they budge, didn't they bend to pick up  
a potion of the sea, billowing in the dark?
But they opted out, just for a glass of wine!

To paint a glimpse of that gorgeous Saqi
till now they shun, lending the sun a paintbrush,
‘cause "if only it was colourful enough,” yet the sun
paints the enduring shades of the blue yonder.
But they turned around—just for a glass of wine!

The moon hanging low over the ocean took a pause.
The earth weighed down so deep is brimful!
Every sunrise paints new, loves to shine on once more
That delved-deep earth vintage taste, cooled in age-old,  
now close by the hands breathe in, full of warm south.
Yet they opted out—just for a glass of wine!

Even the time is speechless, ask me not but why.
Still keeps an ear bent on the wall of the leaning sky.  
Nor those who pop out with an inside scoop are ever drunk.
Nor they leak out, it’s a sea off the sea or Abe-Hayath.
It ain’t that small, it is the deathless spring of elixir!
AditiBoo Aug 2018
The air was damp and the ceiling could take no more
Drop by drop, it leaked
Regularly, consistently with a promise much water in store
With each drop the tenant's worry was piqued

A ceiling dripping carries much sorrow
Just like us, trying to halt our pain from flowing out
The ceiling stifles its avalanche of tears for the morrow
Just like us, gulping in air, preventing the blow out

The tenant stands, helpless, not knowing what to do
Wondering how much water could the ceiling hold
What would another round of rain lashing out on it do?
Standing so close, he could feel the cold

And the ceiling kept on dripping, a drop at a time
Holding up the fort steadily, even if a little begrimed
But that stain expanded and spread
Showing the extent of the hurt time had bred

Suddenly, the threat of rain faded
Just like the anger in a person dissipates
And sun dried out the ceiling, now jaded
Just like resilience, even despair, mutates

And the tenant, anxious, is finally able to step in
Finds the tools to help fix and strengthen the ceiling
"No one and nothing will ever make you cave in
I will help you stay up", he keeps earnestly repeating

The tenant realised that the ceiling had protected him
Taking up all the anger of the weather on its shoulders
Preventing even a single drop from landing on him
Even if doing so had caused it to decay and moulder...
ryn Apr 2016
Many have come to pry me open.
Many have come asking for the key.
Offering promises that the doubt would lessen,
flaunting their oaths as currency.

Plenty have assured that they're not like the others.
They promised that their words were forged in steel.
They had come with nothing else except to offer,
their ears and support just so to seal the deal.

"Forgive me", I'd say... I am still a tad apprehensive.
But I do feel the need to speak...
I do long for ears attentive,
Not the ones which are attached to mouths that easily leak.

I know that there are such ears...
Hard to find but they're definitely there.
They'd be ready to catch my tears,
more than willing to show concern and care...

Yours seem rather reliable... That much I see.
They've come with intentions seemingly untainted and kind.
Don't suppose they'd take my words ever so lightly.
They won't lap up my secrets with treachery in mind.

Again I find myself here at the same spot.
About to hand over the duplicate key.
This familiar leap I hope you'd have me caught.
Please don't give away my secrets for free...
ryn Feb 2015
When gentle breezes turn into gale,
     remember that you will prevail.

       You may tear at these pages daily,
in search of peace and tranquillity.
   Planting hope and scattering wishes,
    Spilling blood in smears and blemishes...
       Flying out of the dark on
     wings of birds.
       Bridging the rippling void through
           severed words.


     Be not wary of eyes that speak.
  Be not afraid of mouths that leak.

Know that our scribbles are only
   sacred to us.
       Emotions and thoughts we
           bind and truss.

  What we put forth, we owe it to ourselves...
     Bits of us we've kept hidden in the
darkest rooms; atop the highest shelves.

      are wielder of your mighty pen.
      determine how far or long your
         words would span.

   Your words... They're precious gold.
Many or little; be them new or old.

So let drip your ink with little reservation...
  Let us grow from strength to strength
     as life teaches its lessons.

   Rise up and live on in these here pages,
     For here exist only
               not cages.
Dedicated to writers here who are always apprehensive about posting or think very little of their writes.

Know that your words are gold. And the rest of us as readers are lucky enough be granted access into your mind, heart and life.

Keep the faith. Keep writing. Keep posting...
Mark Upright Aug 2018
The World Requires Edmund Black’s Random Acts of Doughnut Kindness (1/36)


a friend mutual on HP
sent me your poem below
asking me to respond appropriately,
close the tale, he said,
and that I would understand,
thinking by being marked,
I had some expertise in the matter

perhaps you are unaware that the world
exists only because there are at least thirty six^
righteous men on the earth and
personally believe,
there are more

who they are, a well kept secret,
but secrets tend to leak so...

only one,
Mr. Edmund,
employs a dozen doughnuts
(chocolate frosted)
to follow through
on the most important
commandment human
love thy neighbor
with a dozen holies

I’m told that like certain loaves of bread,
a dozen doughnuts
now have along with
wine and water
a place in the repertoire of the selector of the
thirty six

which needs noting,
a dozen
is 1/3 of thirty six

sometimes the answers are in the wholes of the holiest!

Edmund black
Jul 15

My Perfect Morning

The climate in the
World may change
But it will never
Change me
not for a moment
I truly have the most
amazing  life ,
Couldn’t be any better
I get up every morning
Next to  this gorgeous
amazing woman
Get my morning kiss
Maybe a few morning kisses
in my open mouth
If you get my drift
Cause you know I’m in love
Sit back in the back patio porch
Listening to Mother Nature’s  
while reading hellopoetry
Few minutes later
I told my lady  I had to
Go run  some errands
Not realizing yet
What’s up ahead,
Arrived and
While in line at Chrispy kreme’s
A little boy about 5 years of age
Loosing his mind over some
Chocolate frosted
Mother and father told him
They couldn’t afford it
They were only there for coffee
Little boy started
crying hysterically
My Heart Cries out for him
And chivalrously I’ve waited
in line right behind them
Just couldn’t allow
That to take place
I told dad if it was okay
I would love to buy the boy
a dozen chocolate frosted
He accepted and gave
me a hand shake
Mom teared up and dad
wouldn’t Stop thinking me
I hate seeing good
People like this
But anyway,
What an awesome moment
A moment of love sharing
And here’s the most
Amazing part of
my early morning outside
Of my morning kisses
I got the longest hug
From the little man
A handshake
From dad
And a kiss on the cheek
From mom
What can be any better
Than the life I live
I do what I want
And it’s mostly
Helping other people
That’s all that matters.
Having meanings in
Other people’s lives
Fulfills me ,
And what more
Can I say ,
My perfect

I live life
For the inexplicable
Life is love and love
     Always gives
^Mystical Hasidic Judaism as well as other segments of Judaism believe that there exist 36 righteous people whose role in life is to justify the purpose of humankind in the eyes of God. Jewish tradition holds that their identities are unknown to each other and that, if one of them comes to a realization of their true purpose, they would never admit it:
Lyn Senz Nov 2013
She camps out inside
and tramps in all night
with her trove by her side
on the stove there's a light
and she claims she can't hide
blaming no one in sight
and I know when she's lied
it's when she says she's alright

there's a hole in the door
she can peek thru
and a bowl on the floor
for the leak to

give its drops from the ceiling
from the roof they won't patch
from the cops she's concealing
all the proof from her batch
still I can't stop from feeling
she'd be a pretty good catch
if she'd only be willing

to change

©2011 Lyn
False Poets Feb 2018
Human Observations (the woman pees)

if you walk the world with pen and paper
or eclectic electronic devices,
sure as the sunrise espied,
the pen will quick leak
when wearing white
and so will too the
righteous words

when you can't sleep and you must
slam your sweaty fist into pillow
know that the pillow is
silent thinking, dude,
you really ain't
got a hope, a

fallen asleep in the soaking tub
a thousand and one times,
ain't never drowned like
the warning ones say I
will do but only when
restless in my rustling
no-safety night sleep
in my lumpy bed,
where I’ve already
a million

the woman pees, safe and secure,
comforted by the knowledge
that we have bathrooms
separate, her toilet,
man *** free, tho
we just finished
making sweaty,
fluid swapping

she does not, won't put on makeup
in her pj's to take out the garbage,
that is why she keeps loverman,
so handy, nearby, shamelessly
firm, unwavering, good god,
great for one "disposable"
use per night

when you tell your child that you love them,
and they do not reply at all, it isn't that they
don't love ya back, 'tis only that they haven't
learned to love themselves
something well that just
cannot be

the more trinkets I buy her,
more she screams stop,
but never not once
has she said, here,
take it

if you don't believe in Faeries and Elusives,
try, for then you have a middling chance
of getting the missing, disappearing
whole sock hiding
in her ******,
back, intact

If must look up the time where your
love is currently hiding/residing,
then the probability is more than
1.000, that you no longer love
her enough, or
she, you,
not at

you know it is time to shut down,
hang up the pen and close the
iPad cover, surrender,
give up the poetry gig
4 real when you start
to prefer an

More to follow.
I said I was going home
but unpredictable got in my way.
I wandered into the park, curious, for I saw
a crowd milling about, and curiosity did demand
my time. By pure chance, randomness, I acquired
a bounty of yokes in the likeness of blue ghosts.
Such is the way of Millennium on a Friday.
As quickly I found my mates to show them
the treasure.
We decided
to get dosed.

Suspense coming up, then, forty-five minutes in
excitement hit
as our brains leak serotonin. On love buzz again,
Young demon.
Some gang tried to mug mine, I laughed at them
as we walked by.
Howdy-** *****?
Nobody could touch
us, I was on fire. Then
drum 'n bass brought everyone higher.
I'd never've guessed where those vitamins led.
We joked a lot about Breaking Bad. Times change.
Carter Ginter Jul 2017
I want to bleed ink
Stain this paper with beauty
Leak words endlessly that
Take your breath away
My heart could regurgitate
Anything painful
Anything wonderful
Anything there
And I could feel numb
Then free.
PC classic Mar 2018
Feeling powerful and powerless at the same time
like being in a self driving

Love is the world's stupidest illusion like putting on sunglasses and being convinced that the world outside has gone colder

Love is reading a self help book to change your life
and pretending to not hear the writer laughing at you
inside the hardcovers

Love is listening to an imaginary song and being afraid the music will leak out of your ears

Not being in love is like calling yourself proactive for taking
the alternate route to avoid the traffic jam ahead
only to find yourself driving alone in an extremely ****** road and reaching an hour late instead

Love is falling for a person who is high thinking they have sad eyes

Love is the panic attack you get when you are high
because your hands are sweating in cold December

Love is the realisation that
it's actually mid Summer
and you were wearing sunglasses this whole time
meGaThOr Aug 2018
Cruel does not speak,
speak those who felt cruelty "
Cruel are not alive
those who felt cruelty are dead

Why not follow Cain?
seen the land of Cain is the leak
terrified on earth
breathe Oxygen 'til it bit,

Cruel and born cruel gods speak,
Were  shadows running for weak?
Gosts spies earth all week,
Those strength was weird,

Wow, now I'm better be a Dragon.
on my metallic griffin
I'm better  Cruel be in my fly angels,
As gods I am perfect I am cruel,
Mark Grover Apr 2010
the Big Gruff Man
let the fear from his soul
leak through gray stone eyes

how hard the matter
must have been pressed
before he released his grip
on that liquid prize

what a strange sight
seeing water falling,
from those grave, stone eyes

he looks at me
as though i hold the key
to unlock the lock
and release the chain
binding him to his pain

look away Big Gruff Man
or i will drown
in your pleading stare

for you are me
or more to the point
what i fear to be

i scream to his deaf ears
"it is not the matter
but the clinging
that brings your pain!"

let it go,
                  let it go,
                                   let it go

the waters will come
the waters will rise
the waters will carry you away
cait-cait May 2018

eyes on fire ,
i lit a match and
watched you burn

i don’t know how long i stayed
sitting down


when angels were still alive ,
did they look at
the clouds ,?

do they remember how they


my skin peels in the green grass —
composted , the
fence rots and the sun
shines gold ,

this is what they call
"giving back."


blue tears leak
like petals down your cheeks .

everyone cries with you.
im catching up on the cartoon steven universe and playing old video games. im so ******* selfish but what can you really do about that type of stuff?
Lumi Nov 2018
she was
a pen
out of

i am
with no

i could
fill her

she would
be my

but she
had a leak
no wonder
she had
lost her

she is
too broken
to be
my sink

so i
will leave
her be.
karin naude Apr 2013
he takes her hand in his
her hand is shivering
desperately he seeks her eyes
stubbornly she refuses to look into his eyes
finally he speaks
low and controlled
my mistress, why do you question your place in my house
yes you are not as beautiful as the others
no you cannot awaken my member as easily as them
yes i buy them expensive clothes and jewelry and not you

my mistress
you never sleep alone
you dine with me the finest each night
i took your last name
your name is written on the family door
a house that does not leak and know no draft
you travel the world with me
i dress you identical to me
each day i comb your hair
we even have identical tattoos
all this to see you smile
my mistress do not question your place in my house
Skaidrum Jun 2016
Spare me, if you would

It's a foreign land but a familiar street,
red broken teeth and alabaster snow;
I remember it fondly.

Sober winter and blue cloth;
I still see us there.
I'm almost certain, that
St. Petersburg questioned our youth.
just a little closer
"Dance with me, Kirusha?"

All those years ago,
and we still drink up this disease.
The sour love of iron and wine
with shots of homesickness.
Russian rouge
American Dream
"Why did you have to leave?"

I ache to recall it,
because those gates still leak with cold.
This value withers in the white noise;
"Don't you ******* dare say that his death was just an experiment."
'You failure'

I sought it,
the ribbons of old confidence
while the stars looked on from their chairs.
I never found what I was looking for.

Go ahead and criticize;
the way we baptized my betrayal.
Knot up all the love you wasted
and send it overseas.

All that matters to me, Romichka
is that Death paid no mind to you.

Ruby apples at my doorstep
flowers that need blood instead of water.
A sense of hunger in this forsaken city
does not comfort me.

I just suppose
I've been thinkin' too much
And the bitterness let itself in again.

So when you find the time,
Write whatever's left of me in the fire;
along with all the other things.

I want to see you again
© Copywrite Skaidrum
PhiWrit May 2016
Why couldn't I have left you back at that creek,
Instead I have let you linger week after week
Your intoxicating aroma has now begun to reek
To merge with your essence this Alchemist did seek
Though tomorrow's outlook is much too bleak
No sorrow to be felt for I am much too meek
To let a solitary tear drop fall upon my beak
Nor will I let this bleeding heart of mine leak
As my Lord did, so do I turn the other cheek
For you bringing sin into my life just last week
I have to end this with some Bukowski speak
3000 miles away and I still could hear your bed creak
Finnick Dec 2018
You have so much potential.
So, So, So, So much.
And whenever you put a blade to your skin,
I watch the universe leak from the scars on your wrist.
ATL Sep 8
I’ve spent the whole of this evening
drinking bug repellant and
wrapping my brain in gauze

because small shifts of her feet are registered on the richter scale
and my chest
is crowded with stalactites.

there are paintings inside of me;
a maudlin girl with porcelain skin unfolding onto velvet,
bleeding into other men.

her crying gave me tinnitus,
now my ears leak silver-

their canals are comprised of melted
nickels forgotten  
in the center console of her car.

come winter I’ll cast a ring,
though I’m terrified of snow.

It’s always sedatives during hangovers,
until every blink feels like pouring dust on a patch of dry grass in the sun-
bleached white.
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