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The Spider Jan 2016
Our Autumn has arrived, but I don’t predict another spring.
The Autumn leaves are here to stay
but Autumn herself leaves.
Her wake
forever freezes us over, petrifying us to watch the sufferage.
The sufferage of the people around us.
Starvation, damnation, and crimes that are uncontrolable.
The autumn leaves are here to stay
but Autumn herself must leave.
I leave along side her, I am not here to stay
and watch you fall apart.
Your Autumn has arrived, but I really don’t predict another spring.
I wrote this for an english project in 9th grade. We had to use a song and build a poem from it
Dr zik Mar 2015
Birds ate there all eatables
Flapping their wings as a dance
Trimming and preen of the wings
Jump here there, losing no chance
                  
Black, blue, brown-their cute colors
Short, long, slim, heavy, lightweight
Wings and flight-memorable
All in hurry to have fate

Chirp in low high sound, fresh  mood
They were neat, beautiful smart
Search everywhere-want of food
Giving an end, at the start                  
                            
Each-one looking for some good
Bit sip enough to quench thirst
No one waiting, for its turn
A cute *** bird, find it first
            
While the lyrics touch my soul
Chirp, chirp, chirp was their tweet, song
Making a norm; fresh my mood
Melodious-their sweet song

Ripe fruit there-serve passer-by
There were trees to grant a shade
There was rule-'No Restriction'
Beauty of leaves-not yet fade
                
Pan was waiting to serve all
One sharp sip-hurry to fly
Child fell down-knocked at rock
Help! Help! Shout- innocent cry
                
Sound dangerous, **** of earth
Crackling, falling, housing, wall
Help, no rescue-love or hate
Site was change in front of all
              
No charm, fame, concert at all
There was no work, club or shop
Speech for help was useless try
No search team or rescue dare
            
Winking eyes now-teary one
Nobody could found there a bun
There no signs of living one
No care there, no deal, no done

Birds ate there all eatables
Flapping there wings-as a dance
Trimming and preen of the wings
Jump here there, losing no chance
                              
Chirp, chirp sad song-low high sound
They were neat, beautiful smart
Search everywhere-want of food
Giving an end, at the start
                            
Each-one looking-for some good
Bit sip enough, quench the thirst
No one waiting, for its turn
Cute bird could not find it first

While the Lyrics, touch my soul
Chirp, chirp, chirp was their  sad song
Making a norm, my sad mood
Melodious, fair sad song

No fruit there for passer-by
No trees there to grant a shade
They were buried, there, somewhere
No green leaves at risk of fade
          
All the owners slept and pressed
Sound dangerous-lifeless rock
Ruined everywhere-tragic song
Mud, stone, sand, all-cause of shock

No help, care there, love or hate
There was silence as no play
No pan waiting there at all
Birds could find a broken tray

You reveal it then I know
My pangs are more than a sea
There is a link between two
Soul and a body, You and me
Dr. Zik's poetry
History (Muzzafarabad):
The city was near the epicenter of the 2005 Kashmir earthquake, which had a magnitude of 7.6. The earthquake destroyed 50% of the buildings in the city (including most of the official buildings) and is estimated to have killed up to 80,000 people in the Pakistani-controlled areas of Kashmir. As of 8 October 2005 the Pakistani government's official death toll was 87,350. Some estimates put the death toll over 100,000
Sanjali Sep 2018
17
-Hello Love-

Perhaps it’s been a thousand years,
the rivers have shifted so,
the lakes I swam in, have gone dry
the waterfalls though, overflow.
And so it is, that I have wandered back
tugged furiously throughout days
by this rugged tinkling thread
back to this ancient maze.

Most surely it’s been several weeks
the leaves are rough to touch,
the grass withers where I step
but trees don’t ask for much.
And so it is, that I have rambled on
pulled strangely through the haze,
at last I fall under the rays of morn,
My love, I’m home again.
Lost and found
nathaniel Sep 2018
august’s withered days swing from view.⠀⠀
flicker of a breeze caresses earth’s cheek.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
crinkle of a leaf, a wail beneath your feet.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
a wispy veil of dew covers the dried remains of a summer’s past.
treetops glistering, vibrant golden hues⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
first flicker of daybreak rising slowly.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
an infant’s feeble cry of autumn’s might.⠀⠀⠀
although november is my favorite month, september has always held a special place in me, even if it feels like it flies by so fast.
carminayasmin Apr 2018
I listen to them as they mouth your name;
and I see
how deluded,
how hypnotic,
how enchanted and consumed
they talk of your ways and,
how the stars in their pupils beam with a radiance of such pure awe.
Your words hang loose off the tops of their tounges and their lips drool in your glaze.
Your lazy features,  your so electric but so infuriating charm -
sends them mindless, locks them in your illusion.


So it’s then

I try to burn every
sheet of paper which ink prints your presence,
inside these desperate  shelves which fold upon each heartstring.

My ears attempt to block it out.
Instead they replay every song
that has ever left your lips.
And my eyes deceive me as they scatter
a particle of you on every surface of life I encounter.

My mind echoes every laugh you created in my streams.

Then I paint every colour you ever erupted within me,
in thick black.

As they mouth your name,
every trace of you with anyone but me,
causes my hands to pull through my gut,
and hammer down any of these ******* deceptive daydreams
that you have me  trapped me in.

And then so easily, one by one,
debris of my heart crumble like rain
down your window,
down each vein.
1 March 17:03
look at them all
rook Jan 2017
for autumn's leaves have fallen much too soon
and i, without my eyes to see the clear
brilliance of the sun, the stars, and moon
can still make out what the heavens brought near

the warmth of heaven's gift i feel fornenst
i hear the sound true emotion does bring
my heart, it breaks through its final defense
and on the ice first does this new love sing

what spell's been wrought to bring me to my knees?
what magic has your presence on me cast
to turn me from my abhorrence of he
to lover's gaze which alienates the past

And sooner would I cast myself to flame
Then dare confess when you won't feel the same.
Seanathon Mar 2017
I feel so tired
I can barely breathe
My chest is concave
Like the narrow dell
Soaking up the rain
And pulling in the leaves

And though I’m not hollow
I am not whole
And though I’m weary
It is not my soul
Which cries aloud
Unto the the trees

Except for your sound
The sound that is
Of when you sing
And walk beneath
This canvas of leaves
Free as your feet

But the soles of my shoes
And the lids of my eyes
Are now heavy
As my head it lulls
And wants to roll
Back to the ground

So my pillow now
Is underneath
The hooded wood
And as the world
Slowly closes round
It’s you I see

Within the leaves
Beneath the trees
Looking up. Looking down. At you. At me.
Saint Audrey Apr 2018
Solvent and solution
Kept assuaged for so long
Treading in the selfishness of my subconscious state
Of barely traceable memories, spurred on by the gravity of time spent
At the briefest hint at past involvement

Each leaf falls, eventually.
Every pristine little well formed tended to.
Each nurtured, cared for, parcel or idea.

I can watch them for hours
Watching them fall, one by one, for hours.
When days start to bleed together, out of the corner of my eye,
I can always see them, marking progression.
Collecting in drifts, then, taken by the wind, then
The rot sets in.

I used to watch this.

I used to find time.

The roof cast me in its shadow, even standing along the banister that runs along the length

Even as the final rays of sun start to vanish one at a time
sophia Aug 2017
as we watched red and yellow leaves fall

i remembered how fast i did for you.
KiraLili Jun 2015
The sound of rustling
Signals relief brought by breeze
Summer sweat now cools
working outside on a summers day.
grace Aug 2018
crisp clean cold air
fills my delicate lungs
leaving traces of sweet
cinnamon and sour apples

soft breeze blows through
my already tangled hair
finding comfort in
my brown locks

crimson stained skies
kiss goodbye to day
outlining city silhouettes
as it goes

brown leaves laced in gold
crunch beneath my feet
searching for a way back
to their naked home
Pagan Paul Oct 2018
.
Fig leaves suit you,
but I can't wait 'til Autumn ;)


© Pagan Paul (2018)
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Adam'n'Eve - cockney rhyming slang for 'believe'
.
Quinn Adaire Sep 3
Autumn leaves
Summer leaves
Winter’s eve.

Fall is here
After summer’s sear
Before winter’s gear.

Autumn leaves
Crunch beneath our feet.
I want to make it apparent that when I say “summer leaves” I mean it as in summer is leaving, the verb, not the noun.
Tori Ginter Jul 2018
You didn’t even call...
I told on Monday how I’d only had a couple days till I was gone.
But that wasn’t enough for you
I’d have to be dying in order for you to call
Little do you know I am, it’s why I must leave this place that is killing me slowly.
But I still have hope
A dream
You’ll be standing there at the end of the aisle right before I  board.
I will drop my bags and run as fast as I can into you
You’ll be the excuse I’ve been looking for to stay
But the reality is
You’re the excuse that makes me have to leave.
Your silence screams leave more than goodbye
Kellin Jun 2018
You needed wings to make you fill whole
but leaves still fell from autumn trees
And your breath with death
still leaves scars and
as for me I lost everything
Kevin J Taylor Nov 2015
I remember. I remember
The flying leaves and floating leaves
Blazing yellow-orange-red

Until, wind-felled, their final embers
I remember to this day
This wet wool-gray, this end of day

Paris that November
.
Paris attacks, 13 November 2015.


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Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry from common things.)
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