Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Dark Fjord Nov 2016
globe your many suns
with your smile,
my room is free
from whirling

whenever alone,  enter,
to these places, without a master.
Allison Oct 2017
Follow the kick-drum of the heart
to the point where it’s heard loudest.
Spend ten thousand hours on the lungs:
Read the textbook on what fills us.
Dedicate a white board
to what makes us collapse.
Hold the bell lightly
to differentiate your own pulse from another’s.
Then drink, and dance, and pray,
to relearn that they’re the same.
jane taylor May 2016
i hear the loudest
in the quiet

Listening doesn't always mean understanding
- Listening could mean getting lost in your own thought of tranquility
- Or even your own devastational whir
- Listening doesn't have to be with your ears
- Just the exhaustion of emptiness that outlines your skull;
- Or even the numbness that conquers every length from spine to external excellence of your mind;
- Gliding from one emotion to another could be the loudest transaction without making a single clamor;
- Listening doesn't always mean understanding
- But the utter perplexity of ones thoughts drowning in the sound of nothingness.
By Macee L
K Balachandran Jul 2014
She stupefy truth
with her finely crafted lies
that stand head held high
without even
the slightest sign
of embarrassment.
She waters the seeds
with acid, deliberately
even manage to get kudos
for her 'kind intervention'
Her 'collected venom'
in real, is a counterfeit concoction
more deadly than the real,
that attracts unlimited attention
and the loudest rounds of applause,
for it's new shade of blue
when displayed with special effects
for all to view.
In her presence, fairness loses its meaning
foulness like her, usurps it, makes its own,
becomes the reigning queen!
Whatever she does
has a dark beauty,
even the true angel of evil
would greatly envy her.
Knit Personality Jan 2015
                          "...better to stand aloof
Far from these slanderous fools who mock my life
Knowing me not..."
                          —Oscar Wilde

How petty I become around the petty,
Giving a **** and ruining my day
About worthless opinions, till, all heady
And quick with rage, I conjure up and slay
With words some holograms of those who rightly
Deserve my total disregard and full
Forgetting, caring not if they contritely
Beg my pardon or talk till their tongues are dull.
Rather, adopt a wise philosophy,
Self, and ignore these sadly bored and boring
Servants of Trivia: for Poetry
Reserve your thoughts: give fools your loudest snoring.
And if you think on them, do it with pity:
Their lives must be just so, so, so, so ******.

"One lie weakens a thousand truths."

"Time heals, steals and reveals."

"Karma finishes what revenge neglects."

"The future is uncertain, but we play a part in its design."

"Help when you can, pray when you can't."

"If your life is out of focus, it's time to change the lens."

"Honesty is in the alcohol."

"The only thing better than a second chance is never needing one."

"Sometimes the most valuable company is yourself."

"Instincts over impulse, always."

"The greatest comeback is the one least expected."

"Fear is a light sleeper."

"You can't change the past, but it can change you."

"Some are born with a silver spoon, others with a pitchfork."

"Even the smallest of pebbles has its place in the sand."

"The humble voice resonates the loudest."

"Write your failures in pencil, your triumphs in ink."

"Scars speak every language."

"Two things you should always trust: your gut and your God."

"Every tear leaves something behind."

"Courage brings you to the fight, wisdom wins it."

"Relationships start and end, but the lucky ones get to begin again."

"The devil doubts. The angel accepts."

"Biggie makes you dance. Tupac makes you think."

"Justice is money green."

"The only thing better than good friends are lifelong ones."

"I'm in a fight with life and I'm losing on points."

"We are remembered for three things: the times we did good, the times we did bad and the times we did nothing."

"Every underdog wants to be top cat."

"Love never travels alone."

"Dreams reveal what thoughts conceal."

"The problem with the world is the wolves outnumber the sheep."

"You can't spell tragedy without rage."

"Focus on the valley and the hills will disappear."

"When you ignore pain, it ignores you."

"The past and future are distant cousins."

"Hope is always listening."

"Moonlight is for lovers and devils."

"Nothing will get you in better shape than a breakup."

"Time is a tattletale."

"Sometimes all that's left is a penny and a wish."

"There's a special place in heaven for those who suffer on earth."

"We are connected by smiles and tears."

"The mirror mimics what the mind imagines."

"If infidelity was a crime they would have to build more prisons."

"What the blind man sees, the sighted man seeks."

"The ego is a phony friend."

"Luck will take you as far as fate allows."

"Two things that never forget: elephants and broken hearts."

"My train of thought has no conductor."
Spenser Bennett Apr 2016
It's been said that ignorance is bliss
But I think that phrase took a swing and missed.
Cuz I look around and all the ignorance I see and hear
Seems to stem directly from fear.

Fear of knowledge, change, and what may come next
From both sides of the aisle, right and left

Mother help us we walk along in confusion
Pointing fingers, spewing hate filled abuse and
Forgetting to speak of love for fear of rejection
Father help us we ask your protection

There's more to learn if only we allow it
We should listen to more than just those who shout the loudest

Even jesters garner much attention
And are showered with affection
But their ideas are farcical and dilute
If one but tried they are simple to dispute

Die not with fear in your heart
Remember courage requires fear to start
To defeat our burgeoning ignorance
We must supplant our living indifference
Bus Poet Stop Sep 2017
the bus poets

we are the modern day chimney sweeps,
the ***** black faced coal miners of the city,
digging up its grit, toasted with its spit,
the gone and forgotten elevator operators,
the anonymous substitutable,
still yet glimpsed occasionally,
grunts of urbanity
provoking a surprised
whaddya know!

once like the bison and the buffalo,
we were thousands,
word workers roaming the cities,
the intercity rural routes and the lithe greyhounds
across the land of the brave,
free in ways the
founders wanted us to be
us, the stubs and stuff,
harder working poor and lower cases

we were the bus poets,
sitting always in the back of the bus,
where the engines growls loudest,
seated in the - the most overheated
in winter time, so much so
we nearly disrobed,
and then come the summer,
we were blasted with a joking
hot reverie from the vents,
but vent, no, we did not!

no - we wrote and wrote of all we heard,
passion overheated by currents within and without,
recording and ordering the
snatches and the soliloquies of the passengers,
into poem swatches;
the goings on passing by,
the overheard histories,
glimpsed in milliseconds, eternity preserved,
inscribed in a cheap blue lined five & dime notebook,
for all eternity what the eyes
sighed and saw

books ever passed
onto the next generation in boxes from the supermarket,
attic labeled, then forgotten beside the outgrown toys
with our names writ indelible with the magic of
black markers

if you stumble upon a breathing scripter,
let them be, just observe,
as they, you,
these movers and bus shakers,
as they, observe you

tell your children,
you knew one in your youth,
then take them to the attic
retrieve your mother's and father's,
teach your children
how to read, how to see,
the ways of their forefathers,
the forsaken,
the bus poets.
dedication: for them, for us, for me
Butch Decatoria Dec 2015
In the hush of your eyes

my heart speaks loudest

feeling our lips hover

our conversations

not a word

rhythmic drums

rapacious lungs /


the beatitude


after you



in all “caps”

a rewrite
Angela Moreno Jul 2015
Walking through the town today
I thought I crossed you on the street
With your sand storm hair and empty eyes
And anxious vagabond feet.
Your pretty teeth were crooked
Like bricks forced under pressure
Your shoulders, they sagged tiredly
Your head hung with displeasure.
My heart leapt at the sight of you
And music filled my lungs
With a longing to sing with the loudest voice
All the songs 'til now left unsung.
But when your eyes met with mine,
You were just a man I did not know.
Just a man, like the man I once loved
One thousand cold Augusts ago.
Logan Robertson May 2017
Lost Love

He remembers that day
many sad years ago
it was sunny out,
but soon a storm raged.

He returned home early
from work,
to rest and nurse a cold.
to see his gorgeous wife
fix him a delicious soup
and give loving care,
a remedy not.
He caught a surprise.

Was it then a hallucination?
To see her ex's car
in front of their house,
fanning the flames in his heart?
Or to imagine the house shaking,
or to hear love noises howling
from the rafters of contempt,
as her fireplace warmed tempest.
He sure hoped then... it had been a misfire
it wasn't.

He slowly opened the front door,
walking decrepit and sad,
like he was in hospice care.
He could see the final script
playing out,
more so the tragic ending
the trail of clothes,
her ex-boyfriend's scent,
and approaching closer
the devil speaking louder.

He opened the bedroom door
to their parts caught in honey jars
and scarlet red on his tainted wife
over bed sheets of shame.
Their eyes catch,
both flush, and tearful,
as breathing stopped,
his melancholy eyes asking why?
What about the future  lily pods,
our family, house, kids
... and you sell out.
What about being fresh
out of college with our dreams,
passion and
What about the bonds,
pinky swears, pricking of blood
marital vows.
Her eyes had no answers.
She cried, loudest
as her ex-boyfriend bolted
not before passing the mill.

He closed her door for good
that mournful day,
dismissing darkness,
opening his wrath for her
in his mind, yet
what words or light can be exchanged?

Uprooted and lost, he walked
scarred over and over
by her promise and lost love.

That was thirty years ago
and he still walks with her
ghosts, and it still pains.

KiraLili Apr 2015
Days at an end and tools put down
Works all done and supper had
Laid down summoning the courage for a shower
Loudest is the sound of ringing in one's ears

The only decision now is when to get up
Many were made today quickly but not now
The day sinks in at the speed of the setting sun
Everything slows down , right brain replaced by left...
Silent tears,
A hushed river,
streaming down my face.
Even the loudest of my cries are drowned out.
From this world there is nothing to be gained,
but pain,
My tears,
My fears,
Like acid rain,
burn through me
reflect who you really are...
And so goes the silent stream of the silent tears....
As you can see.... Sunday was the worst 0_0
Corey Oct 2017
Dancing circles in the low morning sunlight
Approach, and the hum crescendos and livens
like Bolero.
At first, you barely hear it; then your skin ripples, ears buzz, and hairs stand on end;
Until finally, your vision is blurred with a swarm of black, and your skin feels more alive than ever.

Retreating back to the hive as the sun rises, and heat settles, the bees fan their golden palace; working hard to keep it cool inside
Like the applause after the final notes, thousands of wings flutter out of sight creating the softest, yet loudest of whirs;
The bees drum their sound into the air.
“The bees drummed their sound into the air” -Sue Monk Kidd, from The Secret Life of Bees
fyodormatveyev Sep 2018
Really upset for what comes across me lately
Had to keep my mind busy

Because solitude is the real friend
Rare people use to get along with it

I came with myself
To the place I love
  without a bunch of friends

I experienced it myself
Solitude means enjoy yourself feeling alone
  but not to feel lonely

I played it myself
To be dumb and pretend to understand nothing
  while the world is crumbling down

I watched it myself
The place to stay for a while
  in all of sudden got burnt
   that left pieces of memories

I felt it myself
Having the loudest minds
  always do something to limit their circle
   and keep their feeling out from sight
    while pain cut you off in an unorganized way

I did it myself
Meant to be good and somehow hollow

I listened to it myself
After words that come from the mouth are nonsense

I buried it myself
Guilty feeling that always comes up
  and it keeps pushing up the ground to the skies

I said it to myself
This must have come to an end

Seems like having a different personalities
But, I can assure you it's not

It all full of stress and bliss simultaneously
Wish you to get well and blessed really soon
Simon Bechtel May 2018
Rotting meat lined the walls
of the spot where the crime was committed
Locked from the outside
Shut in as the oil burned,
the smoke engulfing,
the flames consuming the people as they screamed, "Let me out"
but the indentations of the footprints on the door spoke loudest
They spoke of 25 beautiful faces
lost in pursuit of the American Dream.®
Kay Reed Feb 2014
Everyone's heard that saying,
the one about not making homes out of people,
but that's a hard rule to follow,
especially when its midnight and cold out and
he pulled over on the side of the highway
because he "just knew" where to find you walking alone.
Its even harder when he offers you his coat
and wraps his arms around you
and you feel safer surrounded by scarred skin
and whiskey blood than you did in the
walls of a house you've never considered home.

My mother told me once that I shouldn't
make someone my first choice if they
only made me an option. And my father
chimed in with a comment about
how I was a young, naive teenage girl who didn't know
a **** thing about love.
They may have been right about falling
for the wrong boys but its hard when
every single one of them put their foot out
and tripped you as you walked by them that
one day in April at the local library.

A homeless man once told me that I
should be careful because "the drugs
might help for awhile but the fall
will always be lower than the high"
and for the longest time I wrote that on
my arm in a marker that promised
it was permanent but would always wash off
in the shower and that's
when I realized that yes, **** is bad, but
love is a worse drug and
things that promise to stick around never do.

I once played my favorite song on repeat every night
for three months and by December I could tell you
exactly what second breaths
were taken and where the drums were loudest
and when the guitars got a little shaky
because of sweaty hands. And its February
now and that song came on the radio last weekend
and I turned it off so fast my head spun a little
bit because now instead of ceremonials
and drowning, that song makes me think
of that time I was so broken I couldn't get off the floor.
To be continued.
Stephanie Nov 2018
My voice, at times, is quiet.
As quiet as late-night rain which you don't even realize fell until traces of raindrops fall from an overhanging tree and softly caress your face.
My voice, at times, is loud.
As loud and unceasing as a heartbeat, always heard in the corner of your mind.
My voice, at times, is silent.
As silent as the streets late at night when you feel most invincible with just the moon and the stars by your side.
Somehow my silence is loudest out of all I've said.
My voice and words are always looked past yet my silence is the only thing worth commenting on.
"Are you angry?"
Does it even matter much?
Do you even care?
I just want to drown in my emotions why can't I be left alone?
When my brothers dog died.
In his eyes crumbling,
The loudest silence I've ever heard.
Next page