"mesmerizes" poems - Hello Poetry

"mesmerizes" poems

In a place by the lake stood a tall willow tree It's roots stretching down far beyond where I could see At first glance I admire its elegant beauty But there's more than meets the eye, I learned fool-heartedly Its melancholy dance in the cool summer breeze Mesmerizes my senses and is enough to please Then the reflection in the lake made it all too clear The willow is my love but there's no need to fear Behind her dark eyes is a cloudy sky A girl living in fear who's dying to cry I can see you hiding behind that brave face Exhausted from a journey you thought was going no place The tears I see fall are like rain from the sky Or the branches of the willow that keep this place dry The leaves that drape down are protecting you so Concealing the emotions that you don't want to show The path you traveled is something you thought you'd never surpass Like walking down a road of rusty nails and broken glass Like a broken heart, your feet have been torn Yet you go on beaten and continue to mourn But the road you walk knows another poor soul I've been down it too, and I've paid my toll And the secrets you kept hidden from plain sight Are now exposed to me in the mystic moonlight And when you weep like the willow, please know this to be true I'll love you forever, even when the skies ahead aren't blue -AJT

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Nov 14, 2017

Nov 14, 2017 at 11:55 PM UTC

The_Wasted_Wordsmith

The Weeping Willow

In a place by the lake stood a tall willow tree It's roots stretching down far beyond where I could see At first glance I admire its elegant beauty But there's more than meets the eye, I learned fool-heartedly Its melancholy dance in the cool summer breeze Mesmerizes my senses and is enough to please Then the reflection in the lake made it all too clear The willow is my love but there's no need to fear Behind her dark eyes is a cloudy sky A girl living in fear who's dying to cry I can see you hiding behind that brave face Exhausted from a journey you thought was going no place The tears I see fall are like rain from the sky Or the branches of the willow that keep this place dry The leaves that drape down are protecting you so Concealing the emotions that you don't want to show The path you traveled is something you thought you'd never surpass Like walking down a road of rusty nails and broken glass Like a broken heart, your feet have been torn Yet you go on beaten and continue to mourn But the road you walk knows another poor soul I've been down it too, and I've paid my toll And the secrets you kept hidden from plain sight Are now exposed to me in the mystic moonlight And when you weep like the willow, please know this to be true I'll love you forever, even when the skies ahead aren't blue -AJT

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Hello I have placed my feet in this place I have no intentions of leaving For it mesmerizes me with its beauty Hello Am just a stranger Wishing one day I could call this place my own For through its dazzling nature I can see the rises of mountains And falls of valleys of my village home Hello I open the doors of my house wide To embrace the "Ubuntu" of the place And to remain rooted to my origin For everyone is welcome.

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Mar 22, 2017

Mar 22, 2017 at 6:15 AM UTC

kaggwa-nantongo-josephine

Hello Am an African

Hello I have placed my feet in this place I have no intentions of leaving For it mesmerizes me with its beauty Hello Am just a stranger Wishing one day I could call this place my own For through its dazzling nature I can see the rises of mountains And falls of valleys of my village home Hello I open the doors of my house wide To embrace the "Ubuntu" of the place And to remain rooted to my origin For everyone is welcome.

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Autumn, like an Indian classical dancer, dressed up Arrives with soft rhymes and quickening steps She comes aglow, aglow with a rare beauty Dancing to the bracelet's tinkling song Her floating robe falls in deep folds around her feet As she mesmerizes all with moves full of grace Viewing the flaming colours in assorted display We are apt to wonder if Nature carefully saved up All that is best for the closing grand finale Autumn tints look enchanting all through the land With pervading green, offset by crimson, citrus yellow Flaming red, lustrous gold and a faded russet The air stays crisp and sweet in the ripening fields While stray clouds ramble in flawless turquoise sky When autumn is thus all agog like a frenzied dervish It gives us morbid pictures of death and decay The trees wrestle to free themselves of their worn cloaks Causing a cascade of withering autumn leaves Now they fall scattered in endless stream and lie in piles Like charred carcasses after a fierce forest fire The rustle of dry leaves blown by the wind Falls in our ears with the gabble of migrating birds Pale sunshine sifts through leafless trees of maple and oak All those leaves once stayed regal in stations high But now tossed out like worthless chaff They come nose diving and fall several meters below Spreading a hazel curtain over the moist earthen crust When trampled mercilessly by careless feet They silently mourn their thankless fate Graying that comes at the end of each autumnal fall Reminds us of the pall of gloom that awaits It is disturbing like the parting song of birds As they fly southward before the fall of winter

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Oct 8, 2016

Oct 8, 2016 at 9:09 AM UTC

Autumnal Collage

Autumn, like an Indian classical dancer, dressed up Arrives with soft rhymes and quickening steps She comes aglow, aglow with a rare beauty Dancing to the bracelet's tinkling song Her floating robe falls in deep folds around her feet As she mesmerizes all with moves full of grace Viewing the flaming colours in assorted display We are apt to wonder if Nature carefully saved up All that is best for the closing grand finale Autumn tints look enchanting all through the land With pervading green, offset by crimson, citrus yellow Flaming red, lustrous gold and a faded russet The air stays crisp and sweet in the ripening fields While stray clouds ramble in flawless turquoise sky When autumn is thus all agog like a frenzied dervish It gives us morbid pictures of death and decay The trees wrestle to free themselves of their worn cloaks Causing a cascade of withering autumn leaves Now they fall scattered in endless stream and lie in piles Like charred carcasses after a fierce forest fire The rustle of dry leaves blown by the wind Falls in our ears with the gabble of migrating birds Pale sunshine sifts through leafless trees of maple and oak All those leaves once stayed regal in stations high But now tossed out like worthless chaff They come nose diving and fall several meters below Spreading a hazel curtain over the moist earthen crust When trampled mercilessly by careless feet They silently mourn their thankless fate Graying that comes at the end of each autumnal fall Reminds us of the pall of gloom that awaits It is disturbing like the parting song of birds As they fly southward before the fall of winter

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In Farmington the misfit suffers the jukebox and dances to an unknown song. He dances on the pool table. He wears black—black skull cap, black duster, black shirt, black slacks, black boots. He's in Farmington and the women here drink Bud Light. He dances slow. It's similar to a dance you've seen before. You have that friend that climbs on couches after a few and half staggers, half sways. The women here watch him with unhappy eyes and hands stained blue from the textile mill. He seems to mouth the words although he clearly doesn't know the song. They, the women, dig their elbows into the bar. Pocked and graffiti'd, the bar soaks up spilled beer and ash and nail polish. Behind the bar a sign reads: Free Beer Tomorrow. And for some reason, you must admit, this sign's effect never dulls. The Misfit pantomimes a dance with a pool cue. His face is severe, serious. He's in Farmington dancing with a pool cue on a pool table to a song he doesn't know like a drunk friend of yours and the women are watching. Next, he does something amazing. He removes his cap. He's got shocks of bleached hair and burn scars run like rivulets between the patches. He tosses the cap toward the bar. One lucky woman catches it and summons herself to the pool table. You want them to have a bit of dialogue here, to say something oblique and innocent. Instead the lucky woman dances at the man's feet. He surrenders a smile and he's got small tracts of bleached hair and burn scars and he's in all black and he's dancing. The lucky woman, she's in a canary yellow patch dress. Her dance, although clumsy, still mesmerizes you. It's without ego, without shame. She is a child. She is the light in the room. She is, in this moment, the world entire. He pulls her onto the table. It's time to appoint the Misfit and the lucky woman names, you think. His name shall be Joshua. Her name shall be Anna. Palms together, her head resting on his chest, they sway. The smoke and the tracers of light meld and Joshua and Anna's outlines become muddied. Their bodies merge and they are both yellow and black and covered in burn scars and bleached hair and the women are still watching. As the song starts to fade, someone—maybe it's you—drops a few coins in the jukebox and it begins again.

0

Dec 22, 2016

Dec 22, 2016 at 12:13 PM UTC

In Farmington the misfit suffers the jukebox and dances to an unknown song. He dances on the pool table. He wears black—black skull cap, black duster, black shirt, black slacks, black boots. He's in Farmington and the women here drink Bud Light. He dances slow. It's similar to a dance you've seen before. You have that friend that climbs on couches after a few and half staggers, half sways. The women here watch him with unhappy eyes and hands stained blue from the textile mill. He seems to mouth the words although he clearly doesn't know the song. They, the women, dig their elbows into the bar. Pocked and graffiti'd, the bar soaks up spilled beer and ash and nail polish. Behind the bar a sign reads: Free Beer Tomorrow. And for some reason, you must admit, this sign's effect never dulls. The Misfit pantomimes a dance with a pool cue. His face is severe, serious. He's in Farmington dancing with a pool cue on a pool table to a song he doesn't know like a drunk friend of yours and the women are watching. Next, he does something amazing. He removes his cap. He's got shocks of bleached hair and burn scars run like rivulets between the patches. He tosses the cap toward the bar. One lucky woman catches it and summons herself to the pool table. You want them to have a bit of dialogue here, to say something oblique and innocent. Instead the lucky woman dances at the man's feet. He surrenders a smile and he's got small tracts of bleached hair and burn scars and he's in all black and he's dancing. The lucky woman, she's in a canary yellow patch dress. Her dance, although clumsy, still mesmerizes you. It's without ego, without shame. She is a child. She is the light in the room. She is, in this moment, the world entire. He pulls her onto the table. It's time to appoint the Misfit and the lucky woman names, you think. His name shall be Joshua. Her name shall be Anna. Palms together, her head resting on his chest, they sway. The smoke and the tracers of light meld and Joshua and Anna's outlines become muddied. Their bodies merge and they are both yellow and black and covered in burn scars and bleached hair and the women are still watching. As the song starts to fade, someone—maybe it's you—drops a few coins in the jukebox and it begins again.

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all it took was one sunny day, together with whispers from the birds, saying that it will come and the asphalt under your shoes tells the same story, the same as the trees, longing for cover as well as the smiles of the long forgotten people (and their happiness mesmerizes you) and suddenly, even the snow with its final breath agrees that **** it is probably coming And the conflict starts. your heart that screams of drunkenness, of wanting to burst, to be too **** high, of being alive crashes into your logic, your brain, saying “but this is good too” that this is the balance you need, the safe, the expected. the love. but when you’ve been starved for the ups the whole winter, eating only cold, white life it is hard to listen and the colours of spring entices you, making the black and white, the sense, draw its last breath as you walk away into the spring leaving all the beauty of winter to thaw out, leaving no trace except for a constant reminder of the cold parts in you that will never be warm

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Mar 19, 2018

Mar 19, 2018 at 6:50 AM UTC

- this is where I’m leaving you

all it took was one sunny day, together with whispers from the birds, saying that it will come and the asphalt under your shoes tells the same story, the same as the trees, longing for cover as well as the smiles of the long forgotten people (and their happiness mesmerizes you) and suddenly, even the snow with its final breath agrees that **** it is probably coming And the conflict starts. your heart that screams of drunkenness, of wanting to burst, to be too **** high, of being alive crashes into your logic, your brain, saying “but this is good too” that this is the balance you need, the safe, the expected. the love. but when you’ve been starved for the ups the whole winter, eating only cold, white life it is hard to listen and the colours of spring entices you, making the black and white, the sense, draw its last breath as you walk away into the spring leaving all the beauty of winter to thaw out, leaving no trace except for a constant reminder of the cold parts in you that will never be warm

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The passion released in the medley of intrigue Flows restoring as an onrush of air Deeply inhaled as a kiss of aching persuasion Gently arresting the heart waiting there A resonant fascination mesmerizes the pulsation Tempting the acceleration to exceed The natural precision, which is known to maintain A rush of harmony, as the heart beats There are some who will emphatically attempt to deny This medley of delightful intrigue exists As they have never inhaled, the passion released By the aching persuasion of the kiss If your heart has never felt this deep fascination A swift acceleration that rises above The natural precision, the heart's known to maintain Then you have never, truly been in love

0

Jul 18, 2010

Jul 18, 2010 at 6:56 PM UTC

Medley of Intrigue

The passion released in the medley of intrigue Flows restoring as an onrush of air Deeply inhaled as a kiss of aching persuasion Gently arresting the heart waiting there A resonant fascination mesmerizes the pulsation Tempting the acceleration to exceed The natural precision, which is known to maintain A rush of harmony, as the heart beats There are some who will emphatically attempt to deny This medley of delightful intrigue exists As they have never inhaled, the passion released By the aching persuasion of the kiss If your heart has never felt this deep fascination A swift acceleration that rises above The natural precision, the heart's known to maintain Then you have never, truly been in love

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Me and the homies built up a foundation of beer bottles in the corner of the living room that slide down when we play our music. It's a pyramid of transparent brown ********** bodies. We stick our tongues into mouths that will never fully be ours, and throw each new brick in the corner with a clink, ******* our pants and waking up in entrail pools of their digested innards the next morning. A brown shimmer like flashlights on the lake bounces off them bumping against our hips and mesmerizes our upper thighs and inner groins.

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Dec 30, 2011

Dec 30, 2011 at 9:13 PM UTC

Me and the homies built up a foundation of beer bottles in the corner of the living room that slide down when we play our music. It's a pyramid of transparent brown ********** bodies. We stick our tongues into mouths that will never fully be ours, and throw each new brick in the corner with a clink, ******* our pants and waking up in entrail pools of their digested innards the next morning. A brown shimmer like flashlights on the lake bounces off them bumping against our hips and mesmerizes our upper thighs and inner groins.

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You hear the buzz. Your body is tense. The needle goes in. The ink flows. You begin to relax. Your mind wonders. Black and grays. Traditional. Oriental. It's mesmerizes your soul. You are lost in the moment. Minutes turn to hours. It's all done. It is there. On your body. For the world to see. Permanent ink.

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Oct 14, 2014

Oct 14, 2014 at 1:33 PM UTC

You hear the buzz. Your body is tense. The needle goes in. The ink flows. You begin to relax. Your mind wonders. Black and grays. Traditional. Oriental. It's mesmerizes your soul. You are lost in the moment. Minutes turn to hours. It's all done. It is there. On your body. For the world to see. Permanent ink.

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POEM 44 (Chandelier) *123, swing 123, swing 123, swing swing from the chandelier fly like a bird forget everything until morning light’s heard and nothing exists.* *123, feel my love 123, feel my love 123, feel my love let your tears dry on the air there is no shame in wanting tomorrow to never exist; to exit the past and just hold on let me be your full glass, open your eyes... and* *123, see me 123, see me 123, see me hold out my hand lets chandelier until morning light’s heard.* Aztec Warrior 8.26.15 https://youtu.be/2vjPBrBU-TM *(Note: Inspired by the Sia song “Chandelier”. I utilized the ideas and some of the words to express an answer of sorts to this song. This is another song where the music mesmerizes me and has added meaning cause I understand the ‘shame’ when the morning sun comes up. This poem is also dedicated to a very special friend and to the deeply felt hope that they are doing more than ‘just holding on’.)*

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Sep 5, 2015

Sep 5, 2015 at 5:26 PM UTC

POEM 44 (Chandelier)

POEM 44 (Chandelier) *123, swing 123, swing 123, swing swing from the chandelier fly like a bird forget everything until morning light’s heard and nothing exists.* *123, feel my love 123, feel my love 123, feel my love let your tears dry on the air there is no shame in wanting tomorrow to never exist; to exit the past and just hold on let me be your full glass, open your eyes... and* *123, see me 123, see me 123, see me hold out my hand lets chandelier until morning light’s heard.* Aztec Warrior 8.26.15 https://youtu.be/2vjPBrBU-TM *(Note: Inspired by the Sia song “Chandelier”. I utilized the ideas and some of the words to express an answer of sorts to this song. This is another song where the music mesmerizes me and has added meaning cause I understand the ‘shame’ when the morning sun comes up. This poem is also dedicated to a very special friend and to the deeply felt hope that they are doing more than ‘just holding on’.)*

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In my life I have loved and been loved shed tears and have lost hope To love is to die as, to hate is to care We can love with all of our being; mind, heart, body and soul then we despise them for breaking our hearts Love mesmerizes and transfixes us it takes us captive then lets go leaving you there, alone forgotten, weak, miserable A life once filled with joy now a sad, faint memory This new found sadness can **** with just one blow knocking us off our feet, disarranging our thoughts and leaving us in despair To love is to die as innocence is to pain you can’t have sunshine without a little rain.

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Oct 15, 2013

Oct 15, 2013 at 9:03 PM UTC

To Love Is To Die

In my life I have loved and been loved shed tears and have lost hope To love is to die as, to hate is to care We can love with all of our being; mind, heart, body and soul then we despise them for breaking our hearts Love mesmerizes and transfixes us it takes us captive then lets go leaving you there, alone forgotten, weak, miserable A life once filled with joy now a sad, faint memory This new found sadness can **** with just one blow knocking us off our feet, disarranging our thoughts and leaving us in despair To love is to die as innocence is to pain you can’t have sunshine without a little rain.

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The maestro plays And the puppet dances. To do the maestro's bidding Is his will. The maestro plays And the puppet dances. The creation develops as Creator watches. The maestro plays And the puppet mesmerizes. Bringing the maestro Along for the ride. The puppet dances And the maestro plays. Creating to the rhythm Of the puppet's moves. The puppet dances And the maestro plays. As the creation Creates the creator.

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Nov 25, 2013

Nov 25, 2013 at 2:53 AM UTC

The maestro plays And the puppet dances. To do the maestro's bidding Is his will. The maestro plays And the puppet dances. The creation develops as Creator watches. The maestro plays And the puppet mesmerizes. Bringing the maestro Along for the ride. The puppet dances And the maestro plays. Creating to the rhythm Of the puppet's moves. The puppet dances And the maestro plays. As the creation Creates the creator.

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Girl, your glamour mesmerizes me It is such a pretty sight to see Beautiful, charming, and radiant You are as sweet as can be One look at you And my heart starts to palpitate and beat triple time What a joy it is to be with you You are sweeter than a glass of wine

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Jan 3, 2014

Jan 3, 2014 at 3:52 PM UTC

brooklyn6timesplus

Girl, Your Glamour Mesmerizes Me

Girl, your glamour mesmerizes me It is such a pretty sight to see Beautiful, charming, and radiant You are as sweet as can be One look at you And my heart starts to palpitate and beat triple time What a joy it is to be with you You are sweeter than a glass of wine

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She is A'''' Shadow She stalks and haunts you by the DARK She conjures your mind Into a sea of EVIL and follows you swiftly Into Your END, But just then She leaves you bare SHE IS A'''''''' WITCH She Casts A spell On your heart And mesmerizes You With her EYES AND WITH THE BOUNCE OF HER ******* She locks you into a SEA OF ILLUSION AND You are forever History. SHE'S A'''''''''' THIEF She says She's not after your Money Yet She wants your soul, She wants your heart AND WANTS YOUR . LIFE. SHE IS A ............QUEEN. She travels . Through .. ........ The Tributaries Into the DEEP BLUE SEA AND WEARS HER CROWN, SHE SEARCHES FOR SOULS SEARCHES FOR HEARTS AND THEN ... SHE LURES AND DECIEVES SHE IS .A SHADOW RUN RUN RUN FROM HER.

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Jul 13, 2016

Jul 13, 2016 at 11:39 PM UTC

SHE IS A SHADOW•••'''''

She is A'''' Shadow She stalks and haunts you by the DARK She conjures your mind Into a sea of EVIL and follows you swiftly Into Your END, But just then She leaves you bare SHE IS A'''''''' WITCH She Casts A spell On your heart And mesmerizes You With her EYES AND WITH THE BOUNCE OF HER ******* She locks you into a SEA OF ILLUSION AND You are forever History. SHE'S A'''''''''' THIEF She says She's not after your Money Yet She wants your soul, She wants your heart AND WANTS YOUR . LIFE. SHE IS A ............QUEEN. She travels . Through .. ........ The Tributaries Into the DEEP BLUE SEA AND WEARS HER CROWN, SHE SEARCHES FOR SOULS SEARCHES FOR HEARTS AND THEN ... SHE LURES AND DECIEVES SHE IS .A SHADOW RUN RUN RUN FROM HER.

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I plant my soft lips Upon yours sugary sweet. The scent upon your skin Mesmerizes me. Belle Chérie. La vie en rose Explains the way I feel When you lean into me Cuddled tight, cuddled right It's just the place to be. Ah yes, the way I feel When you look into These hazel eyes and I into Your dark brown iris Hypnotizing, beautiful, precious The way I feel... It is exuberance I'd like those moments to keep happening. Moments when I pick you up, Or hold your soft hands And attempt teaching you to dance To shake your hips Moments when I learn about you Moments of simple conversation Moments of wonderful kisses Laughter, embraces, and bliss. Yes. I'd like to continue this, euphoric courtship

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Feb 1, 2016

Feb 1, 2016 at 11:17 PM UTC

I plant my soft lips Upon yours sugary sweet. The scent upon your skin Mesmerizes me. Belle Chérie. La vie en rose Explains the way I feel When you lean into me Cuddled tight, cuddled right It's just the place to be. Ah yes, the way I feel When you look into These hazel eyes and I into Your dark brown iris Hypnotizing, beautiful, precious The way I feel... It is exuberance I'd like those moments to keep happening. Moments when I pick you up, Or hold your soft hands And attempt teaching you to dance To shake your hips Moments when I learn about you Moments of simple conversation Moments of wonderful kisses Laughter, embraces, and bliss. Yes. I'd like to continue this, euphoric courtship

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Girl, your stunning personality Really mesmerizes me Loving, sharing, and caring You are as sweet as can be With each moment that passes Thoughts of you linger in my mind Very radiant, sassy, and classy You are precious, tender, and kind

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Jul 9, 2014

Jul 9, 2014 at 1:14 PM UTC

brooklyn6timesplus

Girl, Your Stunning Personality

Girl, your stunning personality Really mesmerizes me Loving, sharing, and caring You are as sweet as can be With each moment that passes Thoughts of you linger in my mind Very radiant, sassy, and classy You are precious, tender, and kind

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A poet thinks beyond Walking along that Extra mile We pervade through Boundaries Beyond the realms of Known Imaginary it may seem Every word Carries the truth Thoughts seeded In the fertile minds To sprout Into exotic flowers Alluring aromas Mesmerizes the soul We exist Between the words Filling the spaces Between the lines With our imagination

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Feb 1, 2015

Feb 1, 2015 at 11:18 PM UTC

A poet thinks beyond Walking along that Extra mile We pervade through Boundaries Beyond the realms of Known Imaginary it may seem Every word Carries the truth Thoughts seeded In the fertile minds To sprout Into exotic flowers Alluring aromas Mesmerizes the soul We exist Between the words Filling the spaces Between the lines With our imagination

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My words do splits, therefore they do gymnastic flips this acid pit drips sick masses of glass and ink Brain **** call it massive **** pinpointed so accurate I'm going to a place with no conciseness I write with my arms Then drop legs and abstract kicks My abstractions are the thrills of a ride or several attractions My mental is monumental to some by a fraction I'm an empty thought that lies in a Casket Surprise with my habits That's applied to the madness is tragic... Slithering satisfaction supported strongly surpasses idiots by the masses. Monumental mysteries mesmerizes men in misery... I live life to amaze while in a maze of symmetry I hope what I say Is riveting, Imagery will then cascade into a blaze of remedies instantly sparking a chain reaction of positive energy... The negative turns away...along with its enemies... Ears evolve into eyes then spot their demise I hope I never get lost in these times.

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Oct 19, 2016

Oct 19, 2016 at 1:20 PM UTC

Lyrical Acrobat

My words do splits, therefore they do gymnastic flips this acid pit drips sick masses of glass and ink Brain **** call it massive **** pinpointed so accurate I'm going to a place with no conciseness I write with my arms Then drop legs and abstract kicks My abstractions are the thrills of a ride or several attractions My mental is monumental to some by a fraction I'm an empty thought that lies in a Casket Surprise with my habits That's applied to the madness is tragic... Slithering satisfaction supported strongly surpasses idiots by the masses. Monumental mysteries mesmerizes men in misery... I live life to amaze while in a maze of symmetry I hope what I say Is riveting, Imagery will then cascade into a blaze of remedies instantly sparking a chain reaction of positive energy... The negative turns away...along with its enemies... Ears evolve into eyes then spot their demise I hope I never get lost in these times.

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Your Love - or any thought Containing you, thereof - Mesmerizes, magnetizes, The hungry ghosts inside of us. Perception slip; a CD skip; A fall into a big ball pit-- (The reasons I can't take a hit); Leaves me leaving life; Walking on the ice; Using sugar spice, Swallow my advice: The little lies that we conceive, The little girl-type fantasies, Can make us buckle at the knees, Discovering it's all diseased. Are we dreaming? Third eye screaming. I will myself to find us meeting. Lock the door; the key, not needing. The events preceding passion feeding. Alas - it's passed. Big girls learn real world lessons - No beguiling oneself through an external essence.

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Jul 8, 2016

Jul 8, 2016 at 10:50 PM UTC

The Hungry Ghosts

Your Love - or any thought Containing you, thereof - Mesmerizes, magnetizes, The hungry ghosts inside of us. Perception slip; a CD skip; A fall into a big ball pit-- (The reasons I can't take a hit); Leaves me leaving life; Walking on the ice; Using sugar spice, Swallow my advice: The little lies that we conceive, The little girl-type fantasies, Can make us buckle at the knees, Discovering it's all diseased. Are we dreaming? Third eye screaming. I will myself to find us meeting. Lock the door; the key, not needing. The events preceding passion feeding. Alas - it's passed. Big girls learn real world lessons - No beguiling oneself through an external essence.

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Girl, your loving personality Really mesmerizes me Very thoughtful and caring A very pretty sight to see That gorgeous face And your beautiful smile Is filled with sweet tenderness It really drives me wild

0

May 24, 2014

May 24, 2014 at 7:00 PM UTC

brooklyn6timesplus

Girl, Your Loving Personality

Girl, your loving personality Really mesmerizes me Very thoughtful and caring A very pretty sight to see That gorgeous face And your beautiful smile Is filled with sweet tenderness It really drives me wild

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Poetry can’t be a limitation Words radiating the poet’s imagination Transcending beyond mere understanding Poetry mesmerizes the soul and heart Words beyond the regular Reading between the lines, to decipher For Poetry shall remain forever Lyrical hymns, always hummed by poem lovers Surviving the centuries, and beyond Poetry can pay tribute, to unspoken feelings From poet to poet and from poems to poems A rich legacy will weave intricate Art

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Jun 8, 2014

Jun 8, 2014 at 12:52 PM UTC

Poetry can’t be a limitation Words radiating the poet’s imagination Transcending beyond mere understanding Poetry mesmerizes the soul and heart Words beyond the regular Reading between the lines, to decipher For Poetry shall remain forever Lyrical hymns, always hummed by poem lovers Surviving the centuries, and beyond Poetry can pay tribute, to unspoken feelings From poet to poet and from poems to poems A rich legacy will weave intricate Art

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The gorgeous Fox mesmerizes me, I watch him perform for me, Sing for me, Play for me, Call me out by name. "Little Bird" He cries, "Don't leave me, Let the sun hit your feathers, So you may light up, In brilliant hues, Of gorgeous greens, And blues." "Little Bird" He croons, "Be mine, be my dark, Beautiful raven, And never let me go. Be my songbird, And sing only for me, Because I care about you." And I bathe in the attention of my Fox, I let myself fall for him, I listen to him, I care for him, And as I open my beak to sing, I drop the bread from within my mouth, Which he catches in his teeth, And flees, Leaving his Little Bird, To cry in shame for what she's done.

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Dec 8, 2015

Dec 8, 2015 at 4:24 PM UTC

The Fox and the Raven

The gorgeous Fox mesmerizes me, I watch him perform for me, Sing for me, Play for me, Call me out by name. "Little Bird" He cries, "Don't leave me, Let the sun hit your feathers, So you may light up, In brilliant hues, Of gorgeous greens, And blues." "Little Bird" He croons, "Be mine, be my dark, Beautiful raven, And never let me go. Be my songbird, And sing only for me, Because I care about you." And I bathe in the attention of my Fox, I let myself fall for him, I listen to him, I care for him, And as I open my beak to sing, I drop the bread from within my mouth, Which he catches in his teeth, And flees, Leaving his Little Bird, To cry in shame for what she's done.

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I wash away words like dead flakes of skin up to night, from morning. I am made of them. Like a cup left under a tap, I have become full and started spilling over all the drops I wasn't built the capacity to hold. I pity these words for they have nowhere to go. I spit them out like I've eaten something disgusting and they attach to my saliva like it was glue. The listerine washes them from my mouth every morning when I brush my teeth. The way they swirl down the drain when I shower mesmerizes me as I watch them go down one by one until I am clean. Even then, I have no idea how many more get blown away by the wind or get lost in the flurry of small movements. I really should find a way to make them more permanent, but I don't. I write them down in the air above me head, the plastic jeepney seat, and on the skin of people I touch. Lucky are those words that are written for at least they have a home where they are recorded, remembered and immortalized. They're so unlike my words that die unheard and unsaid. With all these words I've wasted, I could have written a masterpiece. Perhaps I have. I'll never know. I have never written them down.

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Jan 15, 2014

Jan 15, 2014 at 8:56 AM UTC

The Girl of Words

I wash away words like dead flakes of skin up to night, from morning. I am made of them. Like a cup left under a tap, I have become full and started spilling over all the drops I wasn't built the capacity to hold. I pity these words for they have nowhere to go. I spit them out like I've eaten something disgusting and they attach to my saliva like it was glue. The listerine washes them from my mouth every morning when I brush my teeth. The way they swirl down the drain when I shower mesmerizes me as I watch them go down one by one until I am clean. Even then, I have no idea how many more get blown away by the wind or get lost in the flurry of small movements. I really should find a way to make them more permanent, but I don't. I write them down in the air above me head, the plastic jeepney seat, and on the skin of people I touch. Lucky are those words that are written for at least they have a home where they are recorded, remembered and immortalized. They're so unlike my words that die unheard and unsaid. With all these words I've wasted, I could have written a masterpiece. Perhaps I have. I'll never know. I have never written them down.

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Gazing at furry paws  smacking white cord pulls  mesmerizes her.  Wooden tassels clunk together, waving to and fro like a tetherball on a playground pole  spanked by busy children.  He left his kitten  his curious kitten. Outside snowflakes  float downward  like the pieces of paper  she shred from his exit note and like bits of cotton  the kitten pulls from her pillow.  He left his kitten,  his curious kitten. Her hands clasp together.  She utters no prayer.  Downcast she cannot face her Lord.  Her red streaked eyes,  accented by ash colored cheeks  study playful kitten.  Her thoughts clink together  as she slaps them around her mind.  He left his kitten,  his curious kitten.  He left.  He left her.

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Oct 27, 2015

Oct 27, 2015 at 10:10 AM UTC

william-a-poppen

He Left His Kitten

Gazing at furry paws  smacking white cord pulls  mesmerizes her.  Wooden tassels clunk together, waving to and fro like a tetherball on a playground pole  spanked by busy children.  He left his kitten  his curious kitten. Outside snowflakes  float downward  like the pieces of paper  she shred from his exit note and like bits of cotton  the kitten pulls from her pillow.  He left his kitten,  his curious kitten. Her hands clasp together.  She utters no prayer.  Downcast she cannot face her Lord.  Her red streaked eyes,  accented by ash colored cheeks  study playful kitten.  Her thoughts clink together  as she slaps them around her mind.  He left his kitten,  his curious kitten.  He left.  He left her.

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