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Crystal Erickson Dec 2014
Sailing through sheer jagged thoughts
and cool running dreams
The merciless curse of emotion
overflowing the exhilarating streams

Witnessing the chaotic times
of the dark and ancient old
when the mystifying warriors heart
was branded honorable and bold

ever drifting ever more
in this sea without a shore
through this land of legends and lore
ever drifting evermore

Floating ever aimlessly
through translucent waters
seeing the weak of mind from this plane
exiling their sons and daughters

While beasts of burden trudge from within
the midsts of juxtaposing viking ships
ships of war and plague and death
that obliviously vanish within a breath

ever drifting evermore
in this sea without a shore
through this land of legends and lore
ever drifting evermore

Sailing after those laden beasts
that which so arrogantly stray
you see those morbid souls of life
so ominisqueskly carried away

To the ***** delight and warmth
of the strong and merciful earth
Away from this unknown land
Of legends miraculous birth

ever drifting evermore
in this sea without a shore
Through this land of legends and lore
ever drifting evermore


© Crystal Erickson 1999
I have been told this should be a song, however it was written as a poem!
Unfamiliar face, with your touch that melts so warm.

Foreign bodies with the same intention, wanting more.

Exchanging breaths instead of words,
No expectations to be heard..

Lines blurred.

Asking nothing but a moment of euphoric selfless bliss

Just thrusts of lustful passion
with pain and pleasure in its midsts

  Subtleness.

As we continue to succumb this yearning, pure desire..

this stranger doesn't feel so strange,
like a flame amidst the fire.


-Bobbie Leigh
Mateuš Conrad Dec 2016
you know what i find funny? the phrase: i could eat you. juxtaposing vide cor meum against... this is the part where punctuation marks are never collision prone diacritical marks... but then again, there's that dietary joke... i could eat you... dependence on your bones not being properly disavowed within a langoustine broth... and there you are: a grey area mindful of Stalin... *****! i'm trying to humanise ******, stop interrupting! where once a moths' flutter, later a rainbow in the nacht! mind that niqab... nicht would mean nothing. some insinuated cappuchino, some cackles... some said cutie-pies invoking rouge cheeks... every time i watch these culinary shows i get thinking about cannibalism to counter veganism... and then i laugh... i don't want to find stinking socks and political correctness as "my way, did it to suit Lascaux cavern graffiti"... i preferred wanking than keeping up with women... it's the song i heard before lambs stiffened and muslims became muslims, and falafel was mince... ******, get under the hosepipe and you're there, all freely gagging for the fizz... a touch of tinsel... vide cor meum... return of policy... as half-heartfelt kaleidoscope returning to define a rainbow... i love that phrase given the palette opportunity... i could eat you. it's the demonic encouragement that solidifies the stench into what's to be seasoned properly... i don't know.. the phrasing: i could eat you sounds more formidable in delayed practice than: i can **** you... plus the gazpacho... which means: Batman ate cold cauliflower soup and slurred to slurp the question: but it's cold? Baldwin replied: it's supposed to be! they said orthography as a rigidness of aesthetic, i said... that's questionable whether any is applicable, given we're talking about graffiti.

i got tired of sensing other people's jealousy,
and tried to love them,
which ended up to be as much as a matrimony
toward one woman, ambition-bound
to incarnate the matrimony of swans...
  and the poor old ******, left to fantasy in
his days as a widower...
   every time i look at a lonely swans
i try to duck-quack the thing into existence...
            but there are variation of marriage...
a west london accountant can speak terrible
crap against an ethnicity i try to not identify with...
but i am courageously borne from,
    and therefore have to express some affiliation...
as a matter of principle...
  i rather not, but iu must, even though i sprechen
a host tongue... and am, therefore,
embedded with claims of socialite elitism...
                 but then i compare...
and these these comparisons are the due phrase...
Marilyn Manson's *a minute of decay

is a chance to hear the bass guitar overpower
           the drums... a bit like a culinary pistachio
moment in a risotto...
   i want room to breathe in!
     i want vaughan williams' fantasia on a theme
by thomas tallis... i sanctify the need
   for prokofiev's lieutenant kíjé's suite...
(dots are optional, the syllables aren't,
a classical dot above the iota might revel in
being the defining moment of tonguing /
dissecting a word... but it doesn't have to be so)
i need air to breath in, a moment to whimper...
why do the **** love Chopin and not Liszt?
   a bid ******* odd... i don't like either Chopin
or Liszt... because as Kaiser Yoseph said
in amadeus... to many notes...
and i agree... vivaldi made violins into cherub
       pumpernickle sparrows -
you danced, you joyed, you came across St. Vitus' dance...
   you were doing arithmetic as concord speed
within a framework of even (white) and odd (black)
numbers... once you played the nocturnal Fabergé -
someone suggested you move the ******
  goose to the Hermitage, and frame it!
why are the Japanese are the only Europeans in Asia...
      never mind, they just are,
hence they compete for playing Chopin like they consider
sushi to be a culinary exception of the tartar -
minus the influence, obviously, hence the stress to
impose Chopin... but never Liszt... odd...
          template virtuoso and you think of Liszt
than you might conjure Chopin...
           better than that... conjure champagne
bottles blundering to the volcano's worth of fizz...
still... the Japanese are a curiosity...
first of all: they abide by Chopin and chopsticks
not being utilised when gobbling sushi...
   they have the ambassadors of kimono,
samurai, origami, karaoke, bonßai (zye, rye),
          Fukushima... Hiroshima... yep, that place
were stanley lee derived the concept of x-men...
          still, they have permanent ambassadors in
opur midsts... words that can't be "translated" due
to etymological puritanism...
       finally the Portuguese sailed away, and founded
Brazil on the promise of an infinite supply of toothpicks
from the Amazon -
or? hai sensei!           hatch that with the catchphrase:
     kajagoogoo: shy-shy, hush-hush, eye-to-eye.
          we're storming the labyrinth right not,
and i still can't believe that poetry revolves around
the rhythm of rhyme... play any ping-pong, lately?
     no wonder poetry is a peacocking dollop
of clogged-up cow dung... it's just asking
for a *****-slap in a playground.
           but why Chopin and not Liszt?
the **** are what Napoleon was to the Duchy of
Warsaw... they love that arithmetic of
a pebble-dasher's *******...
       wet dreams... some authentic curiosities of
civilisation still have them... i wouldn't recommend
listening to them recounting the fables, personally...
i'd listen in on the succubus jerking them off...
  and just recently i was walking the deaf streets at
night with a bottle of beer and felt the bottle
of beer almost being tugged from my hand...
  and some say that eating a woman's umbilical-chord
is what's necessary to live as a man to later
sing some aria; or like drinking a pregnant woman's
**** will ensure you don't become myopic...
             i don't like Chopin,
i don't like Liszt either... i want a room, and a chance
to breathe... at the end of the classical expression
summarising the wind, we had a return
to the rooting in Africa... earthly delights
and a grumbling stomach in need of feeding,
  jazz did the work for us, jazz still had
an orchestral element to add a Lacan of all things
worthy of deconstruction...
       but then the French came along and shoved
fondue into our ears... and we said
alight with an eureka moment... pop!
             n'ah... the moment when the bass overpowers
the drums... i really have this wild fascination
with the bass guitar...
                 because i don't get Mozart,
and i do think that Handel did much more than
even the sacrificial lamb that Beethoven is...
                  listen... poetry doesn't have to be
music... rhyming is ping-pong anyway...
but as long as you feel in debt concerning music,
the music will come on its own accord...
today i was rattled by a mix of dub (without a step)
and beck's odelay... cruise-missile dylan...
give or take...
      well, given the italicised pr.s. (pre scriptum) -
much later an aged blonde boasted about snorkeling
******* and young ****... and missing out
when she teased me coming back to her abode...
           moth steals from a butterfly,
butterfly never turns into a daisy...
                       you're still a **** and i'm about
half of the total worth of being a ****...
which makes as equal... or queue more.
           variably condoned to be synonym with
mosque...  but i said mannequin...
     it's this **** with the five a day....
Christendom mentioned fruit & veg...
Islam mentioned variations of a murmur...
   is prayer classified as fruit, or vegetable?
you're as bewildered as i am...
   i too thought tomato is a fruit...
turns out it's a vegetable...
primarily due to basil, feta, and the mediterranean.
               herring belong in the baltic,
******* attempting that sort of ballistics...
ask about the relationship between
              a. yan sobieski
         b. ******
                    c. window on arabia (vienna,
counter st. petersburg) -
     oh you'll get many thanks...
sure... you'll end up becoming assured
that dogs don't need petting, but training,
and that you have to make all friends bound
to be kenneled, because they won't learn otherwise;
it's a bit sad...
          for about a minute...
                   you tried being peace-abiding,
peace-mindful...
   you wanted to state compassion...
  in the end people need a slap... or as 2000 years of
history proved... a crucifix.
Rhianecdote Jul 2015
You don't need comfort nor distraction 
what you need is a plan of action
A helpin hand,
make it your own
Don't go under,
STAND
see how much you've grown

I believe in you
But don't take my word for it
SEE
Look at all you've shown
Promise cannot be broken
It's hope
Hope will lead you home

The place where you belong
Where you are meant to be
You will see it through eventually
Realise what you've always known

Reality isn't something to escape
It's something to make
Make the most of it
Creationists in our midsts

You have gifts, talent, ability
So much to give
Take control, take responsibility
There's nothing to fear, not really

Cause You have love
And You will always
be able to make it

Embrace life
Do not forsake it


You're not alone
But if you ever feel like you are
Embrace yourself
Hug out the doubt
Love is the ultimate wealth
Start with yourself

You are not a mere reflection
Of what you see
You are not a mirror
Reflecting what they think you should be
You are you
Who you hope to be

I see you
I see your hopes
I see your dreams

I love you
I love your hopes
I love your dreams

Hold onto them
Embrace yourself
For they are you
You are the key

Love yourself
Love your hopes
Love your dreams

Truly believe
Make it real
And it will be
your Reality
I've indulged in my fair share of escapism in life, we all do from time to time.
I kinda wish we would realise Life isn't something to escape but rather something to embrace
Andrew Durst Jan 2015
Even in the
midsts
of all my
despair,

saying your
name
feels like
a breath
of
fresh-air.
-Andrew Durst.
Andre Baez Feb 2014
Four walls are screaming...

Lying here awakened by the deafened sound of silence
Casually existing in a manifestation of neighborly violence
Is a martyr of selfish explanation and station
In the mix for chairman on the way the satan
Gates open for him when he travels from his lair,
But travel comes in spurts of gravitational voids,
Filling up with meals as they enter without choice,
Or any sense of repair for what's there,
Entering crevasses and other openings along surfaces,
That allow one to feel worthlessness,
Never hoisting the trophy given to those whom represent perfectness,
Perfectionist can't resist the temptations to conjure mist,
To make sure and valid that works of art are works of fact which exist,
To be or not to be or create or mislead,
Proceeded by apologies that mislead atrocities,
Across cities so wickedly the deadliness of it all is least thrilling,
As a result of the bland toast experience that leaves most chilling,
Spine tingling, neck wringing, spinal tapping, and wired napping,
Saran wrapping over mouths made by ACME,
Causing destruction much like what's seen on TV,
And bought at your local pharmacy,
Where they farm human beings much like cattle, count the sheep?
Because you're snoring, sleeping through class again and looking bummy,
Roaring is coming from the bottomless pits of your tummy,
You devour the tiniest bits of crumbs and feeling crummy,
Misused sense of self existence is persistent to make you nothing

Because four walls are screaming
The world is yours
The world is foreign
The world is burned
The world is corse
The world is hoarse
The world is worse
The world it turns
The world it yearns
The world is yours
The world is yours
The word is yours
The word is yours

Shadows in the brightness of the dark,
Spread across expansive spaces of empty walls,
Suffocating the echoes formed by creaking halls,
Hand rise and fall while final gasps are drawn,
Choked sounds leaving as they enter withdrawal,
Enter into my senses stating that the beauty lies in dawn,
Drawn faces lie on skulls where lines are made of chalk,
The rest of the skeleton remains but must be bought in bulk,
Off branded and made by foreign nations,
Easily paid for with easy to find replacements,
The mind is not a terrible loss when you've only ever had half,
To lose another half would only be half as bad,
Half as much mind to get up out of the shield of bed sheets,
Half as much mind to walk, any given day, across any given street,
100% percent chance at the fate which awaits me,
Yet the safety net in place fools me to believe,
That a life without risk is worth living,
As ant piles form in any which place along the floor,
And the handles continuously fall from the doors,
Clothes, dishes, and homework, pile up into chores,
A fatal scene of tragedy reminiscent of noir,
Ambiguity remains in what lies just beneath,
The surface as the crust of earth acts as a sheath,
While the remainder of it grows rotten due to the cheats,
The liars and the friars who act as moonlit buyers,
Of incomplete factions and fractions of complete mishaps,
Perhaps an axe to the frontal lobe would loosen up control,
My eyes are scar filled and leaking massive amounts of soul,
The soil is darkening with fertilization,
While the source material is dying from being wasted,
It's the typical atypical response to taunts and trails of peril fraught,
With sounds emanating explaining the cause of a shot,
Straight through the heart piercing through the rock,
Cries to forget everything that's been taught, "it's a crock!"

Because four walls are screaming
The world is yours
The world is foreign
The world is burned
The world is corse
The world is hoarse
The world is worse
The world it turns
The world it yearns
The world is yours
The world is yours
The word is yours
The word is yours

To be happy or give family,
Satisfactions of being right you see,
Interactions of puppets tied to string,
Tears next to taxes they're filing,
Humming songs meant to sing,
Has long been the main thing,
To act yet never do the real thing,
It's a monstrosity of honesty,
Honestly saying you are not a thing,
You have no talents you aren't interesting, it's sickening,
That it's truly what they believe,
And thus extend it to fresh psyches,
Of their children like Socrates,
Faith in their words is philosophy,
Till one broke away from topography,
Stopping streams of tears in their streaks, it's done, it repeats,
But all in all is all that he needs,
To defeat the menacing grins to have them at his feet,
Groveling knowing in time that he'll be king,
The sequences flourish from new daisies to trash heaps,
It's a lion stalking and napping among sheep,
The bygones are gone by yet the goodbyes never cease,
The will of the strong is hoisted up by the weak,
But the weak were those who made up the soul of the strong,
The weak were once knights but turned into pawns,
To check into their mates and remain on call,
To stir up disaster by setting up the alarms,
Their charms through voice never lent psalm,
Through all dampening storms he always remained calm,
Even within the shelter of his apartment home,
Ignorance of the outside world didn't disperse of his wounds,
The shreds of skin, metal tasting flesh torn,
Separate the ligaments of the clothes worn,
Mercurial mental in the midsts of complete war,
Picture frames crowd around on the floor,
Commodities in short supply have dissolved,
A death will occur in a mystery solved...

Because four walls are screaming
The world is yours
The world is foreign
The world is burned
The world is corse
The world is hoarse
The world is worse
The world it turns
The world it yearns
The world is yours
The world is yours
The word is yours
The word is yours
Towela Kams Feb 2015
For quite a while you've been questioning my understanding of how things have come to be.
You've been wondering why my so-called love is not prospering and you don't lie when you say you've tried everything. So you keep coming back like a new-born baby dying for love from daddy.

It appears to me
That your insecurities and flaws are all results of my wrongs but I'd never admit to being the one at fault if it had to cost me kneeling down on the floor and confessing that the minute I walked out on you, my whole life went on pause.

And even though I was crowded by many, I felt discomfort in the midsts of applause. My lust for popularity gain had strangled me up again the wall and I was left with no one to call.

See, after the last time you saw me I took matters into my hands and asked the devil for a dance because he seemed like the latest trend but the second he swept me off my feet and removed my blindness to see, I had my conscience open to a Towela severely broken.

It had been a while since we had spoken so I didn't know whether to reach out or stay speechless. Because the sight of the broken you took my breath away and hardly in the good way because I felt guilty. Tell me, how else was I going to be able to swallow my inequity rather than practising ignorance?

My soul is filthy and reeking of deeds I rushed into without thinking. I attempted wishful thinking. I pushed you out of the way and tried going on dates with darkness and she introduced me to wicked play. But Towela, don't hate the player, hate the game.

I'm sorry for not being able to be sorry. For depicting the direction of your life story and forcing you to cope with such deviation.

Last night, in a dream I saw you. And this time you looked amazing. Your once teary eyes had healed and there was no sign of what had once been. For the period of 11 years I lived with you, I had never seen you smile the way you did with the One who was with You. I'm not love but I can tell what He has for you is real. I reached out my hand because I envied what He was doing to your heart - renewing it and teaching it how to love.

And so I wept. I wept because I would've wanted to be who He was to you and do the responsibility He gave me to You. As I speak to you, I'm in this state of regret-filled thoughts like "I could've, I should've, I would've."

We've switched lanes. You have fulfilment and satisfaction while I suffer from immense pain. You may think I'm insane but trust me when I say I know that for the first time, you're secure Towela, you're safe.

On that note, there's another confession I'd like to make. The so-called love I supplied with you all these years was fake. You were so caught up in my game that You never thought to seek God's face so by default, I always won. No one would blame you if you began to call me a con.

The One you're with is love and in him there is no wrong. So you can sit back and relax because in Him, there are no traces of insecurity or inequity - there is no sin. There is no heart that bleeds or soul that roams aimlessly hurting and seeking for love from anything worldly.

But wait, I just caught sight of Him embrace you. And half a smile was what I could offer at this view. He took up my responsibility, paid whatever debts I had been owing you, destroyed the one who tried destroying you and resurrected your life so it could be brand new.

And if I gained permission to see Him, I'd tell Him 'Thank You I've seen the way she's happy whenever she's with You and I know that without You, my daughter would have been gone before her time was due.'
I'm just one of those teens dealing with having a distant dad. Hahaha, I have what people like to call, "Daddy issues". He doesn't communicate his feelings much so I kinda wrote them for him. /.\ lol.

Sometimes, my poetry doesn't make sense. ._.'') I know. xD

Oh by the way, I kinda wanna venture into Spoken Word poetry. So can any of you guys give me tips or something? Kthanksbye. :)
SiouxF Mar 11
My knight in shining armour upon his gallant steed,
Or rather, truth be told, my gallant knight in his shining steed,
Rescued me in my hour of need
When I decided to adventure off piste
To view an ancient church,
For a couple of minutes, or so I thought,
With not a care for any danger or dragons.
But my wheels sunk deep into the cemented mud,
So I had to ring and surreptitiously confess my deed.
He came racing back
To the midsts of nowhere,
Thank goodness for what three words.
We pushed, we pulled, we added straw and sheets of wood,
But the vehicle was stuck fast.
With the light dimming,
We shovelled the earth,
The van decided to play ball,
And with a flurry of mud
Came free at last,
Thanks to my honourable knight
For rescuing me in my misdemeanour.

Oh me and my easily distracted brain!
There is more than an element of truth in this! 😊
Anirban Saikia Dec 2013
The hills, they are so lonely,
The clouds that keep them company.
From far and beyond,
They rule,
Stand alone, stand tall.
From the midsts of  green,
They look,
Peek really,
And lure the lonesome soul.

The river that flows,
Tears that swim,
Sounds that ring,
Of dire weeping.
Through beds of stone,
It seeps,
Sounds the story of that one wanderer.
The wanderer,
Who through the depths of loneliness,
Wanted depart,
Who fought the ways,
And the dismays.

A lonesome road,
That leads to the bed,
A heart that sweeps,
Every wary thought.
And there it goes,
Into the hills it flows,
Awestruck wonder,
Wandering along.

A traveller,
Travelling by,
An ant,
It disappears.

And from far beyond,
You see the light,
A village nearby,
Home.
And there amidst loneliness,
Rests a place,
You can call your own,
Amidst the loneliness,
Lies a friend.

Friends who live and die,
The life and death of a stranger ply,
To the world and me,
Yet they are, amidst the loneliness, my friends.
And there I stand guardian,
Of a tribe unknown,
A warrior,
My father's son.

My tribe,
They sing,
They laugh,
They cry.
They dance,
To the tunes of war.
They hold their knives high,
And sing the songs of fear.
In the lonesome hills,
They remain
A far fledged warrior in all.


But the wind it rustles,
And the memories,
They facade,
Gloom in colour or in sepia.
And the trees,
They hide,
In awe wonder,
The hills of ancient meander.
And the flowers,
They dance,
Listen and hum,
While the leaves sing.
And yet,
The colour,
It fades,
And paired, lonesome they remain.
Connor Nov 2016
I (Reverie)

Thisbe senses diamonds in the dusk/
Turner protects himself with cozying ash created from the minerals of adoration

The street is a hundred constant cinders
Communicating with mystic language
Repeating itself

While the newsstation weeps
And front yards hold their damp cheeks
Cherishing the child who is now gone

The envisioned tower, embarassed with its Windows n lack of decorations/
Not even the cobwebs will settle in vicinity!

A paranoid Sculpter cant sleep and so takes to Spanish poetry

"You're giving out your tarot cards to
Yusuf what will he do with them!"

A mother says to her child who
Incidentally goes blind in that exact moment

An epitaph for the ashtray sitting precariously on the stainglass table on the porch where an
Empress seeks shelter
Carving at her senses with
Violent monologues about religion
Courtesy her friend

(A stranger to risk,
Some tired dull balloon rises up within her consciousness going higher and higher!)

II (December in Moods)

Mauve temporarily fills the room
Your soft breathing brings an elation
To the dresser at the foot of your bed
I can't rest here beside you
I want to kiss you
And your sleep

The discontent arrives
In shrouded form
You resign yourself to the kitchen watching logging trucks forever heave around the bend of forestry
Threatened with the possibility that they'll lose balance and collide with the house

I visit during Holidays with marigolds and fantasies of Asia
& with sweetness on verge
of imancipation
You kiss my face
attempting composure
As the radio promises
That this Winter will be especially
Frigid.

I apologize for my arrogance!
In losing friends, betraying my past beliefs for
White wine & phenomenology

You recite a foreign anthem with whispers, curious of the mathematics of romance.
Questioning yourself but especially yourself in relation to me.

III (Josephine, Burial)

In contemplation
A dog listens to nearby whistling
Of a young girl home from school/
In six months she'll fall victim to the divorce of her family/
And in twelve months
Accept that her mother had a lot of problems
It isn't her fault
It was never her fault/

In sixteen months she'll chip her front teeth on the coffee table

In three years she'll decide on a better first name
"Josephine"
In four she will legally change it and

In five the previously mentioned dog will be buried
With his owner's favorite scarf

IV (2015)

The August heat causing distant roads to waver in illusion while
A home catches fire

Luckily not my own

I save my mind one night before it loses itself to pure imaginative flow
In midsts of 108 repititions of the Gayatri Mantra
I remember that!
The portrait of a french woman robed in sunset colors is taken off the rotting walls of a Cabin, auburn with evening rain.

Silence!

V (The rosebush blushes while being painted)

Yggdrasil is being renovated a few blocks away & a garden is unable to answer
For its
Unusual poetics

The local raincoat impressionist observes
A fantasy hidden in the soil
Nurturing itself
With percieved
Infant curiosity
Dedicated to Gaston Bachelard
8 minutes to sunrise...

I open my eyes and see the white sheets
Scarred with the impressions we left upon them the night before. .

silently..
They seem abused
I can tell that it was a rough night

I woke up with bruises
Expecting you to wake up and walk out
Throwing my heart with excuses...

Outspoken ...

Silently. .

You woke up like a convict...
Who had secretly plotted to and killed someone
Within their dreams...

Secretly. ..

Silently..

I try to cage each minute..
For I have things I wish to say to you. ..
Words that seemed to have stayed hidden from you..

Baby there's 8 minutes to sunrise
Tell me what we're going to do...
Time is running out
And somehow I am no longer afraid of the darkness

With 6 minutes until the sun rises
I want to get lost in the midsts
of your soul
So that my heart can now what
It is like to wake up to a beautiful dream

4 minutes 'till sunrise
I can see the rays of the sun light
Dancing to the rhythm of our heartbeats
Tell me how we made through the night.

At sunset you told me you love
Night came,
And you showed me you love me
But with 2 minutes before the sun sets
I only need you to hold me ..

-Thembekile ".Kilay Deh'Poet." Tsaoane
Anna Lo Jun 2012
happiness is overtly overrated
But we can't see it yet
as also we cannot see geniuses among our midsts
and the other amateurs.
"make it last, make it last" they say
I say"**** my ****"
Karijinbba Sep 2021
in Tom Jones rocks on stage.
You rock bestest longest,
at Taj-Mahal peoney cave
I swear I only see you;
my rocking sensually!
lover rock dancing your
fifteen pumps into
our heavenly midsts
and back or make it last
****** fifteen times four
nutty Third Rate Romance
Rock me all night long.
lay I sip your willow tea
oh tea of me make too..
I'm in love with your mind
your syllhuette ink heart
Rock me at Ginny baby inn
I grant your every wish!

Oh sweet lover mine
conceived in sacred
temple paradisical womb
ruler king God's named you.
Crafted above endowed
in gold elastic generous thread,
the measure of your pride,
bestest among all kings,
amongst mortal men.
even Angels envy you.

Women sigh with just one look!
You walk a sway unique
istoic celibate you chase me
I'm sinner in your courts
my veil of chastity falters.
come fill my buttercup.
Loving you mornings long
days long the nights long.
my breakfast in bed you
I long for you.
my Tam Tam my base drum
glued to me evermore.
~~~
By; Karijinbba
@t Mr and Mrs Andrews
https://youtu.be/Au6c-Xtab4Q
she struts on the stage,
bends her body to the right,
then the left,
she does a spin,
and strikes a pose
then slides into a waltz like dance
she bends over and grabs her ankles
and drags her hands up her body as she rises
her fingers grab her shirt
and she lifts it off her body
quick strikes a pose
and does a counter-clockwise spin
during which she unsnaps her bra
and works her arms until it's off
now you see her beautiful *******
bouncing free
she does a dance
and skips off stage

A man comes out in a suit and tie
"Give it up for the ladies tonight"
"You know if they were any more beautiful
we'd be accused of committing crimes.
did anybody hear about the President's trip to hannaford
he said yes, even you can afford
but that's not the worst part
his children were found playing in the alcohol isle
popping off beers and drinking them
I mean why not?
when you're the kid of the president
why would you give a ****?
now give a hand to our next lovely lady
all the way from asia
to do her dance
of fantasy
give it up for the one and only
Chi Verina Lee"

She strutted out on stage (in bra and *******)
she bent over to show her cleavage
and she grabbed her knees
she lifted her finger to her lip
and shished the audience
then she pointed out to them
and waved to come forward as she shook her ***
then she got up and turned her back to the audience
and hunched up her shoulders and looked
as if to see if anyone was watching her
she broke out into a quadruple plea-A
and bent for a sideways bow
then she moved her arms in an arch
and bent all the way down and touched the floor
she broke out into spins going the opposite way
in the midsts her bra went flying
she stopped to reveal small and perky *******
pointing toward the audience
This is an entertainment piece geared toward mature aged males
You can’t say you never loved me.
That will be like saying you never told me sweet nothings, and touched my skin like you were writing poetry.
That will be like saying you never kissed my lips and smiled in the midsts of it.
like we never stayed up all night just to talk.

You can’t say you never loved me.
That would be like saying you never stuck by me, you never comforted me through the cold and bitter mindsets.
Like you never gave me hope to live another day.
You gave me the audacity to think I matter, You reminded me everyday.

You can’t say you never loved me.
That would be like saying we never laughed as we talked as everyone around us soon became nothing.
Like you never looked into my eyes like I was millions of galaxies exploding in your chest.
and in every little moment we lasted forever.
You promised me forever.

You cant say you never loved me, you just cant.
Andrew Durst Oct 2014
I caught up with an old friend tonight.
And after a couple of laughs (and a decent amount of heart-breaking memories) I found myself left with this question:
"Is this life only about giving and taking? Can this really be the only thing that keeps our stone-hearts beating?"
And then it hit me, like a lighting-rod in the midsts of an electrical storm;
This life is about accepting and understanding that not everything will be golden on this yellow-brick road that we call life.
And in despite of it all,
you will be okay.
Wrote this shortly after it happened.
It's more of an extended thought than anything. :b
I reused a few lines from some of my earliest pieces to coincide with the idea that I "caught up with the past" a little bit.
Collin Nuetraal Feb 2014
As neutral as the sun, giving light to all

In the midsts of confusion
on the streetlights
clang prints of the lost
where matters meet opinion

trouble is inevitable as the hours of winter

happiness is pruned by sharp summits of standard

Summer blooms like blossoms of bliss
that meet the trees whom kiss the skies
a shock of relief that blesses

As the drops slither along the green fields
whom are wet
and are dancing with the north winds
and sing as the wild mumbles sweet sounds of soft

A million ages of neurotic entertainment
a thousand and four hundred
skyscapers bend like feathers over the lives of us
inequality strikes logic
littered fields of sense moan disaster
but no one's listening...

The cosmos reasonates to us, within us
as beautiful as a storm of clouds
as sweet as peace
the universe pleads to you to let it seize you
as easy as tripping over the truth
is finding life within you

As neutral as the moon, giving light to **all
Everyone would be perfect if everyone did not support either side of anything, we all are the children of the universe and concepts should not divide what was made undivided
Kody dibble Jul 2015
Like a wild-bush,
Frenzied on growing,
My empirical designation,
Of self-implosion
Falls like Berlin walls,
And Stalin statues,

I wonder if the night can see like me,
Or if the daunting blue figurines of my watch,
Dance like the dozy white flakes of a cold winter storm,

In the midsts of battle we learn decisiveness and impending insanity,

Summer heat brings showers of agony and glimpses of pleasure,

Like fleeing from some unearthed Hell we forged ourselves in,

The Earth she moans to the dark strands of nowhere,

"Please take me home." She cries
Hello welcome are you satisfied
R Moon Winkelman May 2010
A feeling of awe
when standing in midsts ancient
the whispers are true.
RMRW 10
j Jun 2013
I kissed you under the hot sun
              (I was surprised you let me)
your lips felt like ice
they were so cold and numb
I wanted to bring you back to life
             (back from the frozen desolate world you resided in)
but I couldn't
and no matter how hard I tried
to bring back the lights in your eyes
and the feeling in your lips
the touch of your light fingertips
and the beat of your cold heart

there was an arctic storm
deep in the midsts of your
eyes
lungs
veins
fingertips
lips
mind
heart
                                  you were so long gone
                                  nothing could save you
                                  from the heartbroken mess
                                  you had now become
Unnamed Jun 2018
And here I stand,
In the midsts of dripping eyelashes,
Once again lost at sea—
Nowhere to look but his eyes.
I’ve found that,
for my lamentable misfortune,
I’m still in love.

You will always be there,
a perpetual phantom
in every dream and nightmare,
every corner and roundabout,
every tear and laughter.
I cannot forget,
Though I surely have tried.
Emm Jun 2018
Small hands with its deep small palm lines
Watching you grow
Inside out
Small hands as in the womb they first folded
Small hopes, small fists
I watched you grew up, you watched me grew

Small hands, layers of fat
Lines perfectly aligned, perfectly etched
When the soul inside felt too big for the body
When the soul inside wanted to break free
When the soul inside wanted to cover the whole world in its palms
Within the small hands,
that's what the soul inside thought

Small hands fine wrinkles
Find solace in moistures
In the midsts of convoluting mist of daily life

You watched me grew up, when did you grew up?
Small hands,
'til you find another ones to hold,
going through every single wrinkle fold...
I'll hold you up
Jenny Apr 2018
the sun sleeps behind a blanket of clouds
i am surrounded by crowds
and yet loneliness preys on me
i pray no one observes or sees
i have buried myself in a cemetery
alone, i am content and happy
and yet my thoughts ramble restlessly
the time i feel alone stretches out endlessly
loneliness reminds me of a con man
his lies convince me alone i stand
he cheats me out of all that could have been
and informs me i deserve hell, there i will pay for my sins
no one tells you how isolating it is to exist
ironically, we feel alone in each other’s midsts
people avoid the odd one out
people avoid those who are silent, and those who shout
our species is cruel to its own kind
eyes lose their shine, we don’t realize we are confined
there are holes in all of us,
why is it we never discuss
the craters we create, and the craters others leave,
i can’t even begin to perceive how easily
we call each other ***, *****, pig
we never stop to empathize
we think only of the things we would jeopardize,
always on the fence about one another
yet we are all mothers, brothers, each other’s
perhaps we are satisfied with being alone
maybe ill be happier sitting on a throne, overthrown
someone told me victory is tastiest when achieved individually
but i think differently,
i believe we don’t need to suffer miserably, individually
i know loneliness takes all we can commit to it,
often times, it leaves us feeling like ****,
loneliness is love’s counterfeit
they promise to fill a hole, and yet the cavity remains omitted
but i chose to believe that the broken can mend
and i chose to believe the paths we walk are not dead ends.
inspired by a cloudy rainy moment on the bus
storm siren Sep 2016
I have been left
in the rain
in the midsts
of my own storms

I have been diminished
demeaned
and berated.

but none of that matters
now that you are so finally mine.

we have both changed
and beyond the pain
of change
and the hurt
of growth

but beyond that

I have felt the pain
of loss
and grown used
to being left
and yet I still fear
a more permanent farewell
between you and I.

but I do not doubt
your efforts
or you.
I do doubt
my sanity
and however long
it will last
and how long
you will stick it
out.

but for now I will appreciate
the warmth
and the dry
that is here.

I am not one for goodbyes.

goodbye means going away.

and going away means forgetting.

I do not care to forget you.

that's from Peter Pan I think.

but you are no lost boy
I trust that
flying away to Wendy
or Neverland
are not options
you are looking at.

I love you
so
and I know
that we were brought together
to last.
Thoughtful. i don't want tomorrow to happen. also i might be partially an idiot.
Suresh Gupta Jun 2021
karmic eventuality - II
06/26/2021

there, in the midsts of opulence , stood I
floors of alabaster marble, columns of Marquina black,
open in all directions, including the heavens above,
gradual elevation, in key motif, to a higher standard,
seated on Lapis Lazuli, judges of the day

standing in that magnificent hall of justice,
creators, of opposing representation, themselves present,
when one, known by all, in positivity, meaning God,
looks down upon my disheveled appearance,
reflecting true extents of my deeds performed,
asks, “what shall be my judgement?”
I respond, “let my existence cease, that be my punishment.”
then, His brethren, from the nether world, the Satan,
asks, “what shall be my judgement?”
I respond, “let my existence cease, that be my reward.”
jeffrey robin Aug 2015
.


^
(<^>)
////  • ||
<>
                          )
               ####
              / \     / \

                                                                       ( lover )

••

the last one

This whole generation is gone

talked to death

By the poets within their Midsts

Dying

Yet inviting everyone to follow

::

welcome

YE who would live

//

You might get lonely

But you can live
Matt Lancaster Sep 2018
famous for being suddenly conscious
                         in the middle of the night
dehydrated

lucidity in the midsts of the absurd pries
                         fingers grasping ego, the fist
empty

different as the prayer palms together
                         are from the air of mind it enters makes unity
meaningless

ignorance is faithless, in the test of man
                         denying the reflection of heaven is denying
God

describing it only in words you may understand
                          for knowledge of God may be denial too
drink!
Nomadic poet Jul 2022
Raging hostility
Impeccable deflection
Things alike and similar
Seems to reside near unaccountability
Unwillingness to see the owns reflection
Sometimes all this can seem like a two headed snake
As if you've been abandoned in midsts of war
Its a spiritual battle; one which satan cant shake
An anointing humility
A higher self connection
sage eugene zumr Oct 2020
killin made from nothin hate the fillins in my stomach
real as ever was that last batch hit a buzz till chuckin
now im up bumpin notice how im froze slick sickest
im the picket thats inside your buisness better witness
dead drought in the biggest house trappin mice yeah
cat aint nice had to bite my past just to write that fast
now im fife in flask like a lycon lasp was that bad nah
imma rad raid nad say ick vlad slay stand back praise
sound like an oreo you used to hate but im glad days
i dont need this bad taste i slick back with a simtax it
wishin that my page was a crippled broke amaze wha
whoa whatcha say im like hit that pipe let it sit thats
right in the midsts of a pick ay piccalo ***** and you
sit sowin up a stitch of note it makes no sense yet i
still make those trends in hopes that they frey slow
fraze so graze dont play no ape less you got chased
Fading reality in the midsts of a rising fantasy
It's a dream come true
To those who dared to continue

There they walk on a path to nowhere and somewhere
For they are the ones who will save those in despair and anger
An incredible feat to some
An undesirable disaster to others
It matters not to those chosen few
The chosen few who are forever cursed

To sacrifice is to have a light guide your way
Guide your way on a road that is dark, awful, and dreadful
But it's beautiful
To those out there, remember that
Always.
Smothered Divine Dec 2020
The waves crash down
With visible thrusts of movement-
An untouched power in the
MIDSTS OF DECEMBER.
I see them and question what they mean-
And the foamy shores mutter back 'nothing'

The wilted flowers whisper
In the frosted winter air
petals curved and red
Like my nails against your thighs.
I question what they said
But they look away absently.

Though I don't understand these moments
The message these things portray
I still sit on the docks
and watch the water sway.
I still lie in the fields
Letting pollen engrave the time into my spine.



Do you remember my smile, you said it lit up the room.
Or maybe you remember the blush on my cheeks.
The giggle in my throat
Or the way my eyes devoured you.

Maybe you don't.

But I remember your smile, how it lit up my world.
And the flush on your cheeks when I said I love you.
The laugh in your soul, the way your eyes never caught mine.
I remember your fingertips against my own.
And your hair, thick and soft, as if branching to hide your thoughts.

I don't read into these memories, I question them.
I wont get an answer, but I embrace their presence.
Might as well.
Might as well...

— The End —