alexa Jul 23
i just want to stay up all night
writing, perhaps.
haikus & slam poetry, written in all caps.
watching the starry sky
with a handsome stranger,
running red lights and trespassing
regardless of danger.
maybe a late-night drive
with the windows rolled down,
a romantic stroll
through this sleepy town.
how about a midnight picnic
with my favorite lover?
whole summer spent promising
there will never be another.
i'll tell you again:
i don't care what we do,
because anything becomes everything
when i'm doing it with you.
-a.c.b
last couple lines stolen from a past poem of mine... which one?
Terry O'Leary Dec 2016
My chambers teem with tensions, taut, that logic can’t withstand,
fragmenting mental masonry with memories unplanned,
as bitter tears from amber eyes reduce the stone to sand.

Dim shadows cast by candles flit across the haunted room,
beleaguer apparitions, pale, that stalk me through the gloom,
usurping purloined purple forms forgotten ghosts assume.

The tick-tock clock of time rewinds within the mirrored hall
and pendula suspended, pause, while creatures creep and crawl
on images of effigies, through memories that maul.

The madness of the midnight mass! Perchance it interferes
with spiders spinning spiral threads which bridge the chandeliers
when weaving minds' discarded coils to silken souvenirs.

Reflections graced the vacant gaze of idols as they fled!
Their futile, feigned, far-flung farewells now hammer in my head,
marooned like frozen silhouettes in footprints of the dead.

My lovers smile through marbled masks before they turn their backs
(like furnace flames deserting ash or phantoms fleeing cracks)
with faded, painted, wrinkled faces nightmares carve in wax.

Sometimes a gust disturbs the dust and secrets reappear,
which dance in silver slippers through the dusk of yesteryear -
it's not the screams that drown my dreams, but whispers which I fear.

The hangman posts a letter home, his message indiscreet
about the vestal virgin in the café (where we meet
to savour tea and crumpets) down a one-way dead-end street.

The rapping and the tapping at my tattered, time-worn door
repeat reports of migrant myths, of tales of nevermore,
strung far across a sullen sea, most shipwrecked near the shore.

Forget-me-nots, enwrapped in rain the while a wan wind blows,
recall the faintly fickle fates this drifter undergoes –
alone, unknown with tracks interred in teardrop undertows.

My feet, no longer tied or tethered, traipse within a squall
pursuing profiles long forsaken, buried in the sprawl
of spectres spread amongst the dead, some tattooed to the wall.

At times, the belfry towers toll of anarchy and gin,
of smoke and mirrors, rolling dice and other things akin,
impaled on forks down byway roads, and things that might-have-been.

The skies outside, beyond the night with shutters shut and drawn,
begin to glow on shattered shapes escaping ’fore the dawn
as clouds undone beneath the sun release this captive pawn.
aphroditez Jul 1
I was 14 when I first discovered love,
Colors bloom the day when he arrived.
His face was my favorite mystery to solve,
Please just please don't get on my nerves.

For the very first time I laid my eyes on someone,
For such beauty could make you go insane.
Even though he's hiding; you can see easily spot him,
And I'm just someone who has always wished that you can claim.

Forlorn figures painted on my face,
Someone like you that can't be replaced.
Even though you left with no trace,
I won't forget your tight embrace.

Ditching off with you when we both have a curfew,
Out of nowhere sketches of you that I even drew.
Even if those memories can count as few,
I still love you even if you love someone new.
still stuck in the place where you and I collide
Peter Balkus Aug 2
Poets are wasting days,
like been given to spare.
Poets are counting nights
to the beginning of Life.
Farzaneh Qaf Jul 26
Nights will be rainy
When you're a lonely lady
Whose shelter is the poem
At night writes at 2  a.m
Nights will be rainy
When you're stand on a navy
That takes you to the Island
Saddest part, you have no land
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