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Anecandu Jul 2018
The gilded opening is terse and with age defined,
Locking away the pathway from a golden mind,
Hairlike roots of tiny letters form a braid,
Ficus-ing along stretching prongs of Purple and Jade,

Pushing they gather and spider around its ovate curves,
occasioning sprouts from cracks lips perturbed,
grammarized rain fertilizing delicate pods of flesh,
blossoming frosty lemon blooms of T's R's come to rest,

The bunched words hanging, dangling like grapes, of frailty,
dipping on fickle branches barely holding on to reality,
threatening to fall like daggered swords,
But alas are some silently whispered Jamaican words
It was a bright spring day out by the pool
We’d gathered together amidst lawn chairs
To watch

A somewhat portly
Man centered in the water
Swirling like Esther
Incanting
We sipped our ****** wine and smiled cautiously but amused no less.

From the far northern edges came a little
Light haired boy dressed like an angel
Or perhaps the son
Of Poseidon
I think the whole point of this had something to do with Poseidon
Or some other god of the sea
That remained unclear for
Me at least

Needless to say, this was a pool
A little pool with green astroturf surrounding
Piquant with chlorine
Not churning and grey.
Again, to the north stood the child
His son no doubt
Who must have been told simply and repeatedly
Just go to Daddy in the pool
Stand by the side
And he will pick you up
Hold onto your trident
Ok!?

But upon making his move to
Daddy
the child
Misstepped
Stumbled
Fell
And in so doing began to wail
Leaving his otherwise stoic father
Perplexed and annoyed
Astonished
His eyes squinting out the sun
His performance ending before it ever began

Three women rushed to the little wails
The mother scooped her child into her arms
Cradling the tears to her *******
Her attendants ran for vanilla ice cream
The boy now sated
Was resplendent in calm satisfaction

Father left the pool
Make-up running down his wet face
The child ate his ice cream from the bowl
steadfast in his concentration
and seeming innocence
The mother held her little man
The man in charge
We stood up and left for more ****** wine
Perhaps the Pinot.
My art
is the way
I re-establish
the bonds that unite me
to the universe.

Before she fell
They were
Hated
She, for her sudden rise
And he
in turn
for his shaggy, loping omnipotence
The sure-footed authority

She was the little Visionary
and he, the Blue Chip
So very messy
Tall and Small

If you were sitting at the bar
Somewhere around Mercer Street
And those two came in
“Ugh”
Went off inside all the heads
in their line of sight
A palpable mental groan
As they hung up their coats
And waved at various tables
Making their way like penguins

Again, it will all end badly, we thought
Nursing our drinks.
Tonight

Piling out of the last bar
brawling on slick cobblestones
under the yellowish streetlights
of Prince or West Broadway
Arguing about nothing and everything
“I will out run you Old Man!”
You could hear it bouncing off the sidewalk
Whispering around corners
“You will be surpassed!”
I too look to eternity
I step and step again. I am walking there.
I am not a bird.
“You will be surpassed!”

Blood and more blood
A face planted with busted lips
Your body crushed into the earth
Over and over
Having fallen
Waiting for burial, entombed in flora
To be disappeared
But not just yet.
What had you unleashed Mija?
What did you already know?

I’ve got a devil inside of me! SHE GOT LOVE!
I’ve got a devil inside of me! SHE GOT LOVE!

In editorial spreads
we saw flared American jeans in Rome
You said that they understood you.
We understood you very well right here,
you know.
It’s not so hard

The doorman said he heard someone cry out
And then a soft thud a moment later
From the deli’s rooftop next door

“ICARUS DOWN” read The Post

How easily we lost our envy
after those 34 floors
Earthbound
Strait shot

It was all foretold in the telling
Now folded into a history of sorts
That of a primordial Fertility
And not a thousand chalklines drawn around a singular corpse
Nor unforeseen ramifications of deals
made in feathers
puddles and mud
The reunion of force fields
It’s a good night for an exorcism.

I’ve got a devil inside of me! SHE GOT LOVE!
GreenTrees Jul 2017
Warning Label:

This poetry may contain words and emotions known to the state of consciousness to cause inspiration and wistfulness and other feelings of love.
Mary Gay Kearns Jul 2018
Here you are, our baby
So wanted, not expected
A little son, quietly there
In your cot, just by me.

And daddy lifts you
Bright in the morning
To see your first day
Over the chimney pots.

You are our newness
Opening the world
With your tiny hands
And we welcome you.

To Arlo
Love from Mummy and Daddy
Written by Grandma Mary ***
Lydia Sep 2018
you never pushed me to open up to you from the very beginning,
you just always made it an option,
maybe that's why I fell so hard,

because you were selfless and honest
I opened up more than my heart to give to you
Sabila Siddiqui Mar 2018
Verbalizing out her interests
attracted opportunities.

She planned to play with every insecurity,
learning, growing and blooming
with every opening.

She just had to take a chance
for the possibility.
Event hough she was dubious and stuttering.

But soon there would be rhythm and fluency
and there she would find unity in
a community.
I’d thrown back my head and let out  
that cackle
But I didn’t realize that that candelabra
The lit one
was so close
And my head went
Bosh!
Sponto jumped up
Arms raised and ready
Ready to clobber me
And Hilary
To my left looked at me and screamed
Immobile except for her face stretched by
distress and fear

I’d watched that horrendous
De Niro version of Frankenstein that afternoon
And everyone was screaming at the monster
I remembered those scenes now
And I understood
I stamped out my burning head quickly
Before I got hit
I learned a lesson that day.
The spot of hair, you know
Never did grow back right.
Nesma Apr 2015
The constellation that speaks my name is the opening line of the zodiac.
I am an Egyptian golden ram, and in ancient Egypt, Aries was the indicator of the reborn sun; I’m a never-ending fresh beginning of a mass of fire.
I am a self destructive flame, constantly setting myself on fire, and you caught on it.
So forgive me, and then admit the truth that we both know; Flames are the ultimate spring of warmth and light
I was born at 1 pm, on a Monday, on the third, of April, 1995. 12345
Martin Dove Oct 2018
What do you think, from a personal view
is it fun to live in an old dusty room?
The answer is clear, though we try to forget it
We just don’t want to see it from a different perspective
It’s hard to open the doors and see what is out there
It just shows us so boldly how little we have here.
But to open the doors means more than we know
The world can illuminate with a soft-spoken glow
It’s not all that hard though it might bring you peril
Depression can lurk around every other person.
To be selective or fully collective?
of the things we see and how we connect it
As long as you look for the truth you may find it
Though you may not like what you see and might fight it
This begs for an ending that will blow you away
But I’ll let someone find it in another way
GreenTrees May 2015
Love with its picturesque mountain peaks
one finds oneself opening their hearts to the unending sky of dreams
Down to its deep fertile valleys
where we worked the soil with hardened hands
and perseverance of heart.
At the land's edges where waves of emotion lap against its jagged shores
we find tranquility in the sound of its crashing waves.
In the high deserts where life still abounds and its fragile existence yields to the windswept nature of chance.
In its open fields where our desires roam care free
to it’s densely wooded areas where we frolic in the beauty of its simplicity.
In its grandness we are but the migratory animals who seek it's bounty from season to season.
From it we are born and die but the land remains to remind us that love endures and it's beauty exists to teach us to adapt to all of its wondrous and various forms.


Copyright Karl v. 2015
Eleanor Feb 22
your hand trembles

as you try to write

they need to know

your lips quiver

as you open up

the part hidden

so meticulously

from the world
It was an unknowing spot
In the fight between good and evil
As many such places are
The walls won’t keep you safe
Or protect you
There are no talismans at work
The humours
Swirl

One night upon descending the stairs
My heel
Caught my hem
My hands both full
A cigarette in one and wine in the other
I began to fall
It would have been a tumble
I was leaning severely to the left
No balance likely
one foot in the air
Going nowhere good

At the foot of the stairs
Yes
There was a dreadful man
His arms opening wide
His legs spread
Ready to catch my calamity
I tried to prepare
An impossibility about to occur
And how would it end?
Me on the floor, wine stained and puddled
In the arms of


And yet
I felt a push on my side
Straightening me out
Pushing me over
Up and down
Tip top
I lowered my foot, set free by my dress
And with both hands still fully occupied
Stepped down the stairs in quiet saucy triumph
He was awful
That night I knew that there were indeed angels.

As for evil and
Stairs
Years later the winds began to change
I sat above on the second floor with
a wine glass and a full bladder
I decided it’s time
Watch your step
I was slow
Cautious
Looking straight into the darkness
And despite just two steps down
total
I fell

The arc of red wine
Flew across the gallery hitting the north wall
Already hung
Yes wine on the wall
Between the paintings
Me on the floor
But the glass still in hand

I began to think
That there is something here.
Unseen.
Something’s around.
Kiva Beth Oct 2017
Once it started opening up,
Like a wound, the pearl sheen of skin
deepening into a red
As rare as the perfect rose
And just as treasured.

Bones dense around my heart
And lock themselves in place.
Stifling the voice - two beats -
The third one silent.

The fourth,
The fifth,
The third.

You are my arms outreached but selfish,
Hands open but stiff,
Palms red.
Sam Hawkins Jul 2018
Last night, a spiraled light
it caught and submerged me--
carrying far off
all my fears.

My drum-pulsed heart was flying.

I rose and weaved my airy way
among jagged mountain rock--
my path opening, opening

until a high-arched gate appeared,
laced with colored flags
and I moved through it and beyond.

In a while I saw among distant shadows of villagers
and wisps of smoke a child there, sitting,
her back to me.

Are you my teacher?
Yes, she said, though not with words.

What do you have to teach me?
Be simple.
this is a generalization account of an "upper world  journey" I took the night before. this is what happened. shamanic journeying with a drum pulse as "vehicle" is a technology. Seek out a highly trained practioner as a guide...if you wish to travel. Anyone who studied with Michael Harner (now transitioned) is a ringer! I am not permitted to be a guide for others.
Osiria Melody Feb 14
With nimble hands, the opening of a plastic
bag transpires,
Dire need to consume food, edge of bag rips
A roar of condemnation, sneering at you
Contents of food fly out from its captivity,
Dispersed across the floor like lawn sprinkler
water

With frightened eyes, overcome with the rush
of tears as if they were competing to fall out of
them,
Food stares at you and relishes in its final
moments,
Should I abide by the five-second ru–
A gargantuan foot bears down on food, like one
slamming his foot abruptly on car brakes
Cccrunchhhh, cccrunchhh...

Such a tragedy!
But, by the way, this pair of shoes sure look
better than mine
With nimble hands, you seize the individual by
the neck and–
Sssnapppp, ppopppp...
Dire need to feel remorse, but none embraces
you

With nimble hands, the opening of a plastic bag
transpires,
Don't ever touch my food.
Thank you.



Melody
2/14/19
Don't you hate it when you eat a snack from a plastic bag, open it up, only to witness one of the edges ripping?
King Panda Mar 2016
I laid an anemone
on the mask of a crying girl
the young mother
the crouching woman
I am beautiful
says the sirens
says the ever-youthful vegetation
of God

I mixed my blood and nectar
on the mask of a dying man
the decay of kiss
the resurrection
I am beautiful
says the anemone
says Adonis in his grave

I burned their leaf-stems
on the mask of an artist
the eternal springtime
the life-death-rebirth deity
I am beautiful
says the martyr
says girl as she wakes
to the sirens

I am beautiful
says the head on the platter
I am beautiful

and the woman descends
the bronze invading
the bronze high-handed
the bronze opening
to the gates of hell
Pagan Paul May 2017
.
So here I am once more, in the playground of the broken hearts.
One more experience, one more entry in a diary self-penned.
Yet another emotional suicide,
overdosed on sentiment and pride.
To late to say I love you, to late to re-stage the play.
Abandoning the relics in my playground of yesterday'.



The first words you killed me with.
The first Script to make me cry.
The opening song on a plate of sorrow.
The opening sight of my Poets eye.

Your words soaked my childlike mind
as I lost on the roundabouts and swings.
The Jester stands with violin and quill,
composing tears on his broken strings.

I sat and chewed those daffodils
and I still struggle to answer why.
I grew up and left that playground
but its the place where my heart died.

So I never did write that love song,
My words just never seemed to flow.
The martyrs twisted smile haunts me,
my Harlequins head dreams in sorrow.

The game is over.
The game is over.

© Pagan Paul (22/05/17)
.
*First verse from the title track of 'Script for a Jesters Tear' by Marillion.
First heard this song when I was 14, I always wondered why Fish's lyrics spoke so deep with me. I only understood when I started to write poetry.
The album is their first, and the first of a trilogy that also includes Fugazi and Misplaced Childhood.
I am the Harlequin. PPx
.
ryn Nov 2014
^  
/   \
I|   \
I|   /
  I|   . >
   I|     \
    I|      /  
   I|      >
  I|     >
   I|     .\
      I|        .>
•you found
a **key
that wasn't yours
•brazenly opening and entering
boarded doors•pardon this intrusion,
i do so unwillingly•although i only
have myself                 to blame for
not treading this path,
cautiously...•
Opening Salvo


Art and Beauty reside side by side along with
Reality and toughness .
The sooner I can transform
(Bring it forth,)
The better

As far as I'm concerned;

Never the two shall meet
Inside of me

I lived

Once

I'm not short
You're tall
The zeros and ones, all the zeros and ones
It is time to dive in to some binary fun
Just the zeros and ones, all the zeros and ones
We're not ready for this
But too late
It's begun...

In this game that we play
There's no way can be won
And no doubt that someday
All mankind is outdone
But "no way" they will say
"Just relax and have fun"
'Cause there's always a way
Not the absolute 'none'

Good luck never can stay
Of the minimum one
An anomaly may
Find a way to outrun
All the safeguards in place
What you spin is now spun
This new enemy faced
Can't be beat with a gun

Giving birth to a race
Artificially one
That's not from outer space
People smart are now dumb
We can't keep up the pace
So we will be outrun
Relegated to slaves
Or perhaps we're just "done"

Nothing more than a waste
Have a purpose that's 'none'
Masses taking up space
Can not hide or outrun
Destined to be erased
Yet somehow we're still stunned
Ending the human race
For A.I. has now won
Written: November 9, 2018

All rights reserved.
[Anapestic Tetrameter format]
دema Aug 2018
it's so hard for me
to open up,
but once i do,
i can't stop,
and people don't mind
stepping all over me,
so i build yet another wall
around me,
and opening up becomes
a mission not even Tom Cruise can make possible.
Sara Kellie Jul 2018
The opening night,
in front of packed house.
The story, a fight,
between a cat and a mouse.
The cat with her guile and
the mouse, all the while.
Powers up a ******' chainsaw
with a knowing wry smile.

So never bet against the mouse
with either money or your house
because the crafty **** takers
have slashed the odds at bookmakers
as to what's in the pies
at the new high street bakers.

Poetry by Kaydee.
Old enemies retold.
Paul Hansford Nov 2016
(a brief love story)

1/
The morning sun warmed the dew
from the opening rosebud;
a bee visited the fragrant heart of the rose;
the breeze tumbled a petal to the water,
drifted the pale petal across the surface of the water.
You surprised me gently.

2/
I thought - hoped - the emotional baggage
was safely in the locker,
just for once,
just overnight,
but like a Houdini homing pigeon
it escaped,
it came back.
Like a smart missile locked in on thought patterns
it found the target,
penetrated the armour,
and suddenly
just after midnight
I knew how Cinderella felt,
her new world ****** back
through the vortex,
as the life we call real returned.
Suggested (not exactly inspired) by a visit to Cuba, where the local currency is the peso and the language is Spanish.  When I assocaiated "dos pesos" (two pesos) with "dos besos" (two kisses) the germ of the poem was set.
ᏦᏗᏖ Jan 3
I am a broken bridge.
I am lonely.
I am sad.
I was once a necessity.
Now I’m useless.
I’m a waste of space.
I’m a waste to the world.
A piece of something that is damaged.
Who makes everything look ****.
Who is a disgrace to the scenery around.
I am a broken bridge.
When people see me they only see my flaws.
They don’t see the beauty in me.
My historic features.
The many stories I hold.
They only see the broken pieces of myself.
That is something I hate the most.
I am a broken bridge, but I hold the worlds most precious tales.
I am a broken bridge.
Robin Carretti Jul 2018
This is not, a time to loosen up
Or nine to five job to give up
Just saddle up the power is in you
Five ladies cafe to dine at five and
drove_* the meter is running
(The Canadian Cup) team versus the
     Taxi Cup
He swooned you in your
Five dreamy but half heart sugars
Come on Baby bloomers
Let's see some boom!!

In your hips men will be men taking
frequent flyer trips temptation 1 2345
We need fewer digs one love teo reasons
World  345  heart flags
We don't have to cross our hearts
Perhaps tattoo heart legs no more strikes
Jumping Jack flash
What a rope in this isn't the Pope

Somehow we all get broke
To court her like your the lasso
stars cosmos hearts like Lassie
Never a change of subject how it
remains in your heart how it hit hard
to react but changed to five cards
Digging too long  lucky 777 like heaven
Heart digs

1-where?
Oh! There

No, I am here
We are always  
In-between
numbers_ I only
have 5 minutes
No I phone have a heart
Oh! where is designed for me
Those five plates

Whats in between them
      *Him

We are opening Live- Five
Strong heart to give the caring
The useful heart is never so daring
My gate* Girls are nail digging
Hugging

Or losing add +

Flirty
*****
Our community
Heftier like Jupiter
Heart to build
the gravity
A big kiss hunch
of five roses

Your getting to bloom
but only have
5 extra movie parts
The front dress mermaid tail
Your heart delicate hands
opened up your emails
I think you hit the
Jackpot

Max to the million shot
No heart of gold
Only more leaders
Scrambling and digging
your fork
Mixing those egg beaters

Five men think they know
there women
like ten
commandments
Turn to five wrong
engagements
There it goes the lucky
five arguments

A plot beating
like a hot-shot
The French Baguette
Bread 9 to 5 firecracker
Five-carat baguette
wedding band in her safe
Heart digs to five hands
Heart neck guilty as a giraffe

The cafe house had only
5 cups left  they sold you out
Only Five Bed and breakfast
stayers
Do detailed with their Ladyfingers
But need more alone time
Be on time get sweet key lime
What is real-time so sublime

That rose- paper cut- origami
Sorcerer of five he was like the
cold cuts of big Sub Salami
Japanese sword samurai
What a Geronimo Oh! no
Jericho
This wasn't a hot potato

Or Gizmo No-Go
Getting a shot for Polio
The gusto songs to the heart play
Maestro the Cosmo's
The five stars to heart his
afterglow
Like a titanic ship but heroics

Five lunatics wedding horns ******
Five two timer Mario gamers
so demonic
DOMINO'S bed five students wed
We dug deeper get-up sleepy-head
Exposed cries location set
Network U- dig cups

Something lip curved
He misplaced my lips
What did he do in exchange
More stocks and hard stone rocks
Like frying pan egg
scrambled words

Crossed heart Rapper so believing
The Fox five sticking tacky glue
His CD Rose lying pants no clue
Painful pointed shoes need R&R
     Robin's *Responsibilities
       The Heart On Replay
The deeper you dig to restart

The healthy organically grown brain
Men on Pause I truly believe nature
takes its course
but another beat to go is that so?
And if so heart digs to five
Feel the good vibe in another tribe
Five times I had to wake you up
I am the love cure reminiscing

Giving me five reasons
Our beautiful change of
heart in season

Studying the fine art heart
Referencing
Never refusing thats life
five-step to strive nothing
Fancy

Robin shoutbox she getting
her point across
Either you're the worker or loner
The heart pleaser the boss
Your heart looks good
on your dress
Whether we win or deep mess
The good heart can change to
a bad start

Recharge your heart count to five
Venus- beauty moved on like a
pathologist digging over staying alive
The hearts what digs this is not the 9-5 workers we are talkers
and long settling in heart walkers come any join me we may actually be alive did I get a live one
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