"pens" poems
There are roots that
delve deep in our bones,
wrapping us like our skin.
They define who we are.
But,
who am I?
I am learned, sophisticated,
well versed in history and language.
My companions are numbers, papers, pens, and letters.
I drive a fine silk suit: shiny, clean, fragrant...
Though
am I, really?
Or am I
one who acts the opposite?
One who is
surrounded by those who have numbers, papers, pens, and letters as companions
whilst I am with pebbles, leaves, sticks;
driving a worn out hide made from a dying pig.
Or maybe,
I am both...
No.
I am not common folk who act out the Streets
on a home lined with shiny rocks,
smooth paper on a lap,
twinkling fireflies hanging from the roof
whilst displaying what I've learned from being raised around uniforms and books.
Jun 22, 2015
Jun 22, 2015 at 7:42 AM UTC
Block by block
I delve down
is it iron?
is it gold?
or only gravel and stone
toiling with pick and shovel
I dream obsidian spires
towering 190 blocks above the shore
I dream wheat fields
and cow pens
nestled amidst rolling hills
I dream discovery
mystery
exploration
but before these
there must be iron
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 11:47 AM UTC
*I think to be thoughtful
I speak to be heard*
I write to decipher
The truth in my words.
*I smiled to ensnare you
I laughed to secure*
You slipped through the trap
That I built to procure
*I kissed to consume you
I hugged to enfold*
My arms close on nothing
You're no where to hold
*I writhed to entrance you
I clutched you to keep*
Now the place where I hold you
Resides in my dreams.
I write so you'll read this
My hand pens the truth
All that I've written,
I've written for you.
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 2:20 PM UTC
See loudness but be silented
hearing things not needed
pencils and pens scribbling
teacher constant speaking
smell of freshness
yet sight of trashness
Feb 7, 2013
Feb 7, 2013 at 3:40 PM UTC
Scattered books and pens
A noose hanging from the roof
The ink running dry
Jul 20, 2019
Jul 20, 2019 at 10:19 AM UTC
big sweaters, ghibli, acrylic paint, cafes, knit blankets and unplanned afternoon naps on the couch, gardens, bananas, vanilla almond milk, soft yarn to crochet into ****** scarves, candles after midnight, the big trees with bulky roots, patio furniture, pianos in random buildings, the internet, manatees, the boundless colours of nail polish, peanut butter & honey, rubber boots, pens that write well, fresh new notebooks, skylights, american netflix, mothers that understand, tête à têtes, one glass of sweet white wine, awkward eye contact that turns into comfortable kissing, airplanes, fresh air, baseball caps, the female collective, the really good dark chocolate, flowers, pumpkin spice lattes and ***** chai lattes, candid laughter, yoga, oceans, high waisted shorts, striped t-shirts, docile cats, playful pups, french presses, integrity, sunscreen, meerkats, penguins, chameleons, autumn leaves, fall fashion, ruby woo mac lipstick, osho, dynamic meditation, compassion, siblings, scrambled eggs, smart phones, garageband, metronomes, hot glue guns, quinoa, ferry boats, soft hands, bicycles, real people, fat snowflakes in ample, graceful ********** backpacks that don't hurt your shoulders, hair conditioner, multi-vitamins, soft sand under bare feet, people that own up to lies, clarity, samsara, satori, samasati, visions, echinacea, lavender oil and frankincense, ambrosia apples and ripe avocados, authenticity, Morgan Freeman's voice, good kissers, ******* iced tea on a hot day, curtains, the smell of beeswax, art galleries, hand massages and foot massages, reiki, plums, mild thunderstorms, soccer ***** good surprises, when birds don't **** on your head.
Oct 9, 2013
Oct 9, 2013 at 7:24 AM UTC
Only you can translate
where you are
on your voyage through
this varied farce
called “life”.
No one else can dictate
to you…
or should even dare…
how to phrase
your feelings,
your thoughts,
your personal moments.
Who is anyone to
cause another to feel
inept or inferior
for wording their
experiences as they will?
We are all both
audience and poet,
consumed by the
powerful spell of words
and meaning
we are bonded
in ink.
It takes gumption
and courage
to give voice to
your vision of
the world.
It often requires
resilience and nerve
to open your heart
and peel back the
layers of skin,
and let others take
a long look at the
inner workings of YOU.
Be brave,
take courage,
let your soul speak
in its very own
language.
People will read
your words and
listen to the sweet
whispers
and thunderous shouts
that flow from pens
and keys
to release the
inner demons and angels
and the lyrical
vines that bloom and live
in our individual
landscapes,
fluidly coursing from
our own rabbit holes
with fortitude and grace
and our neverlands,
where we need never
grow up,
to share with those
that need to see
and hear and feel
and wonder.
-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights
May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 10:38 AM UTC
The tide collects it all by morning;
The drama and the ***** napalmed across the path.
The scenes at second warning for most had been swept away
Before they wiped the sand from their shoes.
Empty cans of Dutch and Tuborg slouched on the dunes
Are tight-lipped about the Velvet Strand's secret ecosystem;
An underground microcosm;
A peripheral cluster of seething emotions drowned.
Memories of those years - although some expired,
The vestiges take pride of place - hold a cosmic clump of smells,
Tastes, firsts, goosebumps, hangovers, and ends.
I never before understood what I was holding on to.
Winters down in the shelters nearly killed us but we
Huddled through the cold, lit cheap firelogs and
Found our oblivion. It didn't take much for me to develop
A stagger - tolerance for a lot of things was learned later.
I narrowly recall my first taste of poor judgement and
Hazy-headed stargazing. Six cans of Stonehouse
Dry cider - most of which ended up on the hillside -
Was a ridiculous endeavour that will always be sublime.
At the heart of it, I did it to impress a girl;
The one every boy has or has had that sticks;
Who holds your firsts and your hands and makes
Things simple if only for her complexity;
The one that never fails to bring upon digression when
Pens are involved. Revisiting reminiscence on a jarring note,
I think of my Junior Cert exams and a cross-dressed man
Exposing himself to two uniformed boys behind the public toilets.
This one doesn't stir the joy of the others.
This one I wish would dissolve;
An ugly, awkward blotch on a childhood.
Luckily fondness trumps disgust when recalling that place
Because of sunrises and sunsets absorbed from the roof.
The Summers spent jumping the gap and drowning in the
Heat of the sun were everything.
The fugitive sand between our toes and under finger nails
Became an accepted nuisance, a part of the territory;
A lingering grain or two to drag you back.
I miss waking up with the smell of last night's faded fire.
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 8:22 PM UTC
The dawn is smiling on the dew that covers
The tearful roses; lo, the little lovers
That kiss the buds, and all the flutterings
In jasmine bloom, and privet, of white wings,
That go and come, and fly, and peep and hide,
With muffled music, murmured far and wide.
Ah, the Spring time, when we think of all the lays
That dreamy lovers send to dreamy mays,
Of the fond hearts within a billet bound,
Of all the soft silk paper that pens wound,
The messages of love that mortals write
Filled with intoxication of delight,
Written in April and before the May time
Shredded and flown, playthings for the wind's playtime,
We dream that all white butterflies above,
Who seek through clouds or waters souls to love,
And leave their lady mistress in despair,
To flit to flowers, as kinder and more fair,
Are but torn love-letters, that through the skies
Flutter, and float, and change to butterflies
12.9k
They came like a nightmare and took us away.
Oh Mother! Don't spill a tear, your son's in a better place.
They were scared of our pens so they fired us off.
Oh Mother! Don't cry for their guns have lost.
They pointed us out and asked our identities.
Oh Father! Stand tall, I answered them proudly.
I took a bullet in my head for wearing green.
Oh Father! Be strong, I did not feel a thing.
So bury me in this land and bury me with smiles
Every grain of this soil is a witness of my sacrifice.
So bury me in this land and bury me with smiles
Your son embraced martyrdom and a martyr never dies.
Those monsters just killed, did not let anyone go.
Oh Father! Their hearts were stone cold.
They painted the walls of my school with our blood.
Oh Father! Don't worry, they will be the one to suffer.
I was received by the angels at the gates of heaven.
Oh Mother! That place was full of little children.
And when I met the Lord, I was dressed in green.
Oh Mother! My Mother! I was so happy.
So bury me in this land and bury me with smiles
Every grain of this soil is a witness of my sacrifice.
So bury me in this land and bury me with smiles
Your son embraced martyrdom and a martyr never dies.
Jan 17, 2015
Jan 17, 2015 at 5:23 AM UTC
Written not only by the ink of pens, but also by the soul of hearts
May 28, 2015
May 28, 2015 at 5:48 AM UTC
If I was a pen
My point will be the world,
Then my ink will be hope,
And the paper is humanity.
So every time I touch humanity,
I give off hope through the world
Releasing it for human kind,
The world being a bridge for change,
Becoming a useful pen for living things.
With every mark humanity will be determined
With every touch the world becomes better.
And even though I’ll make a mess
And even though I’ll spill my ink
I can say I scattered hope
I can say I tried to change the world for the better
And that this mess, made hope sprung to everyone.
And as a ‘normal’ pen
I will write countless words until everything is gone
And You may say hope is gone,
But the hope I had inside is given to humanity
Filling the hearts and minds.
And this hope will form more pens
And this hope will inspire
And this hope will be a better being
And this hope will be our world.
But I’m not a pen
And I don’t need to be a pen to give hope
And I don’t need a pen to change the world.
I’m going to be a human being
A human that will spark change
A human that will give hope
A human who will rise after the storm
A human who will see the sun, the rainbow after the rain.
I am a human
My mind will be the world,
Then actions will be hope,
And my heart will be humanity.
So every time I’ll do something
I’ll think about the world
And I’ll feel what everybody needs
And I’ll know what to do
I am a human and I’ll give hope
-jnldm
Dec 24, 2013
Dec 24, 2013 at 1:06 AM UTC
the sun is a done
bun hon'.
worry now,
it can't be undone.
hurry now,
your pens and paper for fun.
you know it's too soon
to feel the flurry bow
down to rend bones
into red and vapor for fun.
so **** my **** and call me cherry.
pour the sherry one more time,
I can feel the divine
flesh and scrape her for fun.
knives and saccharine,
guns to blow the *****
off each and every one.
don't worry hon',
it's just for fun.
Mar 15, 2022
Mar 15, 2022 at 4:15 PM UTC
Breathe here, stare there
Gorgeous people everywhere
Mind chases, heart races
Breath-taking men with briefcases
Black suits and coloured ties
Witty minds with pretty eyes
Pulled up socks, polished shoes
Ink pens, all blues
Strong souls, real men
Captive in a cemented den
Pick one or pick seven
All good as heaven
Hard working, on time
Romantic talks with wine
One sings the other cooks
Charming words, ***** looks
Unexpected, unsure
My boss makes me lure
His Lamborghini, his yacht
Finest of the lot
His dimples, his hair
His tantrums I can bear
Surprise gifts from his side
Strong feelings, stronger vibe
Look here, look there
Gorgeous men everywhere
Single girls form a line
Take them all, boss is mine.
-Zainab Attari
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 8:22 AM UTC
Your fingernails give away the debris you've collected
I've known you for a while but it feels like longer
feels like sunsets under my tongue
blue bruises behind my eyes
every skip of the needle brings back our old skins &
the hush-hush type of self worth,
keeping pens full of red ink so we can
play the demon in this one instead
of closing the door, we don't wanna gossip
at the edge of the room like strangers,
we wanna be in the center
and your fingerprints look a lot like mine sometimes, especially when we laugh and cry together
especially when you fall asleep and I watch
for soft signs of openmouthed breathing that signal
we are in deeper than we thought.
I can't stand the way you look at yourself though, sometimes I wanna
run away from everyone here
sometimes I wanna just up and leave it all
in a shallow grave where it belongs,
but the moments are softer when you slip my name onto your cotton tongue,
and I don't punch out a pattern for my self loathing quite as quickly when
we tally up our thread counts and what time we have left
together.
Inevitably, I still paint my teeth black,
because words about my future never felt right coming from my pink and purple mouth
but your lips could twist anything up into a lot of sense,
I could kiss you and **** time forever
in parking lots and on the edges of stained mattresses
I didn't ever want a home until I thought of hanging up your colors to dry
keep them here in the niches or
scrawled onto notepads I keep beside my bed,
put down your demon scripts and ask me in the morning
if it takes a while for seeds to grow,
I'll tell you to keep a can of water nearby
and to make sure it's somewhere sunny
I know there's something foreign growing in me and it's
bigger than I've ever been,
but I think maybe you know and
it's bigger than both of us, maybe
you know and
you've been doing some growing, too.
Jul 15, 2018
Jul 15, 2018 at 4:31 PM UTC
Strong currents flow different ways
From where the bridge was, after the first plunge
Soothed the sun-burnt skin and the hay-splinters
Loosed the straw stuck in ears
After I left you under the porch light
Alone on the other side of the night
Where poplars reached for the moon and stars
And the cows chewed on bits of memory from when
In the cobwebs and calf pens
They were brought to life by your gentle hands
You crossed two worlds to find me in the darkness
But I was not the one you were searching for
You prayed for miracles while
God stood by, arms crossed
Just taking in the sunset and the clouds
Like an old tree beside a grave carefully fenced
To keep it disheveled amid tended fields
Thus the cancer had its way and I could not
Fill the void left in your heart or mine
With no more tears to soften dry leather
I put our hearts on skewers and held them
Over the bridge's burning planks
Too close and they were immolated
Not carefully spun to stay golden and warm inside
So I packed my own hollow heart full of nothing
Filled the passenger seat, until
There was only room for me and the steering wheel
And no way to turn
Mar 5, 2019
Mar 5, 2019 at 6:55 PM UTC
I like pens that bleed
Ink that smears
Girls with scars
Broken parts
***** clothes
Stained sheets
The hint of blood
The taste of lust
The smells of love
Nights through morning
Mornings to night
Suns that sleep
Moons that dream
And all the pretty
You hide underneath
Those pretty
Pretty
Pretty things
Jul 25, 2016
Jul 25, 2016 at 12:16 AM UTC
Handbag~ 1994
exam timetable
£5 from my Mum
shiny key for the front door
fresh-mint chewing gum
Handbag~ 1998
keys for work
keys for home
£20 and a bit of change
photo of my best mate
and a bloke that's twice my age
lipstick~ lacy knickers
condoms~ ID card
ticket for a bus to town
UV sparkly stars
Handbag~ 1999
keys for work
keys for home
spare key for his flat
condoms~ contraceptive pills
No.7 powder-ivory/matt
VISA/Delta debit card
paper
gel ink pens
number of a bloke
who says our love
will never end
Handbag~ 2000
keys for work
keys for home
key for the gas meter
Teletubbies picture book
list of baby-sitters
new mobile phone
herbal teething gel
lipstick~ Anadin
vanilla impulse body spray
children's Nurofen
photo of my baby boy
really tiny socks
under-eye concealer
secret stash of chocs
Handbag~ 2002
keys for work
keys for home
pull-back-and-go car
baby wipes
mobile phone
estate agents' cards
picture of my little boy
list of things to do
Boots own brand pregnancy test
both windows coloured blue
Handbag~ 2005
keys for home
card from work
tissue full of tears
photo of my boy in school
that shows his gappy teeth
photo of my baby girl
and one of both of them
a ring that used to be my Mum's
Pro-Plus~ Diazepam
Handbag~ 2009
keys for work
keys for home
one SLIM~FAST bar
one Cadbury's wrapper
Haribo~ Calpol~ tissues
assorted Disney plasters
treasured stones~ special shells
sand and bits of twig
money to buy ice creams
photos of my kids
Oct 14, 2011
Oct 14, 2011 at 4:52 PM UTC
Our pens have blood for ink,
scarring these pages forever.
May 18, 2014
May 18, 2014 at 4:10 PM UTC
And when you fall for a girl with hips like hammers and lips like pens, never let her go. Though it may be difficult, do not let her go. She will be the girl who is there to keep you safe. She will be the one who saves you.
She is everything you've ever needed in a person and more.
You always said that all you need is someone who can make a dull day be seen in technicolor
And who will love you for who you are.
And that IS her.
But you never mentioned how you need someone whose eyes are so blue that you could drown in every shade of her iris.
Or how you need someone that will make you bathe with her even though you're not the one who needs cleaning.
You never spoke of how you need someone who is able to make all of your insecurities melt-
Even if only for a second.
You never talked about how you need that girl that will tease you for how tightly you grip her hand when it's dark
And who will make your body thrash and tremble in pleasure rather than terror at night.
You never said a thing about how you NEED that girl whose laugh is too precious to ever forget the shape of her smile.
You never mentioned it because you had no idea.
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 10:52 AM UTC
I pick up a pen.
...or is it a gun?
and write about zen.
The world is all but one.
I pick up my pen.
...or is it my gun?
I will find it soon then,
the war is all but won.
I pick up a pen.
...or is it a gun?
I write about Jen and,
how war may lack fun.
Jen pick up her gun.
... it is surely not a pen.
my pen loses rhythm and so has the war
and the people who still fight all lose.
In the end we will all lose...
Nov 18, 2015
Nov 18, 2015 at 10:16 PM UTC
Snow. . . covering each and every branch of every tree
the ground now slumbers with blankets of snow on top of her
Winter now dances through the bitter cold air
with a crown of snowflakes in her hair
and with a robe of grey to match the dull sky
her fair white hands reach out to touch the dazzling snowflakes
which fly through the air
and land upon her hair
snowdrops hidden under their blanket of snow and ice
and all the world is sleeping
all except Mother Nature, the Snow Queen, and Winter
who stay awake to give some light to those who are still awake
dogwood blossoms haven't even opened their buds to greet the bitter air
and the bleeding hearts have never yet greeted Spring
for it is still Winter
and all the birds have flown south while Winter's birds
have flown north to greet the cold
while other birds stay here year round
without leaving whether it's hot or cold or just right
icey covered creeks are frozen cold from Winter's
cold blast
and everything is a white paradise
Wind is blowing every night
to signal it is cold
while I shiver and fall back to sleep under my own warm comforter
and the Moon's shadows dance into my room through my bedroom window
and Stars twinkle in Night's black gown streaked with midnight-blue
such picturesque beauty that only poets can pen
with their quills and feather pens dipped in black ink
stacks of papers describing millions of different themes. . .
God, Winter, Spring, Summer, Autumn, Flowers, Night, Midnight,
and many other different themes which poets love
~Marian~
Feb 16, 2013
Feb 16, 2013 at 11:08 PM UTC
if i were you
i wouldn't fall for a poet
they may be good at making you feel overwhelmed
they can make you fall through their actions
but they'll make you fall even harder with their words
falling for a poet is quite easy
they say,
they're gonna be spending a whole day
pouring their heart out
while tapping their pens rhythmically
with trembling hands
as they write about
your date nights,
movie marathons
and play fights
it will all be written on a piece of paper
i am a poet
i can make you experience life
in comparison to a rollercoaster ride
through poetry
i'm a woman of many emotions
you'll sometimes get confused
about how my brain ticks
i'll write about
the car rides under the stars
and under the city lights
i'll give you the sun,
the moon,
the universe
name it
i'd offer a blank page
and every stanzas
only for you
word per word
line per line
will be spoken with emotion
in photography
every moment was being captured
by the photographer
as well as in poetry
your actions towards a poet
could mean a lot
you'll be surprised
i write
even the heartaches
you have caused
so i wouldn't forget
the pain you inflicted
but i'd still thank you, eventually
for it wasn't for you,
i wouldn't be able to write this
Oct 16, 2018
Oct 16, 2018 at 8:54 AM UTC
Why do you sit there on the floor so quiet and silent, tell me,
mother dear?
The rain is coming in through the open window, making you all
wet, and you don't mind it.
Do you hear the gong striking four? It is time for my brother
to come home from school.
What has happened to you that you look so strange?
Haven't you got a letter from father today?
I saw the postman bringing letters in his bag for almost
everybody in the town.
Only father's letters he keeps to read himself. I am sure the
postman is a wicked man.
But don't be unhappy about that, mother dear.
Tomorrow is market day in the next village. You ask your maid
to buy some pens and papers.
I myself will write all father's letters; you will not find
a single mistake.
I shall write from A right up to K.
But, mother, why do you smile?
You don't believe that I can write as nicely as father does!
But I shall rule my paper carefully, and write all the letters
beautifully big.
When I finish my writing do you think I shall be so foolish
as father and drop it into the horrid postman's bag?
I shall bring it to you myself without waiting, and letter by
letter help you to read my writing.
I know the postman does not like to give you the really nice
letters
Oct 10, 2014
Oct 10, 2014 at 2:29 AM UTC