"poeticness" poems
*Like the visable poeticness
scattered all around us -
there is so much hidden beauty
infront of our eyes,
Only few seem to see it all,
others fail to see any of it at all--they walk
as though they are hypnotised.
She is so many
of these beautiful things,
seen by few, invisible to so many,
Priceless--worth a fortune to few,
To others, worthless--worth only
a single penny.
She is like the stubborn raindrops
left behind on a window
after the rain,
She is that song
that you resonate with,
touching a chord
as it hits your heart,
after pumping through
your every vein.
She is the bright rainbow
covering up a scary storm -
She is still able to smile
after extremely bad weather,
she has had this strength
ever since she was born.
She is the hopeful sunrise
following a long, dark,
dreadful night,
A serene calm ocean,
a heavenly magical horizon
that you are lucky enough to catch
in your sight.
She is the much needed umbrella
that pops up and keeps you dry,
She is your wings, unseen,
but she carries you ever so high -
she is the reason why you can fly.
She is so many special things
that so many fail to recognise
and see,
Not being appreciated
does not mean
that she isn't everything
that she knows to be.
She is the delicate butterfly
that came from nowhere,
The precious tainted one
that struggled so hard
and survived to be there.
She is often misunderstood,
sometimes she doesn't even exist,
But she knows her worth -
with the unconditional love from God,
her children, and her man,
she will continue to persist.
She is so many special things
that so many fail to recognise
and see,
She is unique -
she is unlike anyone,
deep down she is very proud
that she is "She!"
By Lady R.F ©2017*
Feb 3, 2017
Feb 3, 2017 at 9:26 PM UTC
Would things had been different if you knew
How much I thought
And dreamt of you.
Would things had been different if I had said-
Our memories unfold;
They're on replay in my head.
Would things had been different if I confessed
That all my writings were made for you
Through hurt, through moments, through poeticness.
Maybe if I had, things would have been different-
Maybe it would no longer be you and she.
Maybe instead it would have been
You and me.
Aug 1, 2015
Aug 1, 2015 at 8:45 AM UTC
My silence lives in the middle of my chest.
Engulfing my lungs into the poeticness of Black.
It inches up my throat,
Clinging onto my esophagus,
Chokingly.
My silence suffocates me,
But my voice still wants to Scream.
© 2015 Kendra Bowman
Aug 15, 2015
Aug 15, 2015 at 3:08 PM UTC
I'm a ******* crow. And I love it. I'm Black ,unique ,feared, and above all I'm misunderstood. I am a epitome of fear. A symbol of the unknown. Which makes perfect since considering I am unknown. Most think of birds and think of colors. All colorful birds are thought to be different because of their colors and their physical attributes,But appearance means nothing. They are different on the outside but on the inside they are all the same. No matter how different they look. Most of their attributes are beautiful. From their vibrant colors to their interesting looking beaks. But I'm different, I look plain. I look dead. I look boring and scary and people never look past appearance. They never have and they never will. If they did then crows like me would be a symbol of poeticness, creativeness, and pure brilliance. My sub songs misinterpreted by all that hear them. They think they are obnoxious and rude. While I see them as sentimental and beautiful. I sing my songs out of tiredness of oppression brought to me by society and neglect-ion brought to me by my peers. But it's okay I will always fly. And even when the terrible twisted world I live in takes my wings I will still be heard. Either because my sub songs annoy the **** outta you or cause you look past the screeching sound and find the true Beauty to my madness.
Feb 8, 2017
Feb 8, 2017 at 10:10 AM UTC
*Emily Dickinson slept in my bed
Leaving behind a musty smell
As the sheets dripped poeticness
Her slant rhymes did as well
She scratched into my headboard
Words only Emily knows
Crying out from behind stain glass
The windows to her soul
Emily Dickinson left my bed sheets entangled
Breathing out her sighs in rhyme
The saddest sound that could be heard round
Was when Emily whispered goodbye*
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 2:22 PM UTC
i tried to write a poem today about how you make me feel,
and i couldn't put it into words
- it was unwordable -
my absolute lack of verbosity and eloquence left no solace - just a sticky shimmering mess of words splattered, scattered with horrible verbs and even worse poeticness...
needless to say you give me such inspiration that my mind just veers left when directed right, all because you
- you make me melt -
and fall apart.
and with a touch i make your body tremor and mind falter - together we make the universe twirl, i can feel it, the breakdown of words is my mind spinning around your universe, your works, you're everything the barriers broken, my words fly and float in the pace of our romance, lost...
- and my brain just broke -
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 4:34 PM UTC
Today is beautifully dappled
in warm sun. I smile, in
pure reflex, turning my head
to the right, where one of you
usually walks, waiting for you to catch
this glint of light and reflect
it back to me like the most beautiful
of mirrors I
could ever
imagine. Inadvertedly,
I have turned and graced
only a tree with my smile,
which immediately droops,
a flower, wilting,
neglected. I am selfish
about these shows of my happiness, as
only around you
are they not rare. I walk
to those who may hear
the laugh that I will pump
out of the rusty bellows
of my lungs, a layer of
paint over the browning and rotting
carcass that was my day,
white and dingy, and just a bit
off, to those who know to look
closely enough. These
are not those. I miss
your companionship as much
as I long for the girl
you all know, the one
of (un)apologetic lightness
and seething darknesses, the one
who often has no need
for melodramatic poeticness, as
around you life is not always
troublesome enough to catch
on the heartstrings, twanging
and plucking them into devastatingly
shattered, glimmering
song.
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 10:38 AM UTC