"portrays" poems
Cloudy days,
Cloudy thoughts.
Cloudy messages you propose.
Cloudy raindrops,
Falling down.
You make no movement,
Make no sound.
A cloudy sky up above,
A sky of grey portrays your love.
Where are the sunny skies I yearn for.
Where is the sun.
For you, I thought you were the one, my love.
Though all you bring with you is the dark.
A sunny forecast up ahead,
When my days aren't spent with you.
All though all we knew was to live through the grey--
My love,
Sometimes we need to accept the truth.
Apr 8, 2014
Apr 8, 2014 at 12:14 AM UTC
Anxious
Dull, a boy is he
names he would not plea
eyes like baby blue-
lips a crimson hue
Feelings like me and you
Reclusive
Outsiders he'd not choose
In his mansions he bore
luring himself-
with enchanting lore's
drifting away, loosing woes
A Xenos
Traveling in his hallways
unknown, ominous
a wretched life he portrays
even in his heart, he'd say-
"Loneliness, such a Cliché"
Forsaken
Befriended, unseen
though he's not a devil
-for I believe
tortured, battered on thee
delude by his mistress' skim
He Left
portals out from misery
gone himself eagerly
then comes back, with such
-A Victory
for now, a statured man is he
Knights & Kings
upon bended knees
and everything he please
from a man to a boy
-in a dream
A Castle, now he redeems
Jul 14, 2017
Jul 14, 2017 at 7:48 PM UTC
Inside, my jealousy rages
I do well to keep it in
You whisper Don't hold back from me
But if I didn't, what then?
It'd only cause more arguments,
You'll tire from my useless imagines.
Trust me when I tell you love,
That if you knew every single time
Another woman walked past
I saw myself crouching to attack,
Rip hair from root and gouge pretty blue eyes.
I want- no, need -to end their lie
That I know her beauty is,
In hopes you'll see it too.
I'm just afraid you'll fall prey
To the illusions the pretty woman portrays.
You're ever so smart,
But trust me, they're smart as well
They all went to school on how to walk,
How to smile with their pretty blue eyes,
How to make your heart, beat
And downunder rise
It's a lie though love,
I'm what's really real
So don't look at them, look at me.
I don't like the way jealousy makes me feel..
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 8:25 AM UTC
The beloved country Africana can boast of is Ghana. The manana of Africana black star is Ghana A nation rich in culture and natural pasture.
Its nature reflects the creatures’ caricature
We are black reflecting our true beauty.
And we are packed with captivating ability. The typicality of our nationality brings unity. Who knows whether our safety lies in our variety?
This unity amidst our diversity is our reportage. About twenty-four million are surviving in our age. Over sixty ethnic groups and fifty-two major languages. There are hundreds of dialects which are to our advantages.
In W/A, Ghana records the highest percentage of Christianity… Yet the modernity of our sanity portrays minds of malignity. But the fraternity of our humanity builds our community. The variety of our morality and privity builds our society
Who said Ghana cannot be capaciously superfluous? We have the very illustrious and exuberant resources. The elites and the voracity are harnessing the recourses. The destitute remains poor and the gentry linger the forces
Our democratic government is an African paradigm. Our peaceful political regime is of no pantomime. Who of course would help us measure corruption? The whole nation would have tensed up to eruption.
If not the gargantuan wayomelogy of the wayometer. Who knows whether the next tool would be attameter? Who wouldn’t love to be a proud Ghanaian to enjoy our hilarious fila and jargons tongue can employ
Mar 22, 2012
Mar 22, 2012 at 7:52 PM UTC
We all have a little tick
a little something that always sticks
and your mouth it moves like clockwork
...since birth
so
countdown days on each finger
our days they are numbered and
outside the mirror ages you
but the face inside it still portrays you now
lose yourself and find it again
if you listen to the wind
you will find yourself within it
and as the night approaches dawn
your mind is here but your bodies gone
so
countdown days on each finger
our days they are numbered and
outside the mirror ages you
but the face inside it still portrays you now
Jul 19, 2018
Jul 19, 2018 at 4:30 AM UTC
The girl whose hair
Hung strung from
The crooked inner workings
Of her geared mind
Dusty, rusted, and unkempt
Against her most eager desires,
Bathed in the waves
Of the oblivion that surrounds us
During this night she absorbed
Into the fibers that nestle
Into the strings of her shirt,
Singing against the gentle flow
Of an evening breeze
Much cooler than that
Of one plagued by the day's sun,
And while the fire
Has been extinguished
And its flames dancing in licks
Have laid to sleep,
The moon has kissed her,
And she portrays the wisdom
She locks away behind a steel box,
Chained and covered with padlocks,
A glow never dim seeping
From beneath the lid.
Jul 12, 2015
Jul 12, 2015 at 2:24 PM UTC
I hate the word "perfect".
Nobody can be perfect.
It's literally impossible.
They say, "Don't change, you're perfect as you are."
Humans can't be perfect.
It's not in our nature.
Our media portrays perfection as people's personalities painted in pretty pastel.
Don't be fooled.
Perfection is disgusting.
Perfection
is tearing your hair out over a simple dashed line
in front of the "A" on the report card.
Perfection
is raking chewed cuticles across your cheeks
for missing the kick in Phy. Ed class.
Perfection
is spilling your guts out after every meal and screaming into the mirror,
"Am I perfect yet?! Am I good enough for you?!"
Perfection
is ripping apart the artwork you poured your heart into
because someone pointed out a flaw, and now you can't unsee it.
Perfection
is gorging on painkillers
as if they would take away the emotional pain, too.
Don't you dare tell me that I'm perfect
because perfection is disgusting.
I hate the word "perfect".
Mar 5, 2019
Mar 5, 2019 at 10:08 PM UTC
(what the hell is an incel)
the media portrays one loser outcast
as every man, as if man is one
big-ass monolithic hivemind
spewing their loser germs everywhere
think we got too much time on our hands
at the checkpoint, selfies on various
landmark celebrating the evil dead
as the hero for the living, graffiti
I look good in leather, also I look
lovely in the blood of my enemies
the hate a multifaceted gem
in the cavern of my predatory eyes
Would love you to join me in the unit
the machine’s got to roll until Friday
and then we can hatch our evil scheme
man I think I have too much time
on my hands
May 3, 2018
May 3, 2018 at 4:47 PM UTC
He brings you candy
Your heart is melt
He portrays all good
Your soul is deceived
Arent you all aware?
Whenever he is around
The devil inside him
Hidden in white silky suits
All Praises and false promises
A mask of love , hidden agenda
To deceive your very soul
He sits and he waits
To devour you whole
Till You sell your soul
A wolf in sheep's clothing
The purest and the white
Covering all the filth
And the evils underneath
He sweet talks and seek
Whom he may devour
Symphatize not, emphatic may be?
But mostly to realize
The blood and power
Dont you want to know
The truth of this mask?
A wolf in sheep's clothing
The father of all sin
God is always fair and he always listens
Sins will be exposed , now or in the future
Then you all will see
Who is the real wolf in sheep's clothing...
May 18, 2013
May 18, 2013 at 8:56 PM UTC
I find it interesting,
The way we mold ourselves to the given situation
Different faces means new spaces
to fill liquid in, intoxicate, and ultimately change them.
So we need our weapons clasped in our grip
catch a bad intention, make sure they're the ones who slip...
No! We've been doing this all wrong.
Keeping the walls up inhibits growth to be strong
Even if it takes, "far, too long."
Inevitably we exclaim pitches that reside in the same song.
The color-changing, tree-walkers are said to blend into their environment.
This is actually not true.
They change based on light intensity, temperature, and mood.
The personality-changing, free-walkers change based,
On the type of reaction they want to get out of you.
After all you could be the ***** to hold together the whole scheme
Caught in a feverish nightmare, when it seemed to be a sweet dream
Solitary work is needed, now, to avoid a potential sting
And so I take the time to rhyme this,
Evaluating the nature of everything.
The mouth can be, but the eyes are not untruthful
They precipitate pictures, from the scary to the downright beautiful
Look deep within yourself, and see your own array of colors.
We may be blind to the importance of some priorities, but I feel we're all lovers.
"Hurt people hurt people," In my life it's a fact.
But remember you can only be responsible for how you act.
No offense or defensive tactics,
Throw the whole playbook out.
Conducting this vessel requires much practice,
Reflect needs of warmth for the seeds to sprout
Make sure you don't love someone, just for what they can give to you.
Highlight their radiance, for making you feel the way you do
The cycle, is only as vicious as one portrays it
The choice is ours, and I choose to change it.
Right here,
right now
Breathe in,
Feel the oxygen go down
Hold it,
For a moment
Every exhale reminds us,
That life's color is golden.
So fold up the clothes,
And walk out the door.
So many illuminated pigmentations to see,
~Everybody's a new world to explore~
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 4:08 PM UTC
The sleep is something that no longer comforts me.
Even when I find it it doesn't comfort me like it does
to most.
Instead, it taunts me with fragments of memories.
Or are they?
Is that what they call a dream?
But my imagination is not how Disney portrays it.
It is
sick
and twisted.
Awake I lie covered in a cold sweat
for I am one
who does not dream.
Nightmares are what surround me;
awake
or asleep
doesn't matter.
Not anymore.
And once again,
the nightmares
steal all the
happy,
kind,
sweet,
thoughts and I am left
cold,
broken,
and alone.
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 10:45 AM UTC
Title : Beauty Within Beauty
Poet : Phyll
Genre : Love/Beauty/flaws
Year : 2018
P/Swno. : 260
BEAUTY WITHIN BEAUTY
As Authored By Phyll
Love,
You stand so bold,
And so sleek.
You have this Beaut...
Beautiful,
Rich,
dark,
And chocolate complexion.
Your smooth,
Chocolate skin...
So smooth.
So soft.
So silky.
So sweet...
So sweet like a piece of candy.
When I try and speak,
My words get so mashed up.
I end up not saying anything!
You give me this sense of urge...
Urgency to be the best...
The best person I can be.
You have this beauty about you,
That i can't go a day without.
I have this chronic disease,
The doctor called it ATAY;
Always Thinking About You!
Even though you are already mine,
You have this beauty about you...
You make me feel warm and safe.
Your beauty is mor...
More than just beauty!
Your beauty is a thing I call;
.B..L..A..C..K. .B..E..A..U..T..Y.
Never fall;
For anyone else!
They'll just hurt you in the end.
Trust me cause for them,
As easy as it was to get you
It'll be even easier to replace you.
Believe me when i tell you;
Your BLACK BEAUTY,
Is not your ideal beauty.
Your beauty,
Is the way you carry yourself;
In this high esteemed way.
That I don't care,
About what you say or do wrong.
Cause to me,
It's what your beauty entails.
The way you make words sound;
So smooth and so good.
You give me this sense;
Sense of protection and comfort.
Whenever we hug,
To me the world is just for two;
Just me and you!
When we make eye contact,
And our eyes lock;
I can feel what you feel,
You feel what I feel?
But I can't say how I feel,
With my words.
We can't say a thing,
This connection is wordless...
I just can't explain,
I just don't know why.
I want to get to know you,
More than I know myself.
Despite the fact that I'm a gent,
You make me feel beautifu...
I felt a certain way for you,
Ever since I first met you...
I don't doubt you feel the same,
Ever since I first saw you.
Just never had the courage to say anything,
But i am now your beholder.
Your BLACK BEAUTY,
Portrays it all.
That's why,
I not only like you,
But i love everything about you!
Feel Special my
.B..L..A..C..K. .B..E..A..U..T..Y.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
COPYRIGHT BY PHYLL
[email protected]
(C)2018.*
Jul 2, 2018
Jul 2, 2018 at 7:47 PM UTC
There’s maybe a million of unspoken words I’ve already put into poetry,
When clouds were shrouding the skies above me and all I see is darkness,
When I felt dejected, and when I felt like I’m being surrounded by an air of melancholy,
No poem was ever written because of gratitude and happiness
Writing is what I do when on the verge of breaking down,
But you came and changed the game, the gloomy days are gone
I used to write sad poems before, all that’s found in my face is a frown,
Now I cannot contain my joy, like beautiful sunflowers dancing in the lawn
You are the sun that shone on me after dusky days,
The happy song that finally played on the cassette
You are the guy every actor on romantic movies portrays,
I chose you, that, I won’t regret
I love the warmth of your fingers, entwined around mine
I long for your embrace, craving your lips pressed against my cheek
But just by knowing you feel the same way, I’ll be just fine
Hoping you’ll stay for good because I may not admit it, but without you sweetheart, I’ll be weak
You made me believe in the impossible once more,
You told me distance is never a hindrance, yes I believe you,
Because even when we're miles away, you’re the one this heart beats for
I won’t be writing sad poems ever again, there’s no reason to
In your arms, it feels a lot like home,
In this mad world, you're my happy place, that’s true
After a long wait, finally here’s a happy poem,
This is an ode to my source of happiness, for you my love, I love you
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 8:26 AM UTC
Art is a beautiful thing. It portrays the deep emotions of the heart when words elude the tongue. It speaks when the grandiloquence of words lose their flavor. Suffused with hope and angst, art creates vibrancy in a black-and-white world.
Jul 19, 2014
Jul 19, 2014 at 7:00 PM UTC
Clearly observing the wicked danger lurking within you…
What a paradox to witness a change of benevolence ridiculed by your truth.
If only you understood what it takes to genuinely smile,
You could move mountains across those magnificent cerulean skies.
Even after our unpleasant confrontations, so cruel and wry.
You deliberately chose to dance around to a distinctive rhyme.
Using your words of trickery, resembling a serpent hissing fear.
You untiringly strived to strike fatal arrows through an artificial crack on my fortified shield.
I gave you only one chance to earn my professional trust.
Then you destroyed it with mendacities absconding from your Machiavellian filthy mouth.
Candidly, after foreseeing your vile pestilence emerging from within.
I erupted in an outburst of laughter to have ever believed in your skin of sin.
Beware, you have revealed an irrevocable glitch that is deceitfully sly.
It portrays tyranny and narrow mindedness, depreciating with every malicious try.
Running cunningly through your veins oozing massive animosity in disguise.
Have you not scrutinized the gruesome language intensely stimulated from your heinously gazing eyes?
By: Michael M. De La Fuente
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 11:38 PM UTC
duality
portrays itself
in common things
to examine them
is much like
self examination
therein
lies
two sides of one item
the patient is in need
of morphine
to ease his pain
the injecting of the drug
brings relief and calm
to his ailing body
the druggie in ***** lane-way
shoots up with an unclean
needle
he's in a dire position
transmittable
disease
in his system
a time bomb is ticking
a commonly used instrument
such as a syringe
gives and insight
into duality
which
abides in one item
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 7:32 PM UTC
It is a vastness of cerulean,
A pool of blue which surrounds clouds that are strewn together.
Tumbling, accumulating, towering formations of remarkable depth and awesome beauty.
Billows which blanket and envelop a sphere of life, turning the almost infinite and indefinite blue to grey,
Massed with the heaviness of forthcoming precipitation.
As time turns, and the big blue planet rotates, sunlight is reflected and refracted by particles unseen—painting swelling clouds with pale yellows that bleed into succulent pinks, deep reds, royal indigo, and then
The flowering violet of conceived night.
The sky portrays a huge entity, a formation of solidity and stability.
It does not contain, nor withhold from the terraces and crevices of the Earth’s surface.
It is as close to infinity as the basic human mind can grasp,
The uttermost extension of one’s realm of existence.
To look up at the stars is an annihilation of Ego,
A humbling reminder of one’s relevance,
Of one’s fragmentation of being,
Of one’s essential insignificance in the immortal turning of the deep and everlasting vibration of the Cosmos.
Stars, barely conceivable at times,
Act as portals to the past spilled carelessly across an inky nighttime sky.
These subtle flecks, minute glimmers of incredible explosions, are billions of light-years away
Across the fabric of space and time.
The sky is an incredible portal to those things outside of mortal grasp,
A manifestation of all that is unknown, yet shared by every state of consciousness.
A familiarity and a comforting reminder of eternity that will exist far beyond the human experience. With its undulating formations, precipitation, protection, and sheer exposure,
It is a paradoxical beauty.
Mar 1, 2015
Mar 1, 2015 at 12:44 AM UTC
In God We Trust, For He Invented Reasonable Doubt
In Courtroom of the State of New York, Part 62,
where the only decoration extant,
in gold leaf letters,
a magnificent joke,
In God We Trust.
Words so incongruous
to the real time drama,
a poorly acted Law and Order episode
of which I partake,
(as Juror No. 1,
ergo you may address me as
Mr. Jury Foreman),
they stun me into stupefaction
every time we enter and the
Bailiff pronounces with much gravitas,
"Jury Entering"
A potpourri of a dozen Manhattanites,
with wisdom acquired
by the singular virtue of
having attained the robust age of 18,
noteworthy for being free of
criminal record,
having been nominated
to sit upon the jury that will decide
the fate of one Eric B.,
for what he may have done upon West 11th Street
one Summer night in
June Two Thousand and Eleven,
If adjudged guilty,
New York State can take,
incarcerate him for up to
15 years of his life
Predicate felon by the age of twenty seven,
Eric's resume consists of
four felonies,
two misdemeanors
a wife and two little children,
and a partridge in a pear tree.
Facts turgid and muddy,
Eric tells a story
one juror calls a confection of lies,
no one murmurs
much disagreement in the
tiny, overheated room
we have been sequestered to
replay
the 2012 version of
Twelve Angry Men.
But I am not his peer,
nor am I a seer,
common sense says
if appearances are what they seem to be,
he aided and abetted
in the forcible taking of
a nice Connecticut lady's cell phone
with his brother who just happened to be
released from prison earlier that day
A convoluted tale
ripe with inanities is told,
upshot is our defendant's tale,
his robust defense,
portrays him as the unluckiest man
in the whole world,
a good Samaritan,
*{chasing after the thief,
** ** his bro}*
against whom events have conspired
In Manhattan can be a harsh place,
where the natives
a tough lot,
tougher than the Indians from whom
they stole it all.
Our bridges we sell to out-of-towers,
all it takes is one to say,
what the heck,
reasonable doubt is
a ***** to overcome
so let him go
Jan, 2012
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 4:45 PM UTC
There’s a lagoon in my head separated from the fierce ocean of confidence by a low sandbank.
The sand dawdles to diminish its size, with melancholy waves halting its ruckus,
Water was never that loquacious, only cooing hastily on the salty air
Quaint grains of mushy rutabaga make it hard to finagle,
Because the sirens beautiful song entices me to sink
So I flounce hysterically, unable to calm my mind.
Her fair face freckled with sand gleams with odes of despair,
Adding to the mournful steps of the receding tide.
Waters once at a healthy level, wisp the fresh sea foam away.
Jagged rocks now poke out from the depths,
The vibrancy of her seaweed hair messy and curly, shrivels.
The timid sand portrays such reserve in its frantic company,
The waves crash on cue with such force,
Predictability is only her turquoise concealment
Ephemeral brine absorbed by desire,
Encapsulated by the beige powder,
That cannot dissolve.
Mar 26, 2013
Mar 26, 2013 at 11:14 AM UTC
Purity
it portrays
it imitates
But at the same time
it clouds its own image
"Clean" it says
"Kind" it says
"Holy" it says
Then tell me why
it attracts electrons
who all have the same sinful lust for
it?
Maybe those neutron
dead and lifeless
and Heavy
can they tell the whole story
Dec 4, 2014
Dec 4, 2014 at 11:57 AM UTC
The magic of the moment appeals to the heart
The essence of self-expression portrays in fine art
Denounced of all logic abstract with precision
Her image appears to lack her intuition
Taunted like bees shaken in a jar
The artist offends her emotional scars
A nerve twitches, the soul excites the old
A mind so wise yet feebly slow
Love as a game extinguishes the flame
A pretty girl in my picture, I’ve forgotten her name
The ways of creativity feed a fire
Her innocence is lost in my desire
Beauty and passion a lust to stay young
The heart beats of wonder before the guilt comes
The wink of an angel the cast of a spell
The adolescent fear of kiss and tell
Broken like glass then falls to the ground
A tender young heart lost and never found
And so the artist hides behind his creation
Only to expose such vague insinuations
Aug 26, 2013
Aug 26, 2013 at 2:16 PM UTC
I used to wonder each and every time,
Whether all his acts were false pretense or simply divine.
It was hard to believe he could ever lie,
Yet! The toughest thing for me was to bid him goodbye.
What I saw in the start was love and care for me,
Later I realized, it was a camouflage I couldn't foresee.
The moment I was on the verge to open my tight shut eyes,
There he was standing with another disguise.
I tried really hard to unveil his mask,
Thinking it is finally an end to this task.
What I found there was the shock of my life,
There were more masks beneath this mask of guise.
I ran away from him and thought of never seeing his face,
Just a flash of his memories reminded me of all those days.
I stopped myself to take my steps backward,
Not realizing that I was going back to a coward.
I knew I was making a blunder,
'Cause to him I was going to surrender.
I was too weak, that from him I failed to save my enclave,
But couldn't fight back as my greed for his love had made me his slave.
This self-revelation brought a start to another set of pretense,
Surprisingly! It was not him but me following thence.
Ignoring all his faults and lies I had ever known,
I moved forward with him, in selfish motive of my own.
Money or fame was not the reason,
Why then my heart longs for this person?
The question I used to ask myself every now and then,
The only viable answer was maybe I can relate to all his pains.
It was really long I fell for someone so fast,
I knew I was gonna go away and this ‘relationship’ is not going to last.
This realization was enough for me to forgive all his faults,
Call me selfish! But this was the only way to untangle the knots.
Maybe it’s not pretense, something I can’t understand,
Whenever I needed him, he stood by me as a friend.
So, what encouraged him to lie and betray me again and again?
Fear of losing people, makes him think only about his gains.
Digging deeper and deeper into this matter,
I forgot I don't have much time and I can do this later.
Few moments that are left, I wanna live with him
Sooner or later, he'll find his true self within
Lover or caretaker, whichever form he portrays to be in,
I can still find a good person in him,
So, when my love for him is so deeply intense,
Then, why not I live in another false pretense?!
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 1:19 PM UTC
There is a type of admiration
Which transcends love
My friend's dad
A man with a mustashe
And an honesty
To tell the truth
In stories of the past
And laugh wholeheartedly
At comical remarks
A confidence.
It is a love which is different
It is a respect
A desire to understand
And peer into
Rather than touch
The edge of his garment
A patriarchel dominance
Both strict and calm
Which portrays a godlike figure
Like a wise old man from the east
Except he's from Namibia
And he's been divorced
But I admire him
Like a soldier admires his superior
It is a love which is not love
It is admiration
Of a character
May 17, 2016
May 17, 2016 at 1:41 PM UTC
Often intimidating
Exterior hard
It bears a leg for every lifetime scarred
With age comes wisdom
430 million years old
Capable of love but a claw is hard to hold
Often mistaken
An intuitive tune they sing
Never double cross in fear of the sting
Defensive creatures
Sometimes stuck in their ways
There's more to it than what the image portrays
Poison
The venom induced can rot you to your core
Treat it right though and you'll be hooked, wanting more
Dive into the depths filled with soul and compassion
Has tried the infinite mind on for size, more than just for fashion
The emotion runs deep in an abyss filled with wonder
Come for the lightning, stay for the thunder
You start to get a feel of the tremendous history
When you gaze into the eyes filled with mystery
Only through connection can everything eventually grow
You can get rooted right here, with this Scorpio
Apr 30, 2012
Apr 30, 2012 at 7:18 PM UTC