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Isaac Aug 2018
Time is quiet, but deadly,
Pushing us all.
Neither angry or friendly,
A universal wall.
Converting future to past.
The present a thin line.
No moment can last.
Everything will decline
Into history's arms.
It takes it all.
It gives no alarms,
nor listens to our call.
It has death on its right,
And regrets on its left.
Act now with foresight,
Prepare for its theft.
Written 28 August 2018
NC Aug 2018
She is not thriving in the fancy place
but she grow up with the fertile mind
Other people think like she is in prison
But she feels like in mansion

She grow up and feel comfy
Stuck in her own routine
Doesn't makes her feel unlucky

No one can judge her, she doesn't care
She will prove it someday
What she's been prepare.
©anecstatic 2018
CK Baker Apr 2017
Sunday sermons are spilling on the inner city streets
through the green heaps and brown bags
through the downtown whisperers
and sage solitude souls

Army bands prepare for march
(their trench members filling packs with canister and cane)
the high command and tricked militia head pinned
quick on the look for splinter, lorry and skuttle

Traffic patterns change at the COP connect
camouflage bearers break formal stride
battle men slip between colorful floats
unsuspecting slumlords (vein pricked and weary)
grin in their second suite dying rooms

Twitching men and rubbernecks
sit discreetly on the corner wall
JJ and the chief revere a 21 gun salute
holy rollers raise cheer (in a moment of silence)
chess men hold steady
with ivory cues

Flames belt from the distant foundry
streets come alive with crackle and dust
members of the attic group glance down from their perch
an elderly man in a straight jacket (happy in the now)
sits solemnly with a cold reflective stare

It’s not far from the steely mud holes
from the flying fragments and sharp broken dreams
from the arsenal digs and madmen (who quietly turned the *****)
the ivy trellis
and flowing white gown
are a nocturne fit
for this elevated rolling highland
Sam Hawkins Jul 2018
Dare to live.
Stop insisting on chasing after death.
Stop trying to die.

Quit the grand illusion.
You shall never die.

Grow your wings and fly to the mountaintop
of your world.  Breathe stars.
Bravely go alone. Only you can do this.

Regularly in your day--exercise conviction.
visualize Stars, the Sun.

Golden, fibrous threads
of starlight, of sunlight --

take them in through the nostrils.

This is nothing less than
soul's power-fuel.

Inhale slowly and experience
the gentle music of love's fire,
as flames would pull up
a chimney stack, up pipes of ovens.

Faith builds with such breath practice.

Greed cooked transformed.
Anger put to sleep.

Ignorance surrendering
to ways of knowing.

Prepare that your purpose
shall speak to you.

Breathe starlight.

Are you surprised
that you feel no heat?

Your unique timelessness
awaits your recognition.
Daniel T Aug 2018
All the nights of unpleasantries
will no longer keep me awake.
I will never again dream
of you by mistake.

I wish that you would die.
A freak accident leaves you paralyzed
maybe a piano from the window
That lives in the blue of my eyes.
Or maybe that "random" passing car
will clip you in the thigh
And you'd be left (like me)
alone; just to die.

You could paint the town red
with your angry tongue
but instead maybe if i cut it out
you'll finally listen instead.

In laymens terms, prepare to be hurt,
I'll smile as your body lies in the dirt.
And blood seeps into your shirt,
coloring the earth.
Your purpose has been confirmed.

*******.
Thanks for the trauma and mental illness, miss you lots.
Sid Lollan Apr 2018
Gentlemen of Courage and Ladies of Excellence,
Toast to stolen prayers with rarer player’s hands;
Soft in defiant laughter,
when drinking their wine from the bowels of brines

Sing along the Ballads of Heritage with Melodies of Exception;
Boast, not a breathe,
though sullen heirs ghost to fairer wearer’s air(s) of land—
A settlement of Rapture and Resurrection, arid, amid dirt and sand

and King and thy Kingdom sprout flowering tomb, and rosebud temple reach to the sky during the showers of spring
Devours the crescent Moon

in big pink petals of bloom;

A garden so fertile
it could look pretty in wartime—
with Gardeners of Courage and Laborers of Excellence;
(Lapse, not into digressions of Being and Essence
but hands in the soil and planting the actions of kingdom come,
       patient building of Spring Reign sure
as the flame, the architect of rising Sun is
(Daughters and Sons of kingdom came,
      the soldier in a land been conquered and named; abandoned
for the greenness of hope.
)May it never come, Be All The Same; (


be gentle, though whispering wind)

Seeds of Nextyear and the spores of Awhile,
carried by the Wasps and the Clouds
To the Gentlemen of Excellence and Ladies of Courage,
illuminated, eyes from the flora of stars faraway forest floor of foreign

      fears,
      as the hungry Owls of Time prepare a final feast—
      Consume the years between Here and Now;
      Watching from blank perch, among
      the Trees of Afterall; a place beyond expectance.
      Sing the branches of experience, to wake
      in Siren’s cipher; inelegant forms
      of waking,

**** sleep on rocks of seabed; once was aboard a marooned skyline—

Those Who Are Will Be
again, again a serf in a wave of Time’s refraction. Neverending neverbeginning;

                          Those Gentlemen of Courage and Ladies of Excellence,
on the Day That Is, arrays of seers sayers doers displayers
optimists and pessimists, toast to them
        and their rarer player’s hands,
Boast they, not a breathe, though sullen heirs ghost
to fairer wearer’s air and land;
Laugh and howl and dine, they drink their wine
from disemboweled gourds
        of their own divine—
Warped, in jowls of hungry fix,
no feast they fear, for they prey to the Owls of Time.
October Nov 2013
Cause we all need a
little humor in our lives:

Cheetos and coffee
can't let these assignments stop me
cause it's a hard knock life
being a student tryin' to get it right
protestin' those late nights
and drownin' in the red bull,
give me wings
& prepare my *** for finer things
KCibot Apr 25
First I was Mormon.
Then I was not.
Second I was agnostic.
Then I was not.
Third I was confused.
And then I am.
And so are all of the beautiful you

As I prepare for Easter
and resurrection
I remember that before I can see
her risen eyes
I first must allow
for death

-Evangeline
Poem written on Good Friday 2019. The poem was inspired by the first photo you see when you google Kali.
Robert Ronnow Aug 2015
Yogurt.
"I begin the day buying yogurt in a small favorite grocery store."
Not pizza, nor gatorade.

Bananas
although they are imported from afar and grown in monocultures.
Attract fruit flies in August.

Peaches
locally grown with rainwater. I ate all the farmer's peaches alone
stacking them by the railroad tracks.

Water --
rainwater, tap water, distilled water, carbonated water, spring water –--
deep gulps, infinite sips.

Nuts
in moderation, or not, unsalted, raw, replacing chips. His bowl
of filberts, almonds, walnuts quiet weekday mornings.

Edible plant parts --
roots, leaves, stems, flowers, fruit, buds. In olive oil
or butter.

Potatoes --
look online how best to prepare. Baked or fried. With a little
fish or meat.

Tea and honey,
play and prayer. Swimming and running,
talking quietly.

Bread?
Bread's possible as the Bible. Each is liable
to bloat your thoughts.

Wine and dandelions.
Dandelion wine's Ray Bradbury's story. Cans in a pantry, books on a
      shelf
to the end of time.

Pasta
we used to call spaghetti, never noodles. I wonder if I can remember
      how to make
grandma's sauce.

Tomatoes --
cherry, grape. Grab God's eye
going by.
www.ronnowpoetry.com
Cj Jan 12
English
Reading
Math(s)
Language arts
Language experience
Social studies
World history
Science
& more
What do all of theese have in common?
They cause pain and struggle
School dosent teach how to deal with
Death
Depression
Anger
Rejection
Pain
Major emotions, things that people have
And **** themselves over
But school dosent care
School counselors don’t help
School nurses aren’t nurses
School dosent teach tax
Instead we pay it  
It dosent teach what to do when your homeless
It dosent teach you how to get a job
It dosent teach you how to parent
They say they prepare us for the future
But does it really?
multi sumus Dec 2018
Primed for the next evolution in Our intimacy as the taste of Your succulence still lies upon my lips

   The faint sound of the straps clicking confirming Your submission

   While nothing shall escape from Your whicked tongue as it too is confined to its domain

   For Your flesh now belongs to me and will be subjected unto my craft

   And being it is Our first time i shall be... gentle

                        Let Us begin


   So as the bees labours are not in vain
honey sweet the sting of molten wax upon tips of swollen *******...
   Forming to Your perfection

Hmmm, Beads...
    Slow and by number they prepare Your willing vessel for the upcoming paedicatio devastation

   By shimmered form and whetted edge
barbering to reveal Your plump and pulsating labium emanating  
such divine nectar and heaven scent

   A well placed smack stiffens further

   Fingers, Licked tips, Essence enticing the tongue

   Points are pressured, some by pin, a resonating growl signals your approval as i begin my descent

   Insertion immersion into Your cavity depravity is not bound and determined am i to please You

   Only Your eyes speak to me and deep be their gaze
   Deeper still the *******
hesitation between thrusts
i must!..

   The profound sound of the pounding astounding to the ears it's clear another offering will soon be presented incentive for the continuation of Our journey

   With the escalation of Your cries as thighs quake...quivering...releasing a moan of satisfaction and once again my thirst slaked

            Oh how i long to fill You
                        feel You
                       saturated
                        satiated
               by Your silken flesh
                        i confess
         it was You i wished to bind
                       now i find
                            it is i
                        enslaved
                         in mind
                        my body
                        and soul
              with Yours entwined
                       in rapture
                     im captured
                  and so inclined

            i removed the bindings
                          finding
                      ­    myself

                        reminded
                           hiding
                   emotions are felt

                          Our time
                         im biding
                      to knees i fell

    before You...eternally in servitude.


   Mmmm..The warmth of breath upon the nape..

   With tender kiss..

   A soft embrace..

  Long has it been since last ive known such pleasures

   And may long be the Love We make....
JayceeJellies Apr 2015
When will we say goodbye*
The thought brings tears to my eyes.
I look down at the top of my now soaked shoes.
It's raining outside, and I'm thinking of you.
My heart can't stress enough the love I once felt,
But now I have to go prepare for this drought.
It'll be tough but I'll pull through,
I can only hope that you will too.
ISSAI MASHINGO Apr 2014
I remember the rains that day,
A shower of hate that won’t go away,
The day seven of the year ninety four,
When pain suddenly opened the door,
And nothing was ever going to be the same anymore,
With machetes and guns they marched,
Aiming for our limbs to detach,
Sworn they did that no INYENZI would escape their grasp,
They swore that all would experience their wrath,
Genocide it was called but the truth not told,
The rains struck hard smell of rotting flesh,
Cries from a distance heard but ignored,
No one would even dare talk or whisper,
**** the cockroaches was the message from the speaker,
It was the rainy season the beginning of a massacre,
Women and children are alienated from their land,
Refugees in camps away from their land,
The African holocaust had began in Rwanda,
It took a while for the world to ponder,
The ones who had the power to stop it kept quiet,
They gave neither reason nor excuse for their silence,
They waited until we all lost our patience,
It was the rains in Rwanda the day of mourning,
It was the season to prepare for farming,
But I can bet the world saw it coming,
But none gave a **** from the beginning,
And so began the killing,
Brothers and sisters turned enemy,
Neighbors turned into strangers,
**** ****** mutilation humiliation torture,
Tribal hatred fueled by the west,
When will Africa come to rest?
And understand that we are one race,
One love one place one earth,
Let’s have love and peace,
BY ISSAI
I WROTE THIS IN MEMORY OF ALL THOSE WHO LOST THEIR LIVES DURING THE GENOCIDE IN RWANDA 7TH APRIL 1994 REST IN PEACE. IT IS MY HOPE THAT WE CAN MAKE THE WORLD A BETTER PLACE BY LOVING EACH OTHER IN SPITE OF OUR TRIBE, RACE, OR COLOR LETS LOVE ONE ANOTHER!!!!!!!!!!
Paul Butters Nov 2015
This poem is by Norman Stevens in response to MY poem about HIM. Have made some minor changes.

In *****’s Bar on High,
Sheltered from Cleethorpes sea and sky,
Paul Butters utters words of cheer,
While quaffing his pint of *****’s beer.

He sets about his spicy meal,
Loading up for his evening’s sport,
When he’ll aim to be the real deal.

Owner Bill’s Angels prepare another stew,
To help down another “home –made” brew.

They nip outside for another “staff meeting”,
Paul says they’ve gone for a ***,
But THAT I’m not repeating.

Throughout these capers,
Norman reads his informative papers.

Sipping his Nectar Beer,
He’ll leave in good cheer.

Norman Stevens
Assisted by Paul Butters

(C) PB\NS 17\11\2015.
As I say, it's Norman's poem - was handwritten by him and embellished by me.
Tammy M Darby Mar 2015
and cross my heart
When the ghosts of the past appear
and the dark nightmares start
There is no respite to be found
Pity finds no escape
As I am completely surrounded
By the shadows of fate.

So claw the dark demons;
Sharp nails,
Out of my suffering mind.
Forced now to surface
Once held captive in time

So I say my prayers
Listening to tragic sighs
Prepare for the onslaught
Close my eyes

This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base. All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws
Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright
Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3), Tammy M. Darby Mar. 15, 2015.
ryn Sep 2014
Sun to set, to herald the arrival of my moon
Prepare my vessel for an odyssey, golden mast and all
Best be on my way, best be soon...
Done this a hundred times come every nightfall

This night, I wish it different, wish it otherwise
My head isn't where it's supposed to be
Swimming in the clouds, in the star spangled sky
Speaking of plans to which the heart would agree

Time is now, it's time to finally drift away
Let go of all worldly trepidations
Hold all unfounded apprehensions at bay
Be brave to pursue fantastical notions

This journey ahead, I want to immortalise
Don't think I'd want to turn back
Leave behind the pillow stifled cries
With the moon as my guide across an ocean of black

"Close your eyes and just feel the drift
Know that the stars are protectively watching
Picture your moon; her hands bearing a gift
A gift you'd soon receive, after much longing"

"Feel the water, like a thousand hands propping you afloat
Passing you over to more hands that lay ahead
Lurching forward gently, this ethereal boat
Rest now upon your giant floating bed"


I took that leap of faith... I'm sailing
Cresting and bobbing towards my moon
I hear the stars for they are singing
Lulling me by with a celestial tune

On my way, now on this nighttime adventure
Don't think I'll ever look back
Together this night would span forever
Floating endlessly in a sea of black
A decoy friend, baited, lured it's unwitting
The latest victim to prepare for an ambush
Lurking in the shadows, but hiding in plain sight,
Observing from below to organize for apprehension
Anxious to terrorize its prey, with their boon companions
Using my notions of long ago, of unspoken content
Reveals it's  deceiving affirmation, pursuing instruments
Distributed to others to use against me
A sham of being pristine, weeping tears that aren't real
A deceiver of her spoken words,
That her followers always believe
A professional charlatan, a trickster  
Pursuing its prey, while pretending to be a victim
Always having to have total dominance
Living well on administration prosperity
With her trio of  illegitimate offspring of dissimilar fathers


Copyright 2019
all rights reserved.
Are you a tourist or
A volcanologist my dear?
With a painful joy
To a live volcano  getting near,
Do you want to pay homage
To earth's nadir
Conscious that beneath a sea level
A sweltering heat you can bear?

Then to Erta Ale  go you not why
Found under Ethiopia's sky?
With a style jumping high,
Hitting the ground
Beating  drums, on their waists,
Sabres tied around
Afro men along with braided women,
With butter greased hair,
The latter ululating and clapping
In a row facing each other
Chant a  love song
“My feeling for you is strong!”

The male herd camel,
While women babysit,prepare food
And make short huts
With tiny malleable wood.

Also dot the mirage-forming sand
Huts grand.

Are you a tourist my dear
Eager to see about
Out of the ordinary you heard
Say about multicolored magma
Volcano's dust,
Disgorged out of earth's crust?

Do you want to see a scenery
You have not seen
Since you were born,
How in a motley garment
Mother nature itself adorn
Come then to Ethiopia,
Located in Africa's horn?

Visit Erta Ale ,
On earth
To run away from earth
Enjoying its hearth.
You will witness
The extraction of salt
In a volcano-formed fault.///
One of the wonders of Ethiopia.
Luiz Sep 2018
Memories….

Always there
never spare
to scare
they stare
and snare
relentless
they swear
my despair!

not a prayer
to breathe air!

never fair!

always tare
here and there
mentally
everywhere!

I'm elsewhere

back in time
times behind
hit rewind

as tears flare
past glares
I dare...

WARFARE!

beware
prepare
nightmares
rip to pairs!

memories
to replace
and erase

no space
for disgrace
give it face
past deface
earn my place

win the race!

up the pace
live in grace
life embrace!

©Luiz
M&M Edition
What an ironic place of mind
When something I've wanted for awhile
Finally presents itself
And I'm overwhelmed so intensely
By anxiety and sadness

How long have I hoped to meet up?
How many times had I mentioned coffee?
Yet here I am
Three days before I see you
For the first time in a year and a half
And I feel so sad

It's as though
I am finally mourning the loss
Of someone who was my best friend
Finally letting myself feel about you
All of the things I've repressed

It has been a long time
We both must be so different now
What would that mean for this?
Do we meet up once
Play a game of catch up
Then resume the path of strangers?
Or do we try to be friends again
And run the risk of pain and heartache?

Does our intense shared anxiety
At just the sight of each other
Signal a similar message
A similar desire within us both?
Or am I stuck within a fantasy
Lying to myself that this could work
That you could be in my life again

We were not made to be lovers
And I don't believe in happenstance
I do think we came together for a reason
Just as we've become reconnected now
The city may be small
But this has to be more than coincidence
You were my best friend back then
And I know I hurt you deeply
But part of me hasn't stopped believing
That our lives staying connected
Is something that's meant to be

And I know that
When I'm sitting anxiously in my car
Outside the cafe where we're set to meet
Thoughts racing faster than my heart beats
I'll have to fully prepare myself
To find out that you disagree
Marla Dec 2018
Crying alone
On the bathroom floor,
A barrel to my head
And a stock to my thigh.
Maybe I'm drunk,
I don't feel very high.
The extractor rains steel
As I prepare to stop the feels.
My life is a bitter lie
One I can no longer conceal.
Baby hold me tight,
My heart has no seal.
The blood is spilling out
While my veins grow cold.
Two lovers we once were,
Now it's just you and my bones.
Walking along,
Stopping to pick the ripened berries
The sweet sour taste entices the senses.

Cars passing quickly
My feet stagger on
Slowly falling into the tempo.
My thoughts wander
My troubles arise.

I reach a split in this mental road
Should I go left?
Should I go right?
Should I just turn around and give up?

I’m at the dead end
Looking over a cliff to the rough water below.
Maybe I should just jump in.
Feel the cold daggers against my skin.

The water draws me in
Welcoming me
Beckoning me.
Telling me to jump.

Should I take this leap into the unknown?
Prepare myself for the worst.
In order appreciate the best.

I need some help,
A lighthouse in the distance
The light giving guidance
Offering peace
Breaking though the night.

Where is my lighthouse?
Is there one?
Or is this the dead end.
False Poets Oct 2017
does the moon get tired?

~for the children who never tire of moon gazing upon the dock,
by the light of the fireflies,
till the angels are dispatched by Nana,
to sprinkle sleepy dust in their eyelashes so long and fine~


<•>
while walking the dog I no longer have,
a happenstance glanceable up over the River East,
there you were, mr. moon, in all your fulsomeness ,
surrounded by a potpourri of courtier clouds,
all deferentially bowing, waving,
passing past you at a demure royal speed on their way
perhaps,
to Rebecca's northern London,
of was it south to grace of  v V v's Texas^,
in any event,
the cloudy ladies, all bustling and curvaceous,  
all high stepping in recognition of your exalted place,
Master of the Night Sky

We,
the word careless, poets excessive,
sometimes called silly poppies, old men,
left footed, still crazy after many years,
most assuredly poets false all of us,
without a proper prior organized thought train,
outed,
bludgeon blurted,
an inquiry preposterous and strange,
strait directed to the sombre face,
to mister moon himself!

tell me moon, do you ever tire?

the obeisant clouds shocked
as that face we all uniform know,
unchanged anywhere you might go  to gaze, be looking upon it,
watched the moon's face turn askew.

He looking down at our rude puzzlement,
with a Most Parisian askance,
a look of French ahem moustacheoed disbelief,
while we watched as the moon cherubic cheeks
filled with airy atmosphere,
then he sighed

so windy winding, was it,
so mountain high and river deep,
that those chubby clouds were blown off course,
from a starless NYC sky
all the way past Victoria Station,
only to stop at Pradip and Bala's
mysterious land of
bolly-dancing India,
on their way to Sally's Bay of Manila,
magic places all!

Mr. Moon looked down at this one tremulous fool representative  
(me) and in a voice
basso beaming and starry sonorous,
befitting its stellar positioning,
squinting to get a closer look at the
who in whom
dare address him in such an emboldened manner!

Mmmmm, recognize you, you are among those
who use my presence, steal my lighted beams, my silver aura,
my supermoon powered light, borrow my eclipses,
reveal my changeling shaped mystery without permission,
only mine to give, you tiny borrowers who write that thing,
p o e t r y

head and kneed, bowed and bent,
I confessed
(on y'alls behalf)

we take your luminosity and don't spare you
even a tuppence, a lonely rupee, no royalties paid
to you-up-so-highness,
and we hereby apologize for all the poets
without exception,
especially those moon besotted,
only love poem writing,
vraiment misbegotten scoundrels....

with another sigh equality powerful,
mr moon pushed those clouds across the Pacifica,
all the way to the  US's West Coast,
up to Colorado,
where moon-takings from the lake's reflecting light
so perfect for rhyming, kayaking,
and moonlight overthrowing,
once more, the moon taken and begotten,
nightly,
as heaven- freely-granted

yes, I tire
and though  here I am much beloved,
usually admired though sometimes even blackened cursed,
seen in every school child's drawing,
in Nasa's calculations,
of my influential gravitational pull,
moving human hearts
to love and giving Leonard a musical compositional hint,
and while this admirable devotion is most delighting,
would it upset some vast eternal plan,
if but one of you once asked,
you fiddler scribblers
my prior permission,
even by just, a lowly
mesmerizing evening tide's tenderizing glance?

yes, I tire,
even though my cycles are variable,
my shape shifting unique, my names so at variance
in all your many musical sing-song dialectical languages,
my sway, my tidal currents so powerful a deterrence,
unlike my boring older sunny cousine  who just cannot get over
how hot looking she is,
I,  so more personally interesting,
yet you use me as if I were a fixture,
on and off with
a tug of the chain string,
never failing to appear,
even when feeling pale yellow and orange wan,
and worse,
mocked as an amore pizza pie,
do you ever ask how I am doing?

yes, I tire,
of my constant circuitous route that changes ever so slowly,
but yet, too fast for me to make some nice human acquaintances, especially those young adoring children
who give me their morn pleasurable squeals when they awake and my presence still there,
a shining ghost of a guardianship protector still
watching over them*

how oft in life do we presume,
take for granted
grants so extra-ordinary
that we forget to remember
the extra
and see only the ordinary

how oft in life do we assume,
the every day is always every,
until it is not,
only an only
a now and then,
till then,
is no longer a
now*

oh moon, oh moon,
our richest apologies
we hereby tender and surrender,
our arrogance beyond belief,
what can we offer in relief?

silence heard loud and clear,
mr. moon was gone,
a satellite in motion,
so our words burnt up in the atmosphere
unheard

we did not weep
nor huff and puff,
blow those clouds back to us,
for we knew
the extraordinary
would return tomorrow,
we will be ready,
better another day,
to prepare
a lunar composition,
a psalm of hallelujah praise,
for mr. moon
of which
mr moon will never tire,
for filled with the perma-warmth
of our affection
False Poets is a collective of different poets who write here, in a single voice,
hence the confusing interchangeable switching of the pronouns.    sorry bout that.


^ HP - give them back the claimed  V name!
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