"recreates" poems
I will tell you a story
In all its glory
Explaining the
****** *****
Creating much more than
The eye can see
Its a story about a vibrant flower
So beautiful it needs to be to attract the buzzing honey bees
The story goes some thing like this
So you can see the flowers multiply through the years
Make two
Four and many more
The bee
flys along and sees so many Beautiful flowers
Longing to devour
But which one
So many colours
Shapes
Sizes
Flowers cascading
Parading
So shameless
Stands still
Wow
Striking
Its a big bright pink one
Circular in shape
Bold
Beautiful
Its the one
Open, with so many soft small petals
Glistening with the rain drops
Shining in the sun
Sparkling with beauty from within
Makes the bee meander to thee
The bee needs to reproduce
Suduced
Stops and fills
Spreads the seeds
Allowed to please
Pollunates
Impregnates
Recreates
What you dont see is the story
Combined with the
True glory
Of the extra ordinary *****
The beauty
Of the buzzing bee
Combined
With the gold assigned
Inside
So free
Flying
Trying
Frantically to find the
The hive
Taking nectar
Making honey, wax, all kind of f
Fascinating lines
Made from hexagon
They divide into the lines
They are full with precious delights
The story continues
The more you learn
The more you yearn
To see a honey bee
Together the bee and the ****** *****
make harmony
The vibrant flower allowed to duplicate
More beauty for all to see
For all to feel
The special honey bee procreate and makes
Wax
creating ambiance
Such a clever bee
A savont; such a worker
Magical tyrant
Buzzing madly yearning to create
the sweetest honey
A honey bee can make
Its like you to me
You're the combination
Make migrations in me
Spreading beauty from within
To others to proceed
And begin
I feel it with you;
Vibrant flower
Honey bee
Coming together
Creating so much sweet honey in me
It's a wonderful story to me
You see
The story of the flower and the honey bee
May 5, 2016
May 5, 2016 at 8:18 PM UTC
Love trusts, lust twists
Love rains, lust drains
Love reaches, lust catches
Love couples, lust combines
Love retains, lust detains
Love relies, lust relays
Love cares, lust caresses
Love binds, lust blinds
Love floats, lust flees
Love belongs, lust longs
Love ascends, lust descends
Love fames, lust defames
Love creates, lust recreates
Love commands, lust demands
Love chooses, lust chases
Love boosts, lust boasts
Love at heart
Lust in mind
Love in lust is good
Lust in love is better
Love likes privacy
Lust looks for piracy
Love opens lust
Lust closes love
Love is slow, lust is fast
Love is steady and stable
Lust is mobile and fragile
Love is reliable, lust is liable
Love is long, lust is short
Love is homogeneous
Lust is heterogeneous
Love is defensive
Lust is offensive
Love is precious
Lust is pernicious
Love is supportive
Lust is supplementary
Love is refined
Lust is defined
Love betters life
Lust batters it.
Love has character
Lust has conduct
Love wins over
Lust weans out
Love combines
Lust divides
Love is cool
Lust is crazy
Love is peaceful
Lust is pleasant
Love is wholesome
Lust is piecemeal
Lust comes first
Love becomes best
Love is progressive
Lust is aggressive
Lust laminates
Love illuminates
Love is slow n steady
Lust is hasty n nasty
Love is dense, lust is tense
Lust is conditioned,
Love is air-conditioned
Lust is lovely to begin with
Love is lustrous to end up
Love heals, lust wounds
Love owns, lust disowns
Love is onus, lust is onerous
Love is basic, lust is allowance
Love conforms, lust confuses
Love binds, lust blinds
Be aware of love
Beware of lust
That comes like
wolf in sheep’s clothing
Let the fair blend
of love and lust
rule the roost
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 5:15 AM UTC
*Dances the universe in illusional darkness
Recreates light his third eye
Awakes shiva from his celestial slumber*
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 2:57 PM UTC
Love trusts, lust twists
Love reins, lust rains
Love reaches, lust catches
Love couples, lust combines
Love retains, lust detains
Love relies, lust relays
Love cares, lust caresses
Love binds, lust blinds
Love floats, lust flees
Love belongs, lust longs
Love ascends, lust descends
Love fames, lust defames
Love creates, lust recreates
Love commands, lust demands
Love chooses, lust chases
Love boosts, lust boasts
Be aware of love
Beware of lust
That comes like
wolf in sheep’s clothing
Nov 20, 2014
Nov 20, 2014 at 10:12 AM UTC
Crazy is as crazy does, that doesn't apply to me
I work in vivid's, reds, purples, yellows, it's just my artistry
My mind is my playground, it recreates past history
accessing the irony of images, not a silent plea
Hero's by any name, are fools, explicitly
doing what they do, and doing it, for free
Oct 31, 2016
Oct 31, 2016 at 8:46 AM UTC
**~~~~~Spoilers Ahead~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**
Didn’t know SH was so amazing,
A second degree mind palace,
He was keeping.
What we watched in an hour,
And were perplexed by, for days,
Had taken place in his mind,
In mere 300 seconds!
Baffled with the news of return of Moriarty,
He decides to solve a similar case,
That had occurred 120 years ago.
He recreates his whole life,
Complete,
With Irene’s photograph,
In his pocket watch.
Fits all the pieces in 1895,
All,
Including John’s witty wife,
Then enters the ‘cleverer one’,
And fatter this time,
Having already made a theory,
He asks Sherlock to do the leg-work,
Because Mycroft himself is busy,
Trying to beat his little brother.
The game is afoot again,
All in Sherlock’s complex brain,
He exposes the truth,
Of Mrs. Ricoletti’s death,
Just as he was about to know about Moriarty’s,
He’s is woken by his friend.
But he goes back again,
To complete the story.
To solve the mystery,
He goes to the Falls,
To again finish the problem,
The final problem.
But this time John interrupts,
In 1895,
And kicks Moriarty off the cliff,
To let Mr. Holmes happily, alone,
Complete the fall.
Now he returns to the present,
With a smile conveying I-know-it-all,
And he does know all about the villain,
His death, his plans,
And the rest.
Jan 8, 2016
Jan 8, 2016 at 3:19 AM UTC
I live in a world so departed from yours
that the fragility of identity seems like a punchline.
Identity in itself is a luxury.
A world ruled by The Painter
He takes from the compass of nature your existence
And recreates your reality
I was summoned once
And as he painted he said
"Let the hands of Satan himself fashion into being an oval skull
Let the force of his hands pierce two holes in it
that ghastly eyes may find shelter
Let hardened magma
form infinite strands and coax themselves into hair
Fifty shades of black her skin
Let her facade reveal the unsightliness of the world’s injustice
Let mirrors, in great anguish and with great speed, grind themselves into dust upon her gaze
She is nothing and shall remain as such
Void of life, love and happiness
This is her calling”
Welcome to a world of dying dreams
Population: Census no longer taken due to sentimental reasons
Jul 24, 2013
Jul 24, 2013 at 5:30 PM UTC
It's been a time and a half
And I finally understand
The reason you've gone
With the shaman so long.
The spirit is free.
I'm a color
Splintered in three.
Crystalline
Crystal eyes
Well spoken with diction.
Many a words I've spoken
Have been in ode
Romancing you with every breath
In the desert
The door is ajar
We trace the steps of Aztec gods
1/3 becomes 2/4
The sands gleam emerald
Our bodies elongate to equine form
We blended the horizon line
Quetzalcoatl stands before me
Serpent in feathers
Glows like the spectrum all together.
He hands me a seed.
And his
Eyes smother like lightning.
And I
Speak in codexed volition.
And we
Blur the horizon line once more.
I stand on the Pacific
20,000 leagues
Equine force
Carries me to the beach.
Sand once more.
I feel a twitch in my jaw.
Each hand holds a mandible
And pulls.
Roots emerge
And a tree not soon after.
Is this what the seed was for?
I trot the beach,
Jaw no longer in tact.
My pallor flesh caked in coagulate
Almost recreates my tan skin
A gift from the god.
I've been on this beach for miles,
And
Miles
And
Two whiles.
My architecture meanders
The brevity of sanity.
One eye sees black,
The other sees fine.
My hair has become matted
It knots behind each earlobe
And drags on below my knees.
Is this what Quetzalcoatl wanted?
To see me sifted with the grains of sand
In the palm of a child's hand
At the beach
While on vacation
With mom and dad?
20,000 years have passed.
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 1:00 AM UTC
A creature that I live with every day
Creates something that I can not escape from.
Something that follows me and rapes me of my happiness,
Something that recreates the worst parts of my life
And forces me to watch, paralyzed in my own bed.
The Creature has dyed red hair, brown eyes.
The creature weighs 136.2 lbs and continues to gain more.
This creature is 5'8" tall.
This creature shares the same name.
The same putrid name as the girl who
Fell in love with someone who saved her life,
But had to convince herself to keep loving him
In order to endure the thing he said to her.
The same ugly name as the girl who fell in love with
Someone else, but ignored him because of her guilt
And then kissed him only five days after
The one who saved her dumped her on her 16th birthday.
The same name as the girl who forced herself to feel
Numb because everyone who surrounds her
Tells her not to feel bad because they have or had it worse.
The creature screams, trying to make her happy, trying to
Please her, make her leave.
SHE REFUSES. Every day, she lays down and can't get up because
Nothing is worth it. The creature ignores her pull.
She leaves bruises with her fingers,
But the creature is used to the pain.
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 12:40 PM UTC
This pain encompasses me;
it envelopes me; it surrounds me.
It follows me with each step
that my foot it does make;
it belabors me with each beat
of my heart it does take.
It shadows me even on
the cloudiest of days;
it reminds me with each memory
that my mind recreates.
Your face exists
in my dreams now.
It haunts my thoughts,
each passing day.
Memories of our love
still linger in my heart.
The feelings we once shared
are now only one-sided.
I don’t know how to forget you,
even though I know I should.
This mental anguish, alone,
causes me indescribable hurt.
This hurt torments me,
as flashbacks of our
times together continually taunt me –
constantly reminding me of how
truly happy we once were.
I begin to lose control of my emotions –
sobbing, shaking uncontrollably.
Each night before I slumber,
I pray to God that he grant
me some hours of peace,
as all parts of my being
are so exhausted, anymore.
But, this pain finds me,
even while I try to rest.
My once safe haven,
now discovered,
is only filled with nightmares.
I barely survive each day.
I feel like an empty shell;
a lost soul walking around,
in circles, with no end in sight.
Circles with no meaning, nor purpose,
in life, other than to
repeat the same cycle,
over and over again.
How do I break free of this insanity?
Even though my judgment is clouded,
the only thing I can be certain of,
is that I must find a way to survive this.
I must take the time to heal;
I must not give into the temptations
of loneliness, as misery
tends to love company.
I need to realize that
true mending of my spirit
must be done on my own.
This is when I truly learn
my own strengths, and weaknesses.
I have been in this place before,
and I found my way out of the abyss.
Even though the path was dark,
at first, the longer I climbed ,
the closer to the surface I got.
At times, I slipped and fell downwards,
but, my desire to desperately
depart this darkness,
burnt so intensely within.
This fire, of true conviction,
was the only light that
helped me reach the surface.
This pain will ease one day.
I know I must believe,
as hard as it may be to do so.
This pain will have no control
over me, unless I give it thee.
One day, the source of the pain
will be forgiven by me;
however, this pain will never
be truly forgotten, indeed.
But, instead, it will become
another lesson learned
along this journey called life.
Vicki A. Zinn
March 8, 2013
Mar 8, 2013
Mar 8, 2013 at 10:15 PM UTC
Like Winston Smith,
I think it’s time to start a diary.
Follow me now: it’s April in Oceania,
The cruelest month,
The silly season, printemps,
A regular I see London, I see France.
I see Winston’s Underpants.
If you catch my drift?
La Primavera: Vivaldi’s rocking the
Juke box and the vote, Botticelli’s painting,
A mural on Jerusalem's wailing wall.
My diary will be hard evidence of thought crime.
Thought crime: one of the more severe varieties of
Religious experience & the most psychotic form of mental illness,
In a category known as antisocial personality disorders.
Thought crime means never getting into any serious trouble,
Until you’re caught, can we at least agree on that?
So, we'd better add the DSM to our stack of essential literary classics.
The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders,
Published by the American Psychiatric Association,
Providing a common language,
A shrink’s Esperanto.
DSM-IV codes classify mental disorders.
The DSM: a Frommer’s travel guide &
User’s manual for life on planet Earth.
So, like Orwell's Winston, I start a diary of my own; but
Unlike Mr. Smith, I address my message to the here &
What’s happening now, not the future, not the past but
N-a-zayer, N-a-zither NOW.
That's right, I write for the present:
“If thought was ever free, it is not free now."
If truth exists it is a closely guarded secret,
Although McLuhan’s observations hide in plain sight:
*“The new electronic interdependence, recreates
The world in the image of a global village.”*
Which makes us all global village idiots.
We are no longer different from one another;
The age of groupthink is here.
I write to you from an age of security & surveillance,
Warrantless search and predator drones,
An age where no man is ever truly alone.
From an age of standardization, replaceable parts,
Whirling dervishes, dabblers in spin control,
Newspeak and doublespeak,
Atlas shrugged, drugged and fugged,
The new world order:
All but the faint of heart need apply, …
"I send greetings.”
May 14, 2016
May 14, 2016 at 3:56 PM UTC
Mighty the muscle of unmerciful momentum
Taking names, keeping pace, rhythmic with the arms of father time
Back to rehash an ancient scribe just moments away
You can taste it
The blood of the forsaken
Dying a thousands deaths
Ravished by the beast
Whilst storms blow in from the east
With messages of pale horses and unrelenting fate
Demanding blood to cleanse the land and to burn the stakes
Fear tantalizes
Exhilarates
All the kings men take their place
and prepare to battle the cycles history incessantly recreates
Jun 27, 2013
Jun 27, 2013 at 12:27 PM UTC
I’m never sure. it’s sad. I know.
I want to be honest.
sometimes I’m too honest, honestly,
and in the wrong way. the worst way.
I want to be good. good at something
anything, really. I don’t know what.
maybe I’d be a good barista
or a good waitress. I don’t know.
sushi chef maybe? is that even
something that I’d want to do?
I hate when people say they do
“computers”. That’s not even DOING
something. That’s just a noun.
Can I say I do “books”??
Is your job too complicated to
explain to simple old me?
I need to work on being logical
with my heart. I need to start
believing in chances. I have a
poet’s eye, so why can’t I have
her ever-breaking heart? her
softasskin soul? her longing for
cold winters and sunbright lemonaid
her love of love?
I have a bitter feel of love. it’s
twisted into a harsh hatred. It’s
eaten by doubt. It doesn’t smile,
it blushes, it hides. I need to
re-coax love into existence.
so that when it opens up, it
recreates the boundaries
of safety that I so crave.
I want to be the fearless poet
that Frost examines in his woods
I want the flawed sex-ful poet
that Bukowski loves to paint
I want the darkest raven-breasted poet
that Poe tearfully wrote
or I want to be my own poet,
lost in thick dusty second-hand
bookstores, full of soggy stories
too heavy sometimes
to re-tell.
Oct 18, 2015
Oct 18, 2015 at 2:46 PM UTC
I walked halfway to everywhere
Just to to forget about the world
I emptied a shower of the sea
To earn the night at your oasis.
The drum and mandolin playing ceases, opaque silk
I had no wish to I interrupt you
As you locked your doubts in the attic.
Your rich body, I miss caressing.
Cloaked in clarity
Makes it easy for us to see them
We will never smash the stained glass window
To repair the effect of my face.
Full conciliations hold true relevance
In the harsh front field.
Love is a labor of misfortunes and pleasures
You found the cards, and you know how to play
Certainly I will never be anything more than a poet
Certainty made me save my pen
Certainty recreates, with blissful satisfaction
There is no need of a more perfect description.
Aug 4, 2012
Aug 4, 2012 at 12:08 PM UTC
Wise and for granted,
Don't call it being shy.
You die for those who **** you,
And you never ask why.
Take comfort in the plainest things,
Or run on none at all.
Stand still between turning tables.
Humble, silent through the fight.
Extract truth from penny fables
Imagination recreates,
All the things you lack.
Gave hope away, but not refilled.
Weighed down, yet still believe in flight
Subdued for now, But soon shall see
Trust has won eternity.
Jan 19, 2011
Jan 19, 2011 at 7:50 AM UTC
A Beast shakes me awake.
I am lying next to you,
and I watch your chest slowly
rise,
fall,
rise,
fall,
your soft breaths even
except for
the occasional sharp inhale;
A Beast tilts my head the other way.
I am staring into empty space,
but soon enough my brain recreates
my cacophony of thoughts,
shredded wisps of what was and what
has yet to be.
A woman with honeysuckle skin
trails her finger along my jawline,
and I melt into her.
She is not you.
A Beast makes me look into your eyes.
You're awake now,
and your eyes glint with enigma;
They flicker with something unknown
before you look away.
You are not honeysuckle.
You are as sharp as each of your
pen strokes on paper,
crisp as a newly typed narrative,
a Colossus of all that was
and all that has yet to be.
A Beast asks me if this is what I want.
He tells me he knows the answer.
Aug 3, 2015
Aug 3, 2015 at 8:53 PM UTC
They say that the body recreates itself every six months.
So in six months I will be clean and my skin will not remember your touch.
But until then, all I can think about is the way your lips felt on mine and how I never had an addictive personality until I met you.
How you were my nicotine and now my teeth are so ******* yellow.
And in all my attempts to rub myself raw, I lost most of myself in the process.
And now I am just held together by dry skin and ****** poetry.
Apr 15, 2015
Apr 15, 2015 at 7:15 PM UTC
Hatred is what burns you
What guides you
It is your passion
What feeds you
Diabolical...
It survives through you
Because it overcame you
And slowly you are destroyed
Devouring each moment
That which you hold dear
Those things you keep close
Are no longer secret to your hatred
It becomes you
It makes you
Your foundation is redefined
And you reevaluate your purpose
Until that purpose is deemed unworthy
Of your current goals
Hatred recreates you
Redirects your mind
What you once believed is shattered
What you once thought
Has died.
Sep 18, 2010
Sep 18, 2010 at 10:43 PM UTC
*Just woke up and a reflection is coming thru my window, the rain and snow from last night made a pool of water outside in the backyard, the sun is shining on it and the wind is making the water move, so it recreates the illusion that the ocean is reflecting the sunshine and the shadow of a palm tree on my wall.
Playing the relaxing music with ocean waves, now I'm imagining waking up in a tropical island, warm water, breeze blowing, sun shining. Rolling over and grabbing you by the waist and pulling your warm body close to me, I smell your hair, kiss your neck, hug you and feel your heart beat, laying in bed next to you enjoying every second of it.*
Apr 17, 2014
Apr 17, 2014 at 1:25 AM UTC
Tender soft skin, once thought to be stone
Once separate layers now split, uneven
Exposing it's red underneath a dark canvas
A razor edge brush guides this painting
The peace that was once dead- springs to life, unwilling
Hoping once more that this form will contain it
A temporary hold; a soulless container
The colors are dull and the mind is hazy
Exposed a red brush upon the dark canvas
The paint is too thin, it lacks the luster
Searching for more, brush turned inward
Gushing from the source for a scarlet hued angle
Fading in and out, a masterpiece undone
Marred with a vision that remains so tranquil and clear
Exposing bits of red to the darkest corners of the canvas
It reaches outward to escape the ending
A final signature, caught weak of final breath
A nightmare come true without the masterpiece completed
This story once told hangs lost on these walls
Fading colors of a past still remembered today
Exposed to reds hue in the dark canvas of this mind
The paint long worn thin and the canvas is tattered
But it recreates itself as this peace will never last
A dead portrait of myself that will never be finished
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 7:16 PM UTC
while being whipped
by the woman
who taught him
to mark
only
the people
he could hurt
a person
with, the boy
recreates himself
as one
giving birth
to a unicorn
beside
that horse
oblivion
or family
of horses
eating
from the straw
the stork
became
Jan 18, 2016
Jan 18, 2016 at 9:32 PM UTC
She strips the oils
from her face
And applies the clay to canvas
Molding cheekbones
out of grounded stone
She puts her smile out
to dry
Her skin cracking like pottery
Little hands
breaking the mold
Becoming
what they said to never be
So instead they almost molded-
She recreates the scars in her skin
the foundation layered
the concrete no longer wet
Jun 21, 2017
Jun 21, 2017 at 10:00 PM UTC
Each morn
awakening's first breath
recreates the myth
today would be born
a new kind of poem
Mind in the heavens sail
seeking kind of a tale
never unearthed
travels the whole length
the spade's renewed strength
digging deeper
evermore
foraging space time
for one rhyme
that in its first breath
would reinforce the myth
on this earth
a new poem can still take birth!
When the day is out
we know it's one myth
we can't live without.
Mar 28, 2014
Mar 28, 2014 at 2:08 AM UTC
A broken heart can never be fully put back together,
He took apart of you that you didn’t know existed,
You sacrifice your morals and beliefs,
Yet it’s still not enough.
Saying his name is like a bullet,
Deadly to my heart and mind,
Thinking about you recreates the pain,
You were selfish and arrogant.
You were manipulative and conniving,
You were everything I swore I’d never be,
I chose you with intentions so pure,
A kiss on the forehead and love within our eyes.
Never expecting you to take away everything I built,
Unknowing that the ground would be taken from right underneath me,
Trusting that I was the only women you would ever need,
Letting you in close enough to hurt me was the worst thing I could've done.
So foolishly thinking that my heart was safe with you,
My biggest mistake was giving you the chance to destroy me,
You took that chance without a second thought,
Congratulations on betraying the only women who actually tried for you.
Aug 16, 2017
Aug 16, 2017 at 4:32 AM UTC