Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
I S A A C Feb 2022
I reignited the spark, reconnected to the hearth
reconnected to the heart in me
it was dark, cold, and scary
I was mocked, bold, and contrary
to my own beliefs, seeds I could never reap
due to the fact I was running miles
in an attempt to protect my inner child
from the incoming tsunami, the bottled up tears
the resurfacing adolescent fears brought me to prayers
but I reignited my spark, I embarked on a new start
where my path is filled with purple roses
a new beginning as the circle closes
its the circle of life, its the purpose of life
I reignited my spark, extinguished my strife
Nat Lipstadt Dec 2016
A minyan is an assembly of ten Jews.  With ten present, the group can perform a fuller service, adding congregational prayers that an individual alone cannot say, and in heaven, received, as if from a 
more powerful, unified voice.

~~~
Satan laughing with delight at the happy news,
unusually proud of his soul-retrieving,
red state minions,
having scored late in the '16 season,
a long awaited prize,
a high priest of music, a hallelujah singer
just come  cross the borderline,
once a mere earth bound legend,
now to be mockingly enjoyed
in this, his legendary peculiar tier of heaven
~
a banner year it was, a cornucopia of new arrivals,
singers, songwriters, composers, conductors, rock 'n rollers,
itinerant blues musicians,
who as a rule, were not the most faithful observers
of the Ten Commandments and its host of detailed relatives
~
body and drug abusers,
of traditional morals, not such big users,
and as for their *** lives,
best not discussed in front of the baby devils,
just quite yet
~
all this made for easy "pluckings,"
as he smiled devilishly, his own ironic sense of humor,
an added delight for the new American Pie
that would forever serenade him henceforth
~
indeed this Leo-nine most new arrival,
intensifies the pleasure,
for deep in this one had waxed the god-spark,
his own fractured demise,
now allowing the cracks of light to be closing,
lessening by an immeasurable fraction
the despised joy to the world
-
then a raucous rustling heard,
a voice unseen but siren penetratingly heard proclaiming:

**** you Satan,
this time you've gone too far!

return unto me them all,
for you have overstepped the boundaries I have constructed
when birthed I the universe so long ago

these children, mine,
for though they were not perfect in their lives,
they perfected ever so much my designs,
the world I granted them,
with their music, voice and hands,
absolving them of all their sins

Surrender to me them all!

my Prince,
my lion, Cohen, high priest of my temple,
my haggard and worn Merle,
the greyed and Frey'd eagle, Glenn,
Natalie, daughter of the Earth King of Cole,
my rose of Sharon Jones,
my Emerson and my Lake,
Leon Russell,
my white bearded russet
who wrote 'A Song For You,'
the Duchess, Patty,
my Bobby Vee,
the first ro see
'the night has a thousand eyes,'
Frank Sinatra Jr., his fathers torch bearer,
my David, my right arm, my Bowieknife carrier,
who fell from heaven and needs returning unto me,
mine own Kanter,Jeffersonian pilot of my Airplane,
my Michael, George,
my Martin, George,
who never sang a word
but gifted us some Beatles,
My black and White Maurice,
who reignited the Earth, with Wind and Fire

all these mine and all the musicians of this year,
they have died, but not their music,
now to join my heavenly chorus,
my musicians' minyan
Second of a trilogy, but the first one posted,
about Leonard Cohen

Kohen or cohen (or kohain; Hebrew: כֹּהֵן‎, "priest", pl. כֹּהֲנִים‎ kohanim) is the Hebrew word for priest used colloquially in reference to the Aaronic priesthood. Jewish kohanim are traditionally believed and halakhically required to be of direct patrilineal descent from the biblical Aaron. The term is colloquially used in Orthodox Judaism in reference to modern day descendants of Aharon, brother of Moses.

Among the few remaining responsibility of a cohen today is the chanting of the priestly  blessing in the synagogue on high holy days in a special tune, instantly recognizable  by every Jew.   When the  Jewish priest chants the blessing, the Spirit of God is presumed to become present in the synagogue, and all bow their heads, fathers cover their children's eyes, lest one witness  god's image. Ironically, the special way that a cohen extends his arms and holds his fingers in a V  shape, was borrowed by another Canadian Jew, Leonard Nimoy, as inspiration for Spock's  greeting.

see en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Priestly_Blessing

see
//jewcy.com/jewish-arts-and-culture/leonard-nimoy-vulcan-salute-yiddish
Silent Thoughts Jun 2014
I keep forgetting
The weight that was lifted
When you let me go

I keep forgetting
The light in my eyes
That reignited

I keep forgetting
That I am whole again
All on my own

But I won’t forget
What I’ve learned
From being hurt
More of just words than poetry...
Liam hopson Sep 2018
LOVE COMES IN ALL SHAPES AND DIMENSIONS
LOVE KEEPS YOUR HEART BEATING
AND LEAVES YOUR SOUL IN SUSPENSION

THROUGH THE LOVING LIGHT
OUR SPARK CAN BE REIGNITED
THROUGH THE LOVING LIGHT
OUR SOULS WILL BE REUNITED

THINK OF THOSE YOU LOVE DEEPLY
NOW GIVE OUT THAT LOVE TO EVERYONE FREELY
THEN YOU UNDERSTAND
YOU UNDERSTAND COMPLETELY

THROUGH THE LOVING LIGHT
OUR SPARK CAN BE REIGNITED
THROUGH THE LOVING LIGHT
OUR SOULS WILL BE REUNITED
LOVE.
aar505n May 2014
A lantern can only go so high before it must come down.
A smile can only last so long until it becomes a frown.

Happiness eventually turns to sadness.
But the opposite is true too.

A frown can only last so long till it becomes a smile.
A lantern can be reignited.
and it's only a matter of time until you see that lantern floating high in the sky.
Elizabeth Dec 2015
Dad’s blood vessels
wrap around my ankles.
His numbing sclerosis infects my toes.
Mom and Dad sing I alone love you
in an octave with the front-man
on stage.

They cry together,
subdued through flickered smiles,
and I understand what it is
to be devoted in
the way a fire fights to
cling with candlewick.

I can feel it coming back again,
he whispers near her ear lobe.
The arches of his feet tingle
as mom’s veins tangle with dad’s,
his spine reignited by the warmth
of their flame.
kenye Oct 2013
Somewhere constant
I count my blessings  
and submit to nature

Sacrificing my physical self
to the soul of summering Fall

Mother Nature on menopause
whisking out hot flashes
with a cold shoulder
turned on innocence

The trails here
wind me
back
in
time

A place for believing in a higher self
without the stigma of belief

Some mystical "nonsense"
you'd have to see
to believe

Stranger than the fiction we lived
before Autumn turned to ashes
to embers
and reignited
hearts
with an amalgam of inspiration

Grace is the only constant

The unheard rhythm
We lose our minds
trying to find
in the chaos

The thrill in the chase
to drop the
four-on-the-floor
somewhere on the journey

Hope perpetuates in rhythm

Everything here
is coming together
for my highest good
Or
That's how my mantra
overrides my manic
imagination

Subliminally
stuttering
steps

A path to within
From only out here

I walk back to the graves of trees
where I parked my car over
Hollowed out and haunting
my attachment to the Earth

Grounded by ghosts
The echos in the silence of Singing Hills

*This is my worship.
This is my tribute.
I normally don't like to write lengthy pieces as much anymore. This all came to me when I walked through a local forest preserve in an attempt to cleanse my mind. It ended up being a slight spiritual awakening.
Jaymisun Kearney Feb 2014
Just this last year, in August of 2013, I was introduced to this website by an acquaintance of mine.
We'd gone on a couple of dates together, but both decided things weren't moving mutually in our
favor. I'd told her that there's no thing I love more than writing. There's a quality in the transference of emotion from thought to page that I just can't find anywhere else. Sad to say, I told her, I haven't written anything in a very long time. Was it writer's block, she asked. I shook my head, but couldn't commit to an answer one way or the other.

Sometime later, maybe weeks after that conversation downtown at The Rialto, she sent me a text message. That was when my cell phone service was still active. She said that she found this website -- literally, this website -- where a large community of people post their poetry. Hard times were fallen on her and all that, and she said that writing poetry again was a great release. She sent me a link to the website so that I could check it out.

What happened after that was nothing short of a small, personal miracle. Words were coming to me again, fast, fast. For years, nothing genuine would come. Suddenly, the gates opened. Ask anyone who enjoys writing why they write and I'm sure you'll get many, many different answers. Mine is this: to affect. There's no greater joy for me than knowing I've affected others in a way that drives them to an end. A positive end, of course. That old saying, about being able to reach out and touch just one person. That's more than enough for me.

The pain. The drama. The isolation. The spiritual dissonance. The love. The joy. The passion. The surrender. There have been a lot of feelings that drive the words I write, and I'm happy to know that there have been people out there reading, even if only a few. In a way, it's like you've all been riding along with me, and that means more than I could ever say. Instead of trying to describe it in detail, I'll say, Thank You.

I have more piece of poetry I'll be publishing here. The final piece to the Arterial Winter collection. It wouldn't feel right to leave without putting the final nail in that coffin. In the meantime, I'll slowly be removing my older works from the website, one by one, until they're all gone. Over the course of the next few weeks, I'll be rearranging everything into new collections, and figuring out interesting ways to print and sell each piece. Needless to say, I'm very excited for what the future brings.

Thank you. I really can't thank all of you who took the time to even peek at my work enough for the fire you've reignited inside of me. These endeavors, along with a couple of novel projects I've started, have given me the justification I need to actually consider myself a writer. Regardless of situation or circumstance, I'll be finding you all again somewhere. See you later. See you soon.

Best Regards
Amelie Sep 2013
Oh look, you've finally said it
But what took you so long ?
After all this time crying,
I'm hurt enough to write a song.
Why couldn't you just say it before,
Before I changed my mind,
Is that only an excuse for leaving,
Or do I have to consider it like a sign ?
Is this some kind of grudge
You've been holding onto ?
Or are you being honest,
And you want me back with you ?
I don't quite understand how
You can pour those feelings out now
I'm burning from the inside,
You make me feel so down.
In my mind there's that fire,
That just wouldn't go out
I don't believe you really know
What you're talking about

And now I'll just burn, burn, burn,
Burn from the inside
The flames are reignited
I'm just seeing the downsides
You're making me burn again,
Starting from where you left me
Coming back for another round,
I'm ready for it don't you worry.
Mahima Gupta Aug 2014
There always has to be
Something coming up
To satisfy the level
Of chaotic vigour
To bring a solemn change.
There always have to be dreams
Which need to
Be torn apart
So that the better in life
Makes it's way
There always has to be
An ocean which
Drowns you into itself
And consumes your sorrows
And transports you
To the intergalactic world.
There always has to be a fire
In your burning soul
Which kills the pretence in you
And builds you up again
Brick by Brick.
Skip Ramsey Oct 2014
Not so much of a poem as just a quick thank you.
To all of you who have read and shown such love and support.

This past week I have had my passion reignited for writing and poetry.
No rhyme or verse, nor any thing else that I can conceive of. can show the smallest portion of gratitude I have for everyone here!

Hopefully, I can in some way repay a bit of the kindness that I've gotten from you.

Much love and caring,

Skip
Today is one week I've been on Hello Poetry, so glad to be a part of this beautiful thing. I owe you big time  senpai Melz! Thx! :)
Don Bouchard Aug 2014
The darkness had settled as we followed our headlights and looked for a portable sign indicating where we were to turn off the highway and make our way to the Winters’ home.  January, snow on the ground, the coldness of news that the pancreatic cancer was not going away in spite of months of congregational and private prayers, and here we were, making our way to the house to pray.

We arrived and parked along a long gravel lane and then joined a steady line of people walking slowly toward the house – little children with parents, older couples, a few teens. We moved slowly, not sure what to expect, heavy with our thoughts, not speaking. Ahead of us stood the pastor and the house. Arriving, we grasped thin vigil candles and passed the flame from one silent person to the next.  A bit uncertain, we moved to positions around the darkened house, aware that a child was looking out at us into the dark.  Our candles flickered uncertainly in the chill air, and we shielded them with our gloved hands and waited.  

One by one individuals began to pray quietly.  Some spoke sentence long prayers and went silent while others pled tearfully with God for stricken mother, the husband, the little children inside the silent house.  The breeze snuffed flames from the less vigilant, and the line around the house darkened.  We waited in the night. Above us stars shone and the eastern horizon glowed over Minneapolis.  Someone began to whistle an old hymn, “Day by Day, and with each passing moment, strength I find to meet my sorrows here….”  The murmur softened.

The sound of singing drew us back to the front of the house where the pastor was beckoning people to join him in a huddle, to stand with him.  “I feel like a choir leader,” he said, “Come stand with me.”  We moved in next to him.  Those with still burning candles shared the flames, and the entire group was again glowing with candlelight.  We prayed as a group, individuals speaking their hearts to God and the open sky and each other. Prayers moved from individual requests to collective behests – prayers for increased faith in desperate times, prayers for peace and comfort for the family, prayers for steadfast love for God and each other.  Tears wet cold cheeks as people hugged.  

Something good came from that night under the silent sky.  I’m not sure I can put it into words, and I don’t know what God will do with Laurie W, but I am at peace today, after months of unrest and wavering faith.  Under the sky and standing in the snow next to my wife, I thought about those candles and how symbolic their flickering and going out and reigniting is.  When I was standing in the circle around the house, my flame died several times, and thankfully, my wife’s flame reignited mine.  We walked back to the group with candles burning and were able to pass the fire on to others until we all stood in firelight. Alone, any one of us would have been in the dark and out in the cold.  Together, we relit each other’s fires and were warmed by each other’s voices as we called out to God and sang.
A few years later, Laurie has been buried, and the family moved from our community. Life goes on, but I will always remember the candles and the people united around that house in the winter cold.
Sunita Prasad Apr 2012
I stood waiting for her I was told she would come
I stood waiting cold and numb
Numbed by the pain, tablets and lotions
Numbed by the hope of a notion
A notion that said I might find a cure
A cure that would let me lead a life I could finally endure

For my life has been one of repeated pain
Pain from the physical, emotional, where there is no gain
A life that is lived in between, of darkness and then sparkle
A life that is to my own heart no more than a debacle

I was told If I met her she could help me create
My own alchemy, a precious recipe that would make
A remedy that would soothe my soul allow it to rest
Allow my physical body to stop undergoing this continual test

I heard movement come through the blackness
Towards me to meet, a beautiful figure, dazzling and complete
Her beauty was breathtaking her adornment a delight
She illuminated my world at once and reignited my own light

She has a familiarity that my body recognizes, a bejeweled
Being who lights up my world with her smile and surprises
Even me as I watch and stare as she moves through the darkness
With such knowledge and without care

I follow her light down passageways and past keeps
And notice parts of my body awakening like from a sleep
A body that wants to talk to me and say
That authenticity is the alchemy from which you have strayed

Your body has such wisdom its waiting to be read.
This is the alchemy you search for, its that voice in your head
It is an illuminated manuscript  gilded with the finest gold, gold of your own making
your life experience is the beauty you need to hold.

The magic is in your intuition, that you hold deep within yourself
You follow this beautiful lady and yet she is a mirror of your own self
She came because you finally called her and she sits in front of you now
Administering her balms that lingers on your skin, it caresses the pain you feel
and smoothes you from within.

But this is a balm of your own making , made out of all your own pain
It sparkles with the light you have been seeking it is your own beauty,
Hopelessness and pain.

So look no longer for the alchemists hand, behold what you see in the
mirror and be glad that you stand, for you are a beauty to behold, a life
to be treasured, a life that is lived in, a life that can be measured.
Paul C Jun 2012
A voice now forgotten, your memories displaced,
What once was warm and tender, beneath the ice encased.
Bluntly reignited, defenseless your voice entreats,
Searching for the source, finding treachery, deceit.
Endlessly tortured, by the ghosts that haunt this place.

An attempt to cope, to mask this bitter taste,
My mind stoicly vacant, then demanded by your face.
Gazing into the distance, catch a flash of golden hair,
Desperate to find you, but into emptiness I stare.
Foiled again, by your ghosts that haunt this place.

Habits I must repattern, and footsteps to retrace
Dispose of lingering tokens, never to replace.
Trying to redeem, the time I have lost with you,
And the time that I have squandered, I never will renew,
By chasing your ghosts that haunt this place.
Mike Bergeron Sep 2012
There’s a tremor
That ripples through
This pocket of air,
The electric aura
That surrounds my hair,
The sounds are melodic,
Like the cries of scared
Spirits, calling Mladic
To make an appearance
In the lake of fire
He sent them to swim in,
But missing the point,
Missing the part of life
With a purpose,
Wishing to rise back up
To the surface
And start the slide all over again,
Start the decline down to
A black abyss where
Doors exist
Just too keep you in,
Where laws are *******
And the good guy never wins,
And I’m pretty sure
He never did,
I’ve never seen the good guy win,
Cuz if the good guy could Catch a break,
There’d be no lie to trap us in,
But either way there’s no way to escape,
Cuz the good guy never wins
And the good girl always gets *****,
So I’ll keep holding my sanity loosely,
And keep taking heed to her song,
That “every secret is juicy,
Whether it’s Ricky cheating on Lucy,
Or the world controlled by
Ancient snakes,
Either way you don’t get to say
How high the stakes of truth be,”
You don’t get paid
For being truthful,
It’s ruthless action
That’s truly
Beautiful,

Or maybe her face is too,
The one I saw peering in
Through a snow-rimmed window,
Buried in a fur-lined hood
With cheeks red with the
Sea of blood
Shifting just under
Paper skin,
The storm spawned
By the walk
Sending waves of colour
And life and vivacity
And ****** perfection
Crashing into
The softest cheeks
To ever brush mine,
The very ones I’ve wished to destroy
As the breath quickened,
The tempo rose,
And the sweat poured
Onto summer sheets
In a bed to small
And weak
To hold the tremendous weight
Of love deferred
And reignited
By a shared passion
For hurting and getting hurt.
The face in the window
Was flushed with heat,
Yet colder than the parents
That sent her out into the night,
Hoping she wouldn’t find something to eat,
And isn’t it funny how she still
found me?
Ready and willing
To be ripped apart
And devoured
For the deflowering
Of a misconceived heart.
I opened the door and let her in
So I could begin being born again.
Kairee F Jul 2016
You tell me repeatedly that I am wasting away,
that my arms are too slim,
my waist too cinched,
and my chest too boney,
but the only thing I hear
is your insecurity making me its mirror,
and in actuality
I have never been more proud of my progress.
Instead of concern for my well-being,
all I feel when that sentence slips from your lips
into the stale air that creeps into my ears
is a knife in my gut.

I am not wasting away,
I have already wasted.

I wasted away my breathlessness when he told me he cheated on me.
I wasted away the utopian idea of who I ached to be
and what I strived to look like.
I wasted away the pressures I gave into
when he wanted to force himself on me.
I wasted away the insecurities and trust issues I harbored for five years.
I wasted away his manipulations,
his deceit,
his pathological lies,
his slander for my name,
and the guilt I felt for cutting him out
and clawing my way back in.
I wasted away the anger and depression that almost consumed me.
I wasted away my lack of knowledge toward myself.
I wasted away my blank path,
and I wasted away my restlessness for the next chapter,
because I am the next chapter.

So, the next time you feel the need to tell me that I am wasting away,
The next time you think it's okay to say something like that to me,
I want you to not look at me,
but see me.
I want you to feel the curve on my hips and the stretch marks on my thighs
that I am okay with having.
I want you to look into my eyes
and see the fire I reignited in my soul
to warm the blood that pumps through these deep vessels
which carry each piece of the shattered self that I put back together
like the mouth of the river that flows straight into the heart of the ocean.

No, I am not wasting away.
I’m not wasting another day.
Ellie Stelter May 2014
i am holding on too tightly
let me fall. let me let go,
let me feel let me hurt
i want that ache again
love ******, im a slave
to heartbreak, i wanna
seek out those kisses
that leave my lips burning
want that fire reignited
deep in my chest again

there's just a shell now
built up like a cage
protect me from harm,
so i thought, but no
it's not letting anything out
it's not letting anything in
and im done im done
with that i need to feel again
i need to be alive again
my heart needs to beat
again. love ******, slave
to comfort, too afraid
of passion, of losing control

so here i am, heart beats
in a cage, needles in my arms,
anesthetized, clinging
on too tight to what my life was
let me fall into the unknown now
before i push myself off this ledge
it's been no fun at all
let me feel
let me fall
Nat Lipstadt Jul 2023
<In Memoriam: Joel M Frye>


we spoke perhaps twice by antiquated conveyance,
actually exchanging voices, real words, not ionized,
we knew so little, so much of other, in modern ways,
where you can feel without touch, see with eyes closed,
scenting tthrough a wire, hearing the voices whenever
inhaling each’s poems, tonguing, tasting the words aloud

nonetheless, ‘tis nonsensical, that his earthly disappearance
should defect my affectations, with the chested sensational
of loss, deprivation,, that I am missing a poet, his insights,
his way of saying the same thing yet so differently which is
exactly what we do here daily, reheating upon rehearing

each others verbal notions of rue, worry, love lost,
abandoned faith, momentarily reignited, wondering instantly
and perpetually do words matter, just before we, with excited sighs
we pick up the unique utensil fluidity that allows this communication
of spirit; now it strikes me hard, it is his spirited humorous man-n’ere,in everything, that became has attached to me, consciously and consciencely, humanizing me by his good graces that cannot
now be refreshed
until I
reread
him
one
time
more
Andrew Switzer Aug 2014
Hazel eyes hold untold sorrow,
Dreams of sleep without tomorrow.
A hopeless mind without a future,
A soup bowl born of shattered pewter.
Hidden away in a heart of ice,
Reignited and snuffed out twice,
A junkyard soul devoid of joy,
Another woman's one night toy.
nivek Apr 2014
Reignited haven of peaceful wonder
far away place of once upon a time
Begins and ends with happy ever after
Nat Lipstadt Oct 2017
"gravity has taken better men than me
just keep me where the light is"...John Clayton Mayer

where the light is...
this lyric gets carried from midnight to midnight next,
from troubled sleep to the bus stop, to and from work,
onto, back to, the homebound bus stop once again,
from solitary man to father to grandfather and cycles back
to once again a troubled sleeper poem writer,
who just wants to know, John,

when I find it, will, does the light fill, complete and heal the cracks...when I find that light...

in the city, starlight been banished by street lamps pointed downward, far too often it is believable that the whole world has been wrapped in white crinkled, filmy, wax paper, then,
how will the light know where it is needed most,
how will it find the empty chest cavity that writes these lines

there is real and artificial they say, nature vs. man made,
sun upon the face that heals for but an eight minute
bandaid summer ferry crossing, the fluorescent that says here, here is the bus stop, tarry, sit and rest, while you wait for
answer unscheduled, on a bench beneath to the street light
that illuminates a small swatch of street
between the dark spots on the x-ray of
this patient patient's soul awaiting,
are either of those
the light I need John?

no worries man, I'm just teasing, well knowing, neither of us,
tables turned, know where the light is, up high, down low,
if it is yellow or gold, if light is real or imagined,
only the sensation of the curettage needed to be healed when the
chest drained and the light supplants the drained fluids,
when it interferes, interpolates, how it found me or I it,
how I recognized it, how it reignited the home fire, and
I'll drop you line how light, lightly to find or be heavy found,
how light supersedes, defeats, the gravity of daily tugging,
and how what happens afterwards is golightly
up to us

2:10am **** it
now children, go back to your silly little love pretense poems and pretend you never read this
Batya Mar 2013
I have rebuilt the temple.
I sense its arches supporting my weight,
Grace and power surging through my core.
I have rebuilt the temple,
A holy of holies resides in my soul,
A place of prayer as it unfolds--
I pray for Him to lend me sight through open ears.
I have rebuilt the temple,
Reignited each sacrifice of old--
No longer severed grace gone to waste,
No longer inside me a contradiction of faiths,
Freedom and beauty rise now from my flames.
I have rebuilt the temple,
Though its shell still stands--
A strip of land,
Desolate and serene.
I have rebuilt the temple,
For it had to be burned,
It had to be cleansed,
It had to be purged.
Its gold's destiny was to ignite
And it indeed was set alight,
Its flames, long extinguished,
Consume my mind in fright.
I rebuilt the temple,
Its sacrifices' horns stood sentinel,
While we awaited their blast
And paid cold cash in exchange for soiled souls.
I have rebuilt the temple,
Adorning it with bands of faith
And simple beauty and lights with which
To guide in sunny nights.
I have rebuilt the temple,
I break bread in its empty halls
And drink immortal wine
And answer the angel when he calls,
In the midst of his eternal watch
Over a box of long- forgotten treasures.
We have rebuilt our temples,
Woman to woman, keep my words,
Let none flow from your lips
To reach undeserving ears,
For a woman's wisdom is her might.
I have rebuilt this temple in my heart,
Its incense fills the corners of my soul,
The holy altar stands ***** within my mind,
And when I die it still will stand and does forever glory.
Qweyku Nov 2016
my lips parted
humbled by your resplendence
enchanted by the mystery of your beauty

so i spoke the words of promise
forged on an anvil of insanity
fashioned by a trembling tongue
the fire of fearful fidelity

a passion extinguished by acceptance
reborn from the sated ashes of embrace
reignited with the kindle of emotion
the inferno in the flame of your breath


                  © Qwey.ku
M Harris Jul 2017
A Magnetic Dream Conceived Of Timeless Perfections,
With Telekinetic Screams & Flawless Imperfections,

Programmed To Transmits Her Prismatic Light,
Inflamed, She Emits An Axiomatic Delight,

Her Lilac Senses Filled With An Eternal Slumber,
With Insomniac Pretenses Sobbing Into A Nocturnal November,

With An Ensnared Avidity & Reunited Blues,
Flared With Frames Of Her Reignited Hues,

Tattered As She Respires Into An Abysmal Disguise,
Her Motionless Shadows Reprise Into A Dismal Surprise,

- 03:57
STLR Nov 2016
Welcome to the stellar season

new passion & new reason

I am reignited

too flamed, I’m heat seeking

Simply motivated

like a *******

Condoms made of confidence

Just in case I **** your mother

I’ve come from the bottomless

I’m higher than the very top

Too high, Upper echelon, ***** I’m Michael Angelo mixed with a Megatron

Phantom of the Op

with a knife that never stops

Chucky in the form of a dope decepticon

looking for a *** of gold like a leprechaun

If I don’t find the gold, then I’ll put the *** in ****

then spark that **** forever long

Confidence & cognac enough to keep me gunning,

cardio to cardiac Arrested for the running

Running of the mouth, running of the mind, I feel too defined

I think I’ve reached a line

Everyday

I write & spit a verse or two

yelling at the sky to see what the universe would do

a science experiment and the catalyst is you

steady battling the truth

Between working that 9 to 5

Or chasing your inner youth

Displacement of bigger visions

Shuffled by rash decisions

Motivation has risen, coupled with work ethic

I want exotics & moments of rarity

My visions clear, I’m surprised by this clarity

The world's changing like moods swings and irregularities

2016 will be the year of efficiency

A strong alliance of motivation and pure ability

Smarter science, enhances ions an durability

Energy streams through my seams like electricity

it feels riveting

I will change my ground like a terraform generator

I know that I’m bound to something that’s much greater

**** all of the hate

******* & the naysayers

onion I am

my mind has many layers

No more dishes served cold

I’m tired of late waiters

I’m a heat-seeking ventilator

Freestyle originator

Here's some cold bars & some beers from my refrigerator

Mastermind incinerator to all of the instigators

Instagram this so you ***** can read it later

No More Procrastinators, haters & ******* decisions makers

I’m bulldozing my way, then rebuilding like path makers

Skillfully shifting ground  

I’m here to tilt the equator

The time to make money

is now

Not later

Negotiations of lame relations are no longer in the equation

I’m on my digital hustle like a roomed packed with 3 Indians & 2 Asians

All coding syntax for an app that automatically takes pictures of random places

Not so C++ Basic, but if you can crack the code then it’s your for the taking

This is the stellar season were motivation is lurking, I’m excited like jive turkey, hand me a biscuit, time to consume then sore like a fly birdie.


my minds sturdy, I’m making sick instrumentals to spit a flow from the mental then simply define worthy.
Macstoire Mar 2014
It started well, so cleanly
Soaked in Lush stuff she soothed the aches
Whilst wife was meanwhile cooking a treat
Cider soaked pork and apples
The taste was tremendous
Precedent set for the night ahead

Feeling cool as ganstas we bopped and grinded
To hip-hop only Jurassic 5 could please me with
We were few female amongst a crowd of masculinity
And we relished the imbalance
Flirting my way to the front of the bar
I reignited my relationship with the favourite Jaegar-Bomb
And there dust settled upon the cleanliness

Things turned hazy but in a good way
Post gig we flooded onto the streets of Brixton
And drank the finest foreign beers from an overflowing alehouse
The company was our long-missed men-friends
And yet we still meeting more
As we shared the ingredients to ***** our lungs
They asked for 50 shades of grey in return for rizla
So I rose to the challenge in my half-cut state

This time is was always my intention to wash the weekend down wildly
And starting Thursday this premature session could progress to only place
…the Queens Head
Where dust turned to grime as snapshots of evidence
Prove it was on the credit card that those Jaegar-Bombs were paid
Time and time again
We had become team-mates and it was time I fed them
So we muddled back to my place
Trumpeting our voices through the building
As I served slow roasted pork from glasses
Apparently felt good choice
But next day our melted fingerprints disagree
Our heads also disagree with the antics
And it takes two rounds of tablets to numb the pain

Before later forcing recovery as in Shoreditch we start again
Gathered at Bettys we watched music played
Our rumps rested on armchairs upon the pavement
We continued drinking until the early hours of the day
Then searched for somewhere to take us on the dance floor longer
After only brief grimes of movement and Jaegar
Our night ended abruptly to our dismay
Instead had my first take of kebab
And went north where *** took the night away

Once again woke next morn in bed with man-friend
No memory but surely not in a **** way
Now the skies ******* a mocking mirror of our livers
It seemed a sign to sink further
And the finest ****** Mary led the way
And together sat on sofas we philosophised subjects that we deemed great
Then we ogled sparkly get ups
With prices that we couldn’t afford to pay
So went south to join more friends whose film we met to celebrate

The beginning of the end of madness
Needed cocktails-all we could tolerate
We had formed a tribe of friendship
And we hunted somewhere to prolong the rave
By now all sense of cleanliness long-time washed away
So a downstairs dive provided venue fit for our friendships to extenuate

Then outside met a generous stranger
Who offered tastings that lead our minds astray
Our insides dirtied beyond belief
But sprits high so when we stumbled upon a private party
We were welcome guests to join their birthday

What happened next I needn’t say
For inevitably it had become Sunday
So ***** now we were beyond grey
In wife’s bed I lay
Whilst my insides showed their dismay

This would take some cleaning
June 13-15th 2013
Captain Lucas Feb 2018
"For your heart's sake, avoid to drink of the love poison,
you can not control the damage and its proportion"
There was an angel's voice singing it loud in my ears
and telling me a revenge way to scare all my fears

I walked through a journey profoundly made of scars
while above my sky there were plenty of shining stars...
Lights there reignited so bright, it even risks to get me blind
As a fact, I never stepped on dopamine's trail
since believing in true love, gave me a badly fail

While my consciousness told me "to be careful" as a reply
I was falling in desire for every stranger with a clouded eye
You were my windy rain, pouring of happiness with every gain
But if I survived during all of my dreary life
why wouldn't I cicatricize my coming lonely night?
Nicole Nov 2012
Just when I felt lost, trying to forget her, you were there to guide me.
When I thought I'd never get that feeling again, you gave it to me.
You reignited a spark in a broken heart. Made me feel whole again.
It took three years since you knew of the way I felt, I began to doubt the possibility of anything ever coming from it.
Yet I am glad it waited until now, the time we needed it most; our last chance.
We were finally honest with one other.
Not with our words but with our actions.
They expressed what I'd been dying to say for a long time.
What I could never muster the courage to speak.
What I hoped deep inside you wished to tell me as well.
You are a best friend, a sister, and a longtime crush.
And you found a way to fix me. Far more than you can imagine.
With a kiss.
With a touch.
Two scarred hearts are now at peace.
susan Oct 2015
passing the torch of love
from one heart to another
touching each
in very different ways
witnessing the shrinking
of the flame
before each passing
having it reignited
by a new hand
dimming when the new
becomes old
and always
searching endlessly
   for the eternal fuel.
paige Jul 2013
At  a music festival
Among sixty thousand others
I managed to spot you

We both knew the other
Would be here,
But figured there'd be
Too many people,
Too large of a crowd
And not enough cell phone
Service to go around,
To bother trying to find the other
Especially since we haven't spoken
Since, well,
                                           you know

      But here you are.

Eight rows of people ahead
Through the most perfectly spaced gap
I spot your face
Turned slightly to the right
Of where I am standing

I watch you laugh at what
A friend behind you said
You cut your hair
just the way I like it
And your smile still
Makes me go weak at the knees

It's this moment that people write books about, paint pictures of, this moment filmmakers write whole screenplays revolving around

Where two people make eye contact from across a crowd, and instantly the spark is ignited, or reignited, and their fate is written, the opening to their love story that, without their control, is set in stone, perfectly planned out stepping stones that lead to happily ever after

But you never turned my way
And we never made eye contact
And my text that said
I see you! :)
Didn't go through until
Hours later

I guess this wasn't our moment.  
                                 our relapse
                                 our love story.

                                                         I guess this means
                                                         we really are not
                                                  m  e  a  n  t   t  o   b  e
Nik Bland Nov 2013
Tell the tale of a girl once bold
Singing songs about a heart once cold
Hearing heaven with every breath she takes
Praying the next time her heart won't break
She will tell you that she is okay
That she's getting through her day to day
See the lining of red in her eyes
See the truth although she denies she cries

Listen to each dream that she whispers silently
The story present past the eery quiet sea
Looking for not just a lover, but a friend
See the beginning in her eyes and pray from a happy end
Respect the words that come from her heart
Know her brand is a work of art
Find the fairy tale and the reality
See her and the beautiful tragedy

Pray someday it will be a story from long ago
That hearts will be reignited and melt the chilling snow
That she will love with love that won't let go
And that heaven will bring to the rain a colorful bow
Tell the tale of a girl once bold
Singing songs of a heart once cold
Hearing heaven with every breath she takes
Praying the next time her heart won't break
the dirty poet Apr 2019
playing the ***** at a puppet cocktail party
couldn’t be an easier audience
but my check is still in the mail

saving a skinny woman with chest compressions
single-handedly so-to-speak
i wasn’t alone but i’ll take the credit
the others were weak, i was going heavy
and that’s when she came back

resurrecting my villain for the TV series Heroineburgh
an afternoon shoot with 3 young ladies in tight spandex
acting!

saving another woman with team compressions
went on for 60 minutes before her heart reignited
a christmas miracle
though i unplugged her 2 days later
continuous seizures

getting 3 of my 4 bands on one compilation
that and a quarter would give me a quarter

falling off my bike twice in 5 minutes
car ran a red light, then got doored in the bike lane
today was the first day my sprained wrist allowed pushups
(helps with those chest compressions)

making a money hat for the video i’m shooting for the Dumplings
they’re the Rolling Stones of my favorite bar

went to a hypnotist at the Fringe Fest
failing to get hyponotized
"you were obviously resisting," said my wife
i don’t know
i think i’m just obviously me

playing my ***** on a movie stage
for 8 second segments with the movie
don’t ask
we made $96 and bought tacos for $95

now i’m listening to my swinging new louis prima album
reflecting on this groovy month of spring
Rustle McBride May 2016
On a chilly day of vacant skies
we came to watch the candle rise
by morning sun it took to flight
so men and the heavens could unite

But, our sons and daughters, strong and brave
were too far gone for us to save
there was no time to shed a tear
or give a cry we'd never hear

Across the land the people wept
for hopes and dreams that won't be kept
with ships and men we reach for stars
with blood and tears we mend the scars

But, there'll be a time when the tears are gone
and at that time we must move on
and allow our dreams to be reignited
for Man and Heaven have united.
on the Challenger disaster
Caroline Lee Nov 2015
maybe it was the light reflecting off the water that made it all feel surreal
the long drive the slow dive
the weight of unspoken want
we shed our clothes and bore our skin out into the night air
and we told you not to look knowing full well that you would anyway
but anyway
here's another night spent in proximity to another life
secreted away in city lights and manufactured stars
you lifted me over the fence just to carry me until morning light
pale
open
blunt.
vulnerable in the dark water
flash junk imagery of your hands on my waist
gold and black and crystalline in the low light from the parking lot
your visual stimulation an ever present hum in the background of the moment
we broke in just to break out of routine
six of us small thin and brittle in exposure
connected by the weight of unspoken want
just don't leave it for too long
and I told you not to knowing that you would
you looked and I fell and they laughed knowing it was the slow burn all along
and I know that on the ride home you'll wait for glimpses of my figure illuminated by break lights
and that I'll search for your arms in the darkened car
but for now it's the light reflecting off the water
and your iconic longing
the type that sets a lover into eternity in photographs and sighs
thin wrists and thighs
this is the long drive and the slow dive
and six feet under isn't so scary in a swimming pool
dark blue and numbing the weight fades away only to resurface along the arch of my spine
reignited by your hands cautious and thin
and the waves tumble in
reckless son sick coughing up blood like I need this
nervous soul set alight in the waining darkness
you'll catch me before they catch us
and I'll be the first to confess
that it was the weight all along
exposed and half dressed faded in the wave pool
the long drive the slow dive
the weight of want in your arms.
Water logged and heart sick.
Mark Tilford Nov 2015
As Rome, was not built in a day
but day by day
On the backs of immigrants
The USA they made
Hard work they always displayed
in a well mannered way
Often with less pay
(how soon we forget)

The USA
A nation of diversity
It was welcomed and invited
We would all stand united

The USA
Now we are ready to pick who will be slighted
(The Syrian  refugees)
Hatred reignited
So many ready to turn their  backs
and tell them they are not invited

The USA
President Obama I must say
I was proud of him today
(Veto)
Without delay  
He had some ***** today
And could care less what anyone would say
Sent a clear message that the Refugees should not stay away

The USA
The people
I am ashamed
!!
There was MM.
He awoke the waiting ****** being that was hidden below Southern rules and tradition. With a touch and a release of pressure and tension he unleashed an alter like no other. But he treated me like his personal plaything, a discarded shirt, an afterthought. So I let him go.

There was OA.
He reignited the spark extinguished in the aftermath of MM. Gave me the beauty of motherhood that I was told I'd never have. But he proceeded to leave us for an easy life and for the sights and sounds of big city living. So I let him go.

There was CJ.
He made the apples of my cheeks burn underneath my caramel brown skin. Filled me with a love that I had read about in copious amounts of books. But then came his mother wielding her rumors and I lost most of my hair and had to be put back on the zombie meds. So I let him go.

There was AB.
He gave me time and my passion came back full force. He gave me breakfast in bed among crumpled sheets from nights spent devouring each other with pure, unabashed lust. But people came along with their lies and jealousy. So I let him go.

There IS CK.
He came in like a meteor, crashing into planet Me with such force it knocked me off my feet and into his whole being. Friendship came and solidified our bond. Age didn't matter and neither did any of the world's oppressing views. People came again. So we let each other go, but the bond remains.
These are the words of my heart and soul. Not everyone is destined to have someone to build their lives with. That's okay because the world needs those people too. And if this is where I am headed, I'm okay with it now.
Jellyfish Jun 7
I think you were sent to me by an angel
To teach me a lesson about my value
You illuminated paths I couldn't see within
Who knew you'd lead me to where I've never been

When you first disappeared,
Fear gripped me tight.
I was left broken
Without a star in the night

When you returned, my hope was reignited
but my fears would cause a lot of damage.
Now you're here, but not quite near,
Your silence echoing, forcing me to steer

Giving me the time and space
to really hear everything you once said
to let myself listen and internalize it
how valuable I am

— The End —