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When I go back more then a decade to the thought of my feelings in that exact moment of ulamite knowing of how much love I have for you. It takes me back as it slowly brakes me down, into this lovely moment

As I try to ignore this feeling in my face, as if the realizations is a relapse. The feeling painfully manifests in my nose as the pressure releases and I accept it all over again  the warm wet feelings slowly move down my face, into my  own comforting bitter sweet tears.

It is always within me even with his lack of presence. The love is still here.
Still feel his kiss on my face from the last time I saw him
Khoi-San Apr 28
Whenever
the
young
die's
our
entire
insides
cry
Guns and bullets is real over here
every day a child or two dies
By
the
hand of another child
Kody dibble Aug 2018
Proficient in turn
Glass make up
Chandeliers
Night calls to all the....


Growing growing growing,
We are all growing
It's time for a new time
And a crime to want to know that,
Don’t pass without,
A feature or a sort to clause,
Your every action
Deathtime blues
Alyssa Underwood Nov 2015
God's love is delight itself
it is beauty itself
it is tender yet fierce
sweet yet wild
steadfast yet unpredictable
enveloping yet freeing
captivating yet boundless
protective yet empowering
certain yet never boring
relentless yet gentle
secure yet mysterious
trustworthy yet exciting
all-consuming yet unfathomable
He is everything
you’ve ever hoped for, dreamed of,
longed after or imagined
and so much more
He is the Lover of your needy,
thirsty soul and He fights
continually for your heart
L B Jun 2018
I don't think about it any more
I take out the trash
noting
Sticks caught in the crotch of a tree
The wind does what the wind does
breaks weaker branches down
does not care where
it leaves
them
on its invisible way

Days do what the days do
they don't count themselves
worthy as they go
to release
the afternoon
to evening—
an artless
emptying
to a low spot
where tears tend to pool
if I'd let them down

“You know,
in that low spot
out there...?”
Where it's hard to see
Where its hard to care?

They take heart
out
divide it by energy
for sadness—
I haven't got

Watched the clock go round
wipe out my little plans
with relentless hands

...and I never got dressed today
6-12-18
jacob charles Jun 30
is finger-licking two senses
me, myself and i sit down, consensus
everyone has a different rendition of relentless
what version is this of this, which you, depends it
imaginary penitentiary, locked in myself, one tenant
like i could send a message with only a letter, pen it
see greater with less 3d one eye red it
eye to brain, i blew it
i 9 lives brain dead
brain faculty, mind, not same head
while nothing visual, split cranium and drain head
nosipho khanyile Jul 2018
our destination is the journey
edged with culture
curved with meticulous attention
infested with corruption
fumigated with potential
waiting to reveal itself to the world
taking time to perfect itself
because like fine wine
we don't age, we mature
into something so different
refreshing the norms
creating a new era of dimensions
a relentless spirit
perfectly flawed
oh blooming flower
a tree known by its fruits
a shackled continent
waiting for the chains of judgement
to break
freeing the truth
this is africa
ryn Apr 2015
This is me...*          
Seeking refuge          
under a tree,          
As the wind released          
it's pensive sigh.          
Leaves sapped dry          
were then set free.          
Shades of yellow          
took to the air in an          
attempt to fly.          

This is me...
Peering through
jaundiced eyes.
Laying still
in a torrent of
ochre.
As leaves fall
from lowered skies,
Drenching
and
submerging
me in a sea of
scattered amber.

This is me...          
Captivated by this          
spectacular phenom.         
Flavescent dance          
governed by          
wind and gravity.         
This is the dream...          
Too long held for ransom          
By the relentless          
grasp of reality.         

This is me...
Awaiting such time to
arise and run.
In my heap,
my safe haven,
my fortress of yellow.
Till the inevitable set of
the *orange
sun
Only then...
myself to the moon
I would again
show.
Stressed ?, Tensed ?, Frustrated in a blow ?,
Go to desert, beach, hill or a mountain of snow,
Sure, plan a trip, better make it solo.
Be free, feel the thrill, fear, love as you go.
Travel to unknowns, meet strangers say hello.

Feeling hurt?,
Stretch a desert,
Feel the sand,
Slipping through your hand,
Realise everything isn't in your control
A camel safari make it a goal.
Experience the culture, mix with locals
to rediscover yourself.

Are you in pain?
Head to mountains,
Altitude will test you in every way,
Your petty issues will go stray,
Try trekking, feel the snow,
Chilly breeze upland it blow,
Challenge your limits.
Trivial issues but mighty mountains digits.

When in doubt,
A beach you scout,
Feel the tropical sun,
Respect the relentless sea overrun,
You surf, sail and try the ****** fun.

Go beyond, challenge your limits,
Experience the miracles of nature,
Subside your pain, let stress be a bygone,
Rediscover yourself in the far unknown.
Many of us are going through unimaginable hard times,
But **** truth about life is, it goes on.
I see traveling and going to unknowns as a remedy to the pain and frustration. This way one can rediscover himself and find meaning to life.
Nico Julleza Jul 2017
Touch as the fervent feeling seek to know the ambiguity of it,
Feel as the ****** of a sparrow wing crept upon my dreams,
Fathom as the grief of rocks shrieked on deserted mountains,

And the Sky was blue
Touched by a Crescent Moon
Unraveling the hidden truth
How life was promised to me and you

Awe as landscapes vanished from distant perplexing shores,
Sigh as Long ships sailed on white ashes coasting inherently,
Fright as the voluptuous sights, faking wonders in my night,

And the Sky was blue
mellifluously My Heart as to see
a magnificent feeling to be free
the beauty relentless, endlessly weave

Pray as the growing wind whisper, a phrase to forever keep,
Kneel as crowds offered Him, a gratitude of rejoicing praise,
Trust as dandelions glides, the strength of His binding faith,

And the Sky was blue
for God is forever faithful & true
to broken lives, he one's renew
Keeping his promise to come again soon

Awake as the daybreak reveal, memories of our love revisit,
Sing as angels on white veil’s, bring you to heaven's place,
Gone is the world I once knew, eyes closing as my soul flew,

Amen...
HAVE A BLESSED SUNDAY..
PSALMS 23
#God #Heaven #Sky #Nature #Creation #Peace #Rest

(NCJ)POETRYProductions. ©2017
L B Sep 2016
Route 84 would not lend me
the light of a star last night
Radio blazing at 75 mph
nonsense noise to chew gum by
Crackling political commentary
Static of distance and thick clouds
Invisible mountains blocking
Memories seeping through the cracks
coating the music in a film
I rub my eyes
watch myself punch alert buttons
But it’s the angels’ jukebox tonight

Roll down the window
Watch the heat escape

Summer again

I am building a castle of ancient stones
pulverized by relentless tides
Dragged across maps by mastodons
and mammoth glaciers
The scouring hiss
the ocean sighs
Time has lulled these smoothly
rolling them in the softest hands of sand
and gels of life’s comings and goings
tenderly tumbling
in the millionth moonrise—
Time deposits them here
wet and glistening

For the girl with the plaid two-piece to gather
Shoulders sun-burnt barely say
one week only,
one week of the fifty two
“It’s the time of the season…”
and daddies on the beach are watching….

She has chosen yet another stone
And the castle continues—
in oblivion to all but her legend…

     The queen will be safe here
     from the rabble
     The disgraced Tristan will surely seek her
     Among these lofty cliffs
     Between the raging circuit of the tide
     Here winds forbid the vengeful mob
     Here lovers learn
     the debt of love’s bad timing
     “Drink ye all of it!”
     --the potion that assigns our sorrow….
     She will not sleep—
     while I chew this gum--  GUM?

Roll down the window!

Angels escape with the heat
Waking me with the brush of their wings

As that eighteen-wheeler hugs my flank
And leans on the horn
Lights flashing
Rude rumbling under right tires
Tantrum of snow
In the draft of mass and velocity

…and the angels?
They’ve chosen another good one!
They must’ve liked the 80’s
Their wings slapping the windshield madly  
Their hands steady the wheel
As a fourteen-year old, I picked up a book to read at the beach about the legend of the lovers, Tristan and Iseult.  I was so captivated by their story that it ruled my imagination that summer.  

Anyway, I still think of it when I think of the ocean-- as I did on this cold dark occasion when I should have pulled off somewhere for a coffee, but I was trying to beat the snow storm home.
Route 84, also known as Dead Bambi Highway, has a desolate, treacherous section going over the mountains between NY and Pennsylvania.  Didn't have much option for music at the time, so I leaned heavily on the radio pushing the search button to find anything bearable-- not too much static.
Song reference in this: "Time of the Season" by the Zombies-- all time favorite beach song that happened to be on the radio that night.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RBxK3CcOQD8
patty m Feb 2015
Silly fools,
touching the planchette
as it invades the haunts of spirits and demons
their dangerous interaction
pointing to blackened letters
or the answers yes or no.

Open gateway something relentless creeps to the surface
unbeknownst to anyone.  
Do they think this is a game, this summoning?

Bluesman, playing his guitar
sings about a shadowy man
on a dark road and the bargains he makes.
Moonless skies and rumbling trains
a strange twisting in guts
as a crows caw spreading shiny wings.

Shadows, the long road is filled with shadow,
filigreed limbs darkening fleeting time and the trains with
their black smoky smudge muffling secrets.

A strange man turns up, like a carney in a traveling show
to show us a frightening future.
Spreading prophesies of horrible events along with the demise of millions, with demons gnawing human flesh.
Then too there was the promise of the dead rising;
exhumed bodies, an army of zombies marching.

Old men smoke their cigarettes, lungs crackling
in phlegmy coughs, rheumy eyes filled with pain
as they watch the children **** in frenzied dance
their heads spinning clockwise. . .  
The train chugs off in the distance
as the last illusion crumbles into a dark and rotting hole.

We no longer see the stranger.
as the song comes to an end,
yet disquieting things skitter on the edge of reason
as they slither through our fear.
Up ahead looms a fiery god staying
trajectories of doom and damnation,
while the Bluesman strums his old guitar
on a ghost train going nowhere.
Bus Poet Stop Jun 2018
~for those who will read this and weep~

the quiet ones,
the silent Job ones,
who quote not from the
Book of Lamentations,
but author their own,
based on-the-Job experience

localized versions of cryptic elegiacs
accepting the wooden crosses borne,
stepping up to the
unrequested unforeseen,
then buried under, burnt alive,
yet never relieved by dying,
nailed by words, stronger than iron,
promises sworn, promises kept
with no ending date relief,
promises by and to themselves,
but not for themselves!


the wearers of crystal glass shackles,
adorned with decorative locks for which
no key did the maker make,
nor any divine creator
dare conceive an early release,
never no escape contemplated,
for the lock human, unrepentant unbreakable,
a decorative useless metaphor gesture,
a blunt “life *****” advertisement

I compose amidst a
bus pond of mismatched city folk,
a tapestry of ages colors and differing views on god/no god,
none would believe that as the bus sways me,
it’s in rhythm to holy choral music,
hundreds year old,
divinity masses and motets worships,
where one human can hide temporarily
a safe house,
to calm his questioning relentless
from the horrors of no answers,
for when the mind has no solution
to the rough and tumbling lives,
lived in glass shackled confinement,
the poets desperation equals theirs


summon eagles to transport these imprisoned,
but the shackled refuse,
I come to them but they wave me off,
I go crazy for once I was enslaved,
thirty years war that left devastation,
from which so many poems created

so I speak with heightened regard
of one who planned futures for others where his
non-existence was a founding father (ha!)


but the day came and
I was released by my own inactions,
but means nothing until a way to
away found
to release the yet bound early


got a couch, airline miles, hundred dollars
in my pocket and an unrelenting need
to save them, a consumption disease,
the glass shackled, at ease,
won’t rest till all are freed
this my creed
no one left behind

these cyber words do not mock
for they are unbounded, set free,
when
the flesh connects and the needs of the flesh
are stronger for they are in heart conceived
Steven Cole Aug 2018
If I could be a better man
I'd have enough insight
To always come up with a plan
In times of trouble, danger, or distress
I'd keep my emotions under control
And never run out of rational sense
No circumstances would ever drown me
Or rise above my head
Because I'd know how to swim the currents
And land on solid ground instead


If I could be a better man
I'd have the courage to follow through
With every noble goal I set
And every appeal to selflessness
I am tempted to forget
There'd never be a task
I couldn't undertake
Even if it meant
My life was at stake
Money, time and resources
Would never grow on me
But I'd give of these objects endlessly
And at the end of the day
I'd still know how
To be completely and utterly free


If I could be a better man
I'd never fear the entity of change
But embrace this shrewd reality
Unhindered by its pace
I'd keep a face like solid flint
When revolution
Threatened to derange
At will I'd change my emotions
To better fit each phase
Each chapter of life
From page to page
I'd wire my brain to electrically flow
Smoothly and flawlessly
Everywhere I'd go


If I could be a better man
I'd never struggle with uncertainty
But always know what choice to make
No matter the options that lay before me
I'd never have to second guess
Overthink, obsess or stress
The presented realities and decisions of life
A special wisdom I'd possess
A knowing in my gut and heart
Of all that is my destiny
And all the steps I would have to take
To get to where I want to be
How each occurrence
And aspect of life
Fitted this picture
I'd also see


If I could be a better man
I'd always be a man of my word
Letting my actions always
Positively confirm the things you heard
I'd mean every syllable I spoke to you
With fiery convictions I knew to be true
I'd always know how to communicate
And wouldn't let grievous words
Separate
Relationships so vital and true
The stuff we're made for
And shouldn't undo


If I could be a better man
I'd be a fountain of virtues flowing
Ever going
Like a rumbling and roaring
and rushing waterfall
Dazzlingly Tall

Wisdom

    Prudence

   Diligence

  Patience

Courage

  And Emotional Intelligence

     Faithfulness

   Rectitude

  Purity

  Relentless tenacity

    Fortitude

      And overall confidence

                                            With surety


If I could be the perfect man
There'd be one thing I'd always know how to do
And that is, my friend, in all sincerity
Faithfully loving you


But since I know
I am far from perfect
I will do the best I can
And though I fail now and then
I will get back up
And stand
I will seek forgiveness
Down on my knees
Ask God for strength,
Grace and Mercy please
My weaknesses I'll count as blessings
And thank God I don't have to be
The Savior of the world
Superman
Who for comfort, has no need
Osiria Melody Feb 14
It is I, who is shaken by the subliminal
lies said through your eyes
Which are unfaithful to the truth
I'd rather feign my sadness, lest my
existence disturbs you
Drown me in my apprehensions, a
labyrinth of my fragmented ego
Savor my tears, for I have cried enough
to **** my pride
Yet, it is I who is still shaken
My dearest friend, lover

I do not know how to mourn by the river
Taking my soul, all torn and withered
No one can tell me where I lie
Standing upon my ground, goes awry
Hastily making the gravest mistakes
My heart trembles, never quakes
Such tender darkness, so trivial
Makes my voice come alight through my upheavals

Oh, tell me if my fears mean nothing
Throwing my tears against an unknown something
Only burns, the reprimanding light of day
Night, only sense of freedom, in shape
Thunderous words strike my being
Negative washes do cleaning
To breathe is to draw in one less breath
To speak is to utter one less regret

I don't know how to mourn by the river
Drawing me in, my faults come hither
Relentless suffering that visits my head
I wish something else could visit me instead
I don't know how to mourn from the river
Secret despondence, my only killer
My dearest friend, lover
Show me how to mourn by the river



Melody
2/14/19
Grief is like a river which ebbs and flows.
L Aug 2018
Meticulous and true. They are so careful. So skilled. Deftly and with a swift and sure hand, the words,    
Oh the words, they flow like a brooke. The one in the forest, you know the one. The one out there, out far. In the deep of the wood, over root, under canopy. Through the branches you have to look real hard. And the hard part is not knowing at all what youre looking for. And then there,    
After an eternity and in an instant it is there infront of you. What you have been looking for. A vast clearing. Wide and open. The sun glints through the salt-and-peppered leaf roof. It crawls and stretches and lightly caresses everything you lay your eyes upon. Even matte mossy rocks, they seem to shine. You look down and it caresses you as well. Gentle and warm the embrace that you cant quite put your finger on. The location. The origin. It is everywhere, it surrounds you. Close your eyes. Embrace the sun back. But i digress my digression. The brook. It flows over, around, through. There is no stopping the water. It is relentless, it WILL get to its destination. You cannot change its mind. It is immovable.

That is what it is. It is beauty.

I know i should not compare. There is beauty in it all. But, goodness, the feelings invoked when reading others' poetry in admiration.
Brooke brook, glints?
Yeah my grammar. I break the rules sometimes. But im allowed to because i have learned them.
Stephen E Yocum Aug 2013
The waves rush in and out again,
Legs useless, hands limp, arms bent,
The masked ones have departed,
the cutting now has quit.

Silent, though I wish to scream,
Brain it is pounding,
in a preamble to explode.
White light and incessant buzzing,
relentless pain is throbbing,
conveying its full extent.

Hands and kind face suddenly appear,
Holding blessed instrument,
Approaching now quite near,

Into my drip it does commence,
I descend into the depths,
white to grey to black again.
Down I go in welcome spin,
into the embrace of oblivion,
Ah, Morpheus my dear,
dear sweet friend.

Wake me not until I'm dead,
Or 'til the tide does ebb again.
Hospital stay 2011, Brain Surgery.
The Greek God of Sleep; Morpheus"
And namesake of a common pain
reducing addictive drug, much
abused by certain seekers of
emotional relief.
Vicki Kralapp Aug 2012
Castles in the sky, our lives are spent in search for castles in the sky
Dreams whispering in our ear, hinting of secrets we all long to hear
Peering up through the hazy sky, as we make our way to that far off cry
Hoping some day to see the magic behind those fortress walls.

Slowly we climb up through the sky in search of the dreams that will let us fly
Blown off course as we ascend through relentless storms that never end
Falling once more upon our paths as precious days struggle past
Looking ahead, just hoping to find our way.

Many have turned without a sound as their hopes and dreams crash to the ground
Frozen souls by dreams’ last fall, hopelessly dieing inside us all
Still others continue to gaze upon the magical life until it’s found
At last they gaze back from the sky for one last look before they die.
All poems are copy written and sole property of Vicki Kralapp.
paige v Jan 2015
covered by thorns and hidden by vines
but you’re still attracted to the light
that reflects from my broken sides
you want to swim alone tonight
but I know you’d let me hold you down
Velvet rose petals and shattered glass don't mix but still you’ll love me anyway
despite the scars I've left on you
you’d lay with me
on dead grass
and let me point out your fading colors
you’ll excuse my relentless attempts
to bury you under ground.
“you're destructive
and reflective,
I see myself in you”
As my ridges rip you to shreds you stay with me,
a ****** mess and a lonely swimmer,
another garden destroyed
with wasted raindrop tears
Umi Dec 2017
The blush of the dawn is so relentless
driving into me it numbs all my senses,
Oh beauty of the heavens far above
You fill my heart with so much love,
Thus I turn my gaze up to this glorious sky
Watching all of these fluffy clouds passing by
Until finally the sun rises..

~ Umi
MicMag Nov 2018
He wants none of it
The unrelenting fame
Paparazzi's lights
Never out of sight
The crushing weight
Of a well-known name


He wants none of it
The life-******* fame
Endless demands
From legions of fans
Happiness funneling
Right down the drain


He wants none of it
The soul-deadening fame
Prestige a cruel mistress
All joys turned to business
Dousing his spirit
To extinguish its flame


No, he craves anonymity
For stardom to cease
To be happy with less
Freed from the stress
True glory found
In a life lived in peace
PAD Poem-A-Day Challenge November 2018.
"write a glorious poem"

Prompt from Writer's Digest:
http://www.writersdigest.com/whats-new/2018-november-pad-chapbook-challenge-day-1
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