"rivalling" poems - Hello Poetry

So I may have to give you up. I will give you up Unless you tell me how you want to be with me. If lovers need not be together to love each other then Together transformed into truth and luck And I would give you up Perhaps say, do not ever take him away. My love, I want to say (Can I say) don't roam so far away from me A moment without you is a year to drag aching shoulders with long fingernails A sleepy guest unwelcomed after midnight, that is your goodbye. Because, you are part of the forgotten voyages made of strawberry seas and orange trees But I have to give you up like how trees give freely our breathing. What was given, returns and arrives in your speak drifting, steps gliding, search farwinding, slow stroll, such is your gaze. The way you have lingered is mine, how you looked at me is also mine. Tears you gave me are diamonds that fell lost deep under the earth nobody else knows where to find. Time for you to seek a love like mine, the seeking of an adventure. An old fashioned romance historian love Rivalling of an old century over the millenium. Only you (in this moment) know my contribution to this world that which is only you.

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May 9, 2018

May 9, 2018 at 11:14 PM UTC

DarjeelingT

Adventures of your century love

So I may have to give you up. I will give you up Unless you tell me how you want to be with me. If lovers need not be together to love each other then Together transformed into truth and luck And I would give you up Perhaps say, do not ever take him away. My love, I want to say (Can I say) don't roam so far away from me A moment without you is a year to drag aching shoulders with long fingernails A sleepy guest unwelcomed after midnight, that is your goodbye. Because, you are part of the forgotten voyages made of strawberry seas and orange trees But I have to give you up like how trees give freely our breathing. What was given, returns and arrives in your speak drifting, steps gliding, search farwinding, slow stroll, such is your gaze. The way you have lingered is mine, how you looked at me is also mine. Tears you gave me are diamonds that fell lost deep under the earth nobody else knows where to find. Time for you to seek a love like mine, the seeking of an adventure. An old fashioned romance historian love Rivalling of an old century over the millenium. Only you (in this moment) know my contribution to this world that which is only you.

18

Pods routed back and forth Inside Cells linked to the central nervous system Soulless The cry of a sapling Lush, primal sounds But deaf to the neighbours All distracted by a stream A tweet "Doors closing..." Repeated beeps Launching sprints Rivalling Olympians But not all pass the finish line The end of the line: School Work Leisure Three modes activated Upon the opening of pod doors A hurry Never stopping Never hearing Never open Of hearts Wallets A song from yesterday The flower withers Pulp for pennies The flower withers Only so much could be done Outside the system

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Nov 16, 2016

Nov 16, 2016 at 11:17 PM UTC

justin-lai

System (a Singapore subway)

Pods routed back and forth Inside Cells linked to the central nervous system Soulless The cry of a sapling Lush, primal sounds But deaf to the neighbours All distracted by a stream A tweet "Doors closing..." Repeated beeps Launching sprints Rivalling Olympians But not all pass the finish line The end of the line: School Work Leisure Three modes activated Upon the opening of pod doors A hurry Never stopping Never hearing Never open Of hearts Wallets A song from yesterday The flower withers Pulp for pennies The flower withers Only so much could be done Outside the system

32

Meet me under the 'Clock Tower'.......’you said’ cold.... The missing sun hibernated, could not melt your denial Your promise smudged, felt its docile absence And I knew....gathered in moss, under the stone of lies. Mistrust hung itself, swung above the entrance....rivalling My happy cove. It creaked to a heartbeat....b-bump, b-bump Shelling out memories like peas. I recalled the very first time I captured your eyes, the hesitation we felt......to blink and turn away A thief stole and robbed the essence of you ......no stone Unturned...I absorbed the waiting, dragged my heavy soles Where is your foot print? Your imprint prescribed for my wellbeing Two to be taken each day....preparing the cradles that rock my feet Absurd, now I look back, that your word of promise...pretended You named her "Constance", or was that the 'She woman' I glimpsed you attached to last week. When huddled Together under your 'love' umbrella, soaked in one another

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Mar 11, 2013

Mar 11, 2013 at 9:10 AM UTC

laura-susan-smith

Clock Tower

Meet me under the 'Clock Tower'.......’you said’ cold.... The missing sun hibernated, could not melt your denial Your promise smudged, felt its docile absence And I knew....gathered in moss, under the stone of lies. Mistrust hung itself, swung above the entrance....rivalling My happy cove. It creaked to a heartbeat....b-bump, b-bump Shelling out memories like peas. I recalled the very first time I captured your eyes, the hesitation we felt......to blink and turn away A thief stole and robbed the essence of you ......no stone Unturned...I absorbed the waiting, dragged my heavy soles Where is your foot print? Your imprint prescribed for my wellbeing Two to be taken each day....preparing the cradles that rock my feet Absurd, now I look back, that your word of promise...pretended You named her "Constance", or was that the 'She woman' I glimpsed you attached to last week. When huddled Together under your 'love' umbrella, soaked in one another

16

Why this quietness? Why this seriousness? Why this modesty? Has the old lizard Grown another tail? Oh, my immutable love, The impalpable pure-scented Dawn that impales my thoughts, Have thou reached an impasse? For the clouds have gathered And there is nothing more To expect but the storm, My sliding helpless slick rhythm, Thy words are always covered with Stitches of honey in my heart, Who is this impious imp? Rivalling with my angelic heart? Indeed, you love is wet and slippery. © PRINCE NANA ANIN-AGYEI Email: [email protected]

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Apr 8, 2013

Apr 8, 2013 at 6:41 AM UTC

prince-anin-agyei

THE DEMURE OF LOVE

Why this quietness? Why this seriousness? Why this modesty? Has the old lizard Grown another tail? Oh, my immutable love, The impalpable pure-scented Dawn that impales my thoughts, Have thou reached an impasse? For the clouds have gathered And there is nothing more To expect but the storm, My sliding helpless slick rhythm, Thy words are always covered with Stitches of honey in my heart, Who is this impious imp? Rivalling with my angelic heart? Indeed, you love is wet and slippery. © PRINCE NANA ANIN-AGYEI Email: [email protected]

20

Crowds gathered and the noise of disobedience shook the neighbourhood whole. I was in the southern part of the city, where sinners sinned and the practitioners groomed the bars and off licenses solely to quench their thirst for liquor. It was almost midnight and hordes of young and old alike chanted and sung merry making song that rang through city; and what a noise it was. And it was on this night I met a lad who dressed as if the night belonged to him. A tall, slender fellow who hadn’t a care in the world. His Caribbean afro would bob up and down as we giggled to anecdotal stories of the past. We were rebels of the night, breaking away from the fragile unity that was the friendship circle. A few stragglers in the form of Chavs had joined. Many of them formed bonds with the pretty girls, rivalling us out in the end. Deciding momentarily on what our next plan was, we split away from the group and continued midnight drinking into the Holy Lands. We could hear the barking of neighbourhood dogs tangle with the distant explosions of fireworks in the sky. It was beautifully chaotic. But as midnight sinners it was like music to our ears. “I’m off mate, take care of yourself.” The fellow said as he guzzled his last remainder of his bottled Budweiser. “You heading home, aye?” I smirked, clearly egging him on to stay out just a tad longer. But, this was to be it. With a hug and a good luck, he was off, towards the mystic backstreets and towards the Ormeau Road. I never caught the young lad’s name, nor did I ever catch his age. It was a strange meeting between the two of us. As if, for one singular night we knew everything about each other yet knew nothing at all. I recall sitting back down on the sidewalk and smiling, before looking up towards the decorative sparkly night sky. And, what turned out to be a spontaneous and random night ended up as a completed final chapter, to a superb little story.

0

Feb 21, 2019

Feb 21, 2019 at 8:06 AM UTC

he-who-explores

St Patrick's Day '14

Crowds gathered and the noise of disobedience shook the neighbourhood whole. I was in the southern part of the city, where sinners sinned and the practitioners groomed the bars and off licenses solely to quench their thirst for liquor. It was almost midnight and hordes of young and old alike chanted and sung merry making song that rang through city; and what a noise it was. And it was on this night I met a lad who dressed as if the night belonged to him. A tall, slender fellow who hadn’t a care in the world. His Caribbean afro would bob up and down as we giggled to anecdotal stories of the past. We were rebels of the night, breaking away from the fragile unity that was the friendship circle. A few stragglers in the form of Chavs had joined. Many of them formed bonds with the pretty girls, rivalling us out in the end. Deciding momentarily on what our next plan was, we split away from the group and continued midnight drinking into the Holy Lands. We could hear the barking of neighbourhood dogs tangle with the distant explosions of fireworks in the sky. It was beautifully chaotic. But as midnight sinners it was like music to our ears. “I’m off mate, take care of yourself.” The fellow said as he guzzled his last remainder of his bottled Budweiser. “You heading home, aye?” I smirked, clearly egging him on to stay out just a tad longer. But, this was to be it. With a hug and a good luck, he was off, towards the mystic backstreets and towards the Ormeau Road. I never caught the young lad’s name, nor did I ever catch his age. It was a strange meeting between the two of us. As if, for one singular night we knew everything about each other yet knew nothing at all. I recall sitting back down on the sidewalk and smiling, before looking up towards the decorative sparkly night sky. And, what turned out to be a spontaneous and random night ended up as a completed final chapter, to a superb little story.

4

I hate being up in the morning every morning the same, rising with no hope of relief I mean, why bother? There's no warmth to nestle in, no dark to slip into no sweet scented dew to take this ache from my head. Frankly I feel mocked, as though old beady eye is thumbing his nose, laughing maniacally at my frustration He deserves a beating, to be pounded with fervour but I wouldn't give him the satisfaction. So I sit and smoke giving my best thousand yard stare rivalling Clint Eastwood, while he stands proudly smirking, defiant, unyielding a stand off, silent as I ignore his twitchy responses to my stoic suffering His resolve only stiffening mine as I refuse to make his day.

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Jul 20, 2014

Jul 20, 2014 at 3:53 AM UTC

ryan-jakes

Up

I hate being up in the morning every morning the same, rising with no hope of relief I mean, why bother? There's no warmth to nestle in, no dark to slip into no sweet scented dew to take this ache from my head. Frankly I feel mocked, as though old beady eye is thumbing his nose, laughing maniacally at my frustration He deserves a beating, to be pounded with fervour but I wouldn't give him the satisfaction. So I sit and smoke giving my best thousand yard stare rivalling Clint Eastwood, while he stands proudly smirking, defiant, unyielding a stand off, silent as I ignore his twitchy responses to my stoic suffering His resolve only stiffening mine as I refuse to make his day.

23

Then rose the mighty cusp of the storm. Jagged black edges overcame white and clouds begat dark gigantic height after height as blue, frightened away, dissolved into rivalling grey and rain threatened its splatter. Came the great clap then began Dancing. Two forked arrows of garnet-fire-clash, sky-wide flamenco cavorted before me, a tree cracked as it gasped in last breath and echoed by more thunder-applause I for dry ran homeward. Four-walled protection inspired my pen. Storm then began shaping all over again.

0

Nov 11, 2016

Nov 11, 2016 at 5:27 PM UTC

fay-slimm

Shaping The Storm.

Then rose the mighty cusp of the storm. Jagged black edges overcame white and clouds begat dark gigantic height after height as blue, frightened away, dissolved into rivalling grey and rain threatened its splatter. Came the great clap then began Dancing. Two forked arrows of garnet-fire-clash, sky-wide flamenco cavorted before me, a tree cracked as it gasped in last breath and echoed by more thunder-applause I for dry ran homeward. Four-walled protection inspired my pen. Storm then began shaping all over again.

16

The prayer from a distance a fusion of illusions, a summit of delusion, the lustrous tones binding hopes--dissolved. The prayer from a distance Again a vivid desire, too uncouth to confront. A rivalling mist searching amidst, many mouths' discerning noises, looking for a crescent to leap down, to grasp what is fading; a solemn soul's core of another's loving prayer.

0

Nov 23, 2020

Nov 23, 2020 at 12:59 AM UTC

piyath

~The prayer~

The prayer from a distance a fusion of illusions, a summit of delusion, the lustrous tones binding hopes--dissolved. The prayer from a distance Again a vivid desire, too uncouth to confront. A rivalling mist searching amidst, many mouths' discerning noises, looking for a crescent to leap down, to grasp what is fading; a solemn soul's core of another's loving prayer.

15

(Me slippery fingers slither, slip and slide splashing ala Jackson ******* sans slap dash experimental, swiftly tailored and harried writing style, yes on par with purging, spewing, venting...unexpurgated, unexpressed, unexplained... words, which this Engelbert Humperdinck singer/songwriter, (whose name inexplicably popped into the mind of this Dadaist) offers "FAKE" apology for any self inflicted, or sadomasochistic flagellated cranial contusions out of utter futility to make sense regarding following gobbledygook! GOOD LUCK! Mine groovy palmar flexion creases forever moistened by porous size **** leaking levees provoking deluge outranking Biblical flood - handy history (in miniature) replete with Ark keel logical artifacts discovered by hall n oats marked wainwright - about 10 stone and 5 pound huckster, circa Fin de siècle, when callous ten hooks (calisthenics, eh) caught without Noah shadow of a doubt proof positive by Matthew Scott, (amat sure his surname) linkedin to storied testament rivalling epic of Gilgamesh, nee the entire spoilers alerts since dawn of civilization writ small impossible mission to decipher indelibly etched, (what appear as Egyptian hieroglyphics), methinks his perspiration contains preservative agent, (a natural formaldehyde like substance) generated nsync to maintain eternal youthfulness, which stumps medical community, and earned him hashtagged "hotmail" (eagerly sought after human commodity), a blessing and curse palms plagued with chronic wetness, yet lines (little flushed streams of consciousness) rowed by itty bitty teensy weensy merry daydreamers harkens back when life held faint promise for scattered (contra) bands of bipedal hominids fiercely competing with trumpeting (Taj Mahal sized) beasts (donned tousled windswept hirsute trademark) Euclid heir'm barreling along barren steppes all around the one straggly mulberry bush, where one pensive monkey (protohuman) chased the weasel all around the world wide web.

0

Feb 13, 2019

Feb 13, 2019 at 4:02 PM UTC

matthew-scott-harris2p

Palm History Awash With Drips

(Me slippery fingers slither, slip and slide splashing ala Jackson ******* sans slap dash experimental, swiftly tailored and harried writing style, yes on par with purging, spewing, venting...unexpurgated, unexpressed, unexplained... words, which this Engelbert Humperdinck singer/songwriter, (whose name inexplicably popped into the mind of this Dadaist) offers "FAKE" apology for any self inflicted, or sadomasochistic flagellated cranial contusions out of utter futility to make sense regarding following gobbledygook! GOOD LUCK! Mine groovy palmar flexion creases forever moistened by porous size **** leaking levees provoking deluge outranking Biblical flood - handy history (in miniature) replete with Ark keel logical artifacts discovered by hall n oats marked wainwright - about 10 stone and 5 pound huckster, circa Fin de siècle, when callous ten hooks (calisthenics, eh) caught without Noah shadow of a doubt proof positive by Matthew Scott, (amat sure his surname) linkedin to storied testament rivalling epic of Gilgamesh, nee the entire spoilers alerts since dawn of civilization writ small impossible mission to decipher indelibly etched, (what appear as Egyptian hieroglyphics), methinks his perspiration contains preservative agent, (a natural formaldehyde like substance) generated nsync to maintain eternal youthfulness, which stumps medical community, and earned him hashtagged "hotmail" (eagerly sought after human commodity), a blessing and curse palms plagued with chronic wetness, yet lines (little flushed streams of consciousness) rowed by itty bitty teensy weensy merry daydreamers harkens back when life held faint promise for scattered (contra) bands of bipedal hominids fiercely competing with trumpeting (Taj Mahal sized) beasts (donned tousled windswept hirsute trademark) Euclid heir'm barreling along barren steppes all around the one straggly mulberry bush, where one pensive monkey (protohuman) chased the weasel all around the world wide web.

55