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ohellobeautiful Sep 2018
no matter how hard
these winds blow and shake me
i stay  r o o t e d  with the Earth

storms exist to awake me
one of the first few
rhymes i ever wrote
*and still my favorite*
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
Alysia Marie Aug 2016
Even a flower
Can grow from something
That was once burned to ash

                                       Alysia Marie 2016 ©
We all have the potential to grow from our previous self and bring light to a moment that was once dull
rofan Apr 2018
You get deeper in to my chest
Till you become the heart of me
I shall connect my roots with you
Till you run in my blood
And my blood runs through you
I shall put my fangs deeper in to you
and I shall burn you down
Till there is nothing left of you
Not even a memory
Or a tear
Or a Whisper to the ear
it is not someone but something
Antino Art Nov 2018
Raised
in this floating
world, forever
deep.
You can’t drain the ocean

Decidedly from down
south of here
You can’t un-trace the roots.

You can’t lie and say,
“This isn’t where I grew up”
You can’t deny the fruits
of what was planted two generations ago
when your grandpatents arrived from the Philippines, seeds in tow
soil for the taking
You can’t confiscate what they claimed
when they planted their flags
into the moon-white sand of a beach in Florida
on a far side of the planet
their forefarthers have never seen

You can’t say those flags weren’t there
when wind came
You can't ***** out that pride
of country,
cut off its native tongue and its acquired taste, or pass up the plate of fried lumpia and rice passed down from the kitchen of your Daddylol
feeding seven kids day in and out with tomatoes he planted,
chickens he raised, Malonggay leaves he grew
with thumbs so green they wrote in the papers about it
He was a farmer
Your grandmother, a nurse
And i was writer
And this is our story

You can’t erase the letters of your name,
your lineage written all over it
like a map
of everywhere we been
You can’t take back the words in Tagalog and Chavacano
your Lola Shirley must have sang your mother to sleep with
You can’t take their dreams

You can't just wake up one day and undo
the ripple effects their moves
created across waters 10,000 miles east of here,
the rolling waves they curled into
or the faraway shores they washed up upon
Bottled messages in hand
Our legends held within
You can’t say centuries from now that they won’t feel it
when their feet hit the sand of their own frontier
beside the waves we stayed making
a history written in deep water
for those who come after you
to sail above and beyond.
For Nali
M Solav Sep 2018
Oh it's all hanging threads,
Hanging ligaments with drops of red:
Vines without poles - flesh without bones.

Events roll out in scarlatine flashes:
Eyes in crowd flap down their eyelashes
And in silence the suspense grows strong;

The bricks are set, the façade is over,
But from within, the house still lacks a structure:
One penetrates rooms without walls.

A memory from the depth is brought up,
A storyline used to link so many dispersed dots:
Leaves are flying free as the childhood tree rots...

Oh it's all hanging threads
Hanging sources, hanging roots:
Scars over the sun revolving in loops.

And the conduit narrows down,
Leaks a single bolt of light to glow:
An empty room as throne and crown

And a thorn, pain escaping death,
A frown of estrangement in the face
Of all that's known - what's most unknown.

Spectators stare deceptively
While promises of relief are spared;
They too are suspended in the air...

Oh it's all hanging threads
Hanging loose, hanging dead;
Waiting for the artisan to ease the noose.
Written in October 2017.
Via Ricasoli Dec 2017
For every moment spent together
I feel our roots growing

                                  d                  a
 ­                                e                  n            i
                               e                d                  n
                             p                       m               t
                               e                         o      e
                                    r                       r
                                         T         t        e
                                       h    w  
                                       i        
                                 n   c       
                              e       k    
                           d           e  
                                            r
Electric sun twirls its lava skirt.
Slammed woks.
Peanuts, chilli, limes and oil
Feeding him its lunch.
Shelter to chilli cheeks and peppercorn faces.
The air can't move its obese body to the rivers for a dip.

Darkness is hard with sturdy edges.
Curtains made of invisible beads and threads hang over the night in silence.
They spill against the concrete under rough hooves and feet
For the night falls like tight heavy lids.
Dusk is a bruised tunnel of vision.

Candlelit giants blinking rapidly.
You don't speak
For the night is never empty
The silence never lonely
Stampede of restlessness surrounding
Grinning from squint to squint
Raising embraces and chance encounters
They scream loudly to frighten the dawn.
© Teri Darlene Basallote Yeo
Addison René Nov 2017
i just want to drink some tea
and go to sleep
i'm tired of
another week of
defeat

i don't even like tea

growing up seems
stupid
i feel dumb and
useless
full of ****
and excuses
life's weird
and i'm so
foolish

leave me out
to dry
i just don't feel
like trying
love me
like another lie
so you can leave me for
some other storyline


i don't even like you
Hadrian Veska Sep 2018
I hear the soft breeze in the branches
Feel the strong roots below my back
I am alone here but not for long
So patiently will I wait
Listening to the world breathe
Wandering in and out of thoughts
Both profound and superficial
Resting for the time that be
Until I am not alone
Pyrrha Feb 12
I'm like the root of a tree,
all my strength hides beneath the surface
while all my weaknesses are exposed to every season
trembling in winter, blooming in spring
burning in summer, changing in autumn
but my roots stay strong and grounded
they hold all my passion, all my determination

So long as my roots stay strong, all my leaves can burn
I'll allow my bark to be torn apart, carved into
If it makes you happy
but I will continue to grow, to change
because my roots stretch far and deep
I will bend and break, but I will grow back
much greener and with more passion than before

You can destroy me on the surface,
but deep inside the earth's protective embrace
you can't harm me
Dimitris Sarris Sep 2016
I've been here not long ago
every way lead me there after all.
Oh heaven you won't let me go
trapped in this illusion
manifesting this delusion.
I keep on climbing even if it hurts.
Why do anything to hear what you want
even if it's wrong.
It would be a lie to let myself forgiving.
Slowly growing my lost roots
beneath some broken wings
mending my wounds.
I see it you see it
we both feel it.
Don't give in pain
let it rain.
Dimitris Sarris Dec 2017
Sailed in seas which match the heavens
wispered secrets at a sunset
and followed the trumbling stars
the ship anchored to land green and reach
an unearthly melody that filled the air.
It was not the foaming waves
not the bird's sing
nore the leaves rustling.
And so the traveller wondered in confusion
until he met a stranger sitting at the foreland.
He did not ask where he is but from
where this music comes from.
The stranger turned and spoke.
"It's Dagda's harp and Apollo's canto
both in tune with Bragi's poem.
Now i travel home for you found yours
and so i return."
Daisy Vallely Feb 28
I press my ear against her soft bark,
Damp and darkened by the cloud’s tears.
I hear an echo that envelopes my mind-
A familiar voice, without a face or a name- she is a vibration, she is a feeling.
Looking up, i watch her branches split the sky like an earth quake shattering the heavens.
Spanish moss drips down like solidified rain drops, frozen in time.
I sit upon her roots and dig my barren feet into the cool dirt
Amongst the acorns and shedding of her hair.
My nose is met with an earthly scent- a reminder to breathe.
This old tree watches lifetimes pass as the sun descends below the Earth, the moon rises into the ether, the stars wink at sleeping flowers, and the planets watch us dream.
I stay beside her until twilight cloaks the sky.
This old tree wears wisdom like a silken robe,
So beautiful in every crack and crevice of her body.
I count the stars with her until numbers turn to the sounds of beetle’s banter.
We all laugh together,
And fall asleep in the embrace of our coexistence.
Mystic Ink Plus Apr 2018
We all flourish, where our roots are

Probably I’m a wild herb,
That makes a difference,
I flourish more if I am uprooted

I find life in the Air,
Less, under the Soil
As they are

I sync with the Air
If unfavorable, I never sync

Staying dormant
Ever after
Genre: Observational

Theme: Inspired from Robert Evans thought,” There are three sides of every story: your side, my side and the truth. And no one is lying.”
James Floss May 24
We loved you
Pumpkin pie

And you
Bahzie boy

My bridge to the
Equine kingdom

Mitten, you made
My wife like cats

Begins a tragedy of three
A tale of other kitties

Stanley wandered too far
A tragedy of traffic

Babad not as far…
Both waited for us

No one wants to die alone
But still, we’ve been blessed

Goldie, I’m glad
You loved me

Little dog with
A heart too big

Thank you, Sue
For trusting us with Trudy

What a lucky man I am
To garner such love and trust

And of course, biggie guy,
He who once was named Hunter:

Gunther.
(Inset sadness here)

Chessy taught responsibility
With insulin shots at 6 & 6

Tristan y Isolde
(Stanley and Zolda)

Operatic lives lived
As comedy/tragedy

And, et-hem; yes
Even you, Ms. Berry

Past denizens
Of Chateau Flobo

Let’s not not leave out
The current cohorts:

Free spirit, wild child
Lucky Ducky

Biggie boy found you
You adopted us

Ms. Black-in-the-box
Moved herself in

And Fred—well,
Fred is just being Fred

They all found us
Not the other way around

From a big family,
We’ve loved/love a big family
ohellobeautiful Oct 2018
i'm not sure
who planted this seed
inside all of our heads
whispering quietly

”stop feeling so much"

who made the assumption
that feelings = weakness?
because those two terms
have never been seamless

to dip into your depths
with no feelings oppressed
takes the kind of courage
most fear cant be fed

weakness evolves
from putting all of
your energy into
building up
the walls
that block
the flow of life
that was meant
to move you
further into the
depths of the you
you didn’t know
you never knew

to feel
and i mean,
to really feeeel
every ounce of this
human experience
comes with a bravery
that most resist

it breaks you apart
shakes you down
uprooting all
that’s been

to guide you
from within

to let this life
overcome you
with whatever
emotions
it may,
while being
proud of it too?

now, that
is strength

that is the
weakness
pouring
out of
you

Lash Mar 25
my nap py roots are a natural root to the tree of life.
i dare not damage my sources to the source of light.
afro made all strong and sturdy,
a sprinkle of all that is worthy.
a sign that i am everything and i exist.
stop bleaching out your blackness.
i insist
that you cherish your being like you cherish material possessions
& feed into obsessions of your ego that knows of nothing else.
only mirrored image self,
detrimental to your health.
only focused on appearances and features.
beauty industry focal points
with tutorial teachers.
influencers influenced by ingenuine sources,
no natural resources.
your reign has been challenged.
may the best man be exalted.
words.
MG Dec 2018
how do you explain:
i'm the one who's broken my own heart.
years of allowing negativity into my cracks,
tolerating it's bloom.
only now trying to rip out their roots.
but they have grown like weeds.
manifested in my chest, tangled throughout my ribs.
constricting.
trying to make them love me, to make them see.
now~
trying to fall back in love with myself,
is really not that easy.
it actually hurts more than loving any one else.
because you know, more than anyone, what you're capable of.
good and bad.
but please, in my upmost hour of desperation,
im begging myself
to take myself back.
she misses you.
she needs you now more than ever.
still waiting for me to come back
Kelsey Feb 15
You are an exclamation point at the end of a sentence
You are a flashing beam from a lighthouse, guiding me home
You are a steel toed boot, strong and protective
You are a glistening chandelier, so bright and beautiful

You are a roar of laughter, the kind that comes from deep within
You are a warm blanket, comforting me and sheltering me from the cold
You are a knight in shining armor, saving me from the fiery tower
You are a soldier, fighting life's battles with the weapon of courage

You are the first face that I ever knew
My first friend
My first foe
My first true understanding of appreciation

You are a glimmer of hope when the world feels dark and gray
You are unconditional love, accepting of all flaws and imperfections

You are the sun
I am your flower
Without you, I would not grow

You are you, in every way
You are my mother
And you are loved
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