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“An ill of greed has befallen the land,”

“A quickening sickness which seeks to prey…”

“Where wealth accumulates and men decay.”
I WANT TO BE VERY CLEAR HERE..I DID NOT WRITE THIS. IT WAS WRITTEN ON A TWO THOUSAND YEAR OLD PIECE OF STONE ON DISPLAY IN JORDAN BELIEVED TO BE PHOENICIAN.

All I did was change the synonyms to make them modern.
...seeks to prove
that
nightmares,
are in fact;
Scary.
Logan Robertson Aug 2018
Stuffed seals.
Sits shelf,
soaking sunshine,
standing sentry,
soliciting smiles.
Shoppers smitten,
strike smiles,
spending silver.
Storied seals,
send shoppers shrilling.
Somewhere,
seamstresses
stitch supplementary shipments,
shaking store,
sustaining sales.
Sales staff splendidly stock shelf.
Seamlessly.
Such salvation, seals seeks.
Successfully, seashells.

Logan Robertson

8/1/2018
Shin Dec 2013
I don't know how to write happy poems
because I don't really believe in them.
I thought angst would die with adolescence,
but alas I can still feel its cold dint.

Perhaps like virginity this goes too;
no longer a creep standing idly by.
Plastic smiles taped to our cardboard faces
and yours alone I felt the need to prise.

That's okay, because the teenaged rosebud
that we claim to be so very unique
is beginning to wither, can't you see?
And now it's the thorns society seeks.

So look out over yonder cityscape.
Your mask shall be shed only by the moon.
Until then, a cartographer of love;
yours that is, we'll still pathetically swoon.
Tea Dec 2013
He is that high, dazed and alive
When you spend hours stealing
Glimpses at the stars
Like keys wrapped around a promise
To free you from these bars
Limitations placed so certainly
On top of you on top of me
I seek my way out
Like a star gazer seeks understanding
I’m planning on playing my hand just right
Putting you next to me
King of hearts at my side
Or maybe you are a joker,
Either way put on your poker face
We have life and space, set no pace
Like untimed steps under
A fall to far

Sing to me a jazzy song
From a time that’s far,
Dance with me
Dance along, move your feet
Make no promise you can’t keep
Just feel it
It’s like freedom but on fire
Like trust without certainty
Acrobat without a wire
Like letting go
A grand release
Like fearlessness
A found voice to speak
Passions pushed blood to cheek
Blushing past shades of pink
Pull you in, close to me
Fearless in you and me
Just fearless
SøułSurvivør Apr 2017
Blindness haunts the king who seeks
In vain do riches question
- but-
A beggar with a poor man's coat
Receives the greatest wisdom.

We, of sound and sturdy mind
Sniff rich bouquets of vanity
-but-
Fine wine is pressed by she who raves
Her hems stained with insanity.

Old men would have learn'd much
Had they been thus styl'd
-and-
There are no wiser phrases brought

Than those of a small child.
The second stanza was inspired
by Mary Winslow and her poem
"Answering Dylan Thomas'
"Love in the Asylum"
Nelsya Sep 2016
how to manage
this world
from falling apart
when the lands are cracking
and the humans are failing?

how to save
our only chance of living
when the only thing
that they think are worth saving
are themselves?

how to intrigue
those minds
whose corrupted
by the idea of wealthiness
not healthiness?

how to mend
these broken minds?
how to purified
these darkened souls?
how to be
good for this hollow world?

so like shreds of dandelions
we flew up and everywhere
sharing thoughts and hopes
for those who seeks comfort
inside this cold world
Mellow waves Apr 2018
Trust is a golden key to one’s heart
It is so strong yet easily shattered,
It is so pure yet easily blemished,
It is as strong as the howling of the wind,
It is truly, the craving that everyone seeks.
Bison Feb 2016
Wander through the deep
Bark hung thick in mossy greens
Tread so lightly through fallen leaves
Still he cannot find what he seeks
Silent between the eldest trees
Puissant piquant and predatory
And observant from afar
He looks down on your slumber
Like a door that's left ajar

Plying with his manly vice
A reckless male visage
A rogue of masculine device
Seeks entrance to your mind

He saunters with a swagger
A macho savvy moxie
To personify virility's incarnate
His dream zone's metier

He sifts your ****** entourage
In search of sprawls recumbence
To tantalize climactic fervor
With lambent photic scenes

Grasping at your revelries
He spies the wanton ****
With swanky strut appealing
Your primal urge to sate

He leaves undone resistance
With innate resilience seized
The lavish wayward implications
Of unrequited livid deeds

Like passion's lurid lecheries
An insatiable torrid sooth
You wrestle with his adamance
Your  carnal ecstasies revealed

You pounce on his exsertion
You splay your agile form
wriggling like a supple nymph
You accept his blatant storm

You writhe in your abandon
In a euphoric supplication
His machismo ****** enveloping
Your wildest latent needs

With no regrets or reticence
you awaken from this dream
To find yourself alone again
Like it had never been
I of we all create our own incubi and succubi and we should pay attention to their parameters
Nat Lipstadt Feb 2014
The Sounding Foam of Primal Things

*(The title and the poem, taken from and inspired by
Carl Sandburg's "Who Am I?")


wind and rain pound the surf.
snow falls on the beach, on the shore.
man-observer cannot tell:
has the earth gone mad, all wet?
do the seas rise, whipped up, filling the heavens,
or does the white rain replenishes the very body,
from whence it came, and now returns?

this matters greatly, yet nothing answers this, his question.

the furious soundings, the green foam churn,
the silence of no response inebriates,
drunk on the tempest's hard wet liquor,
weighed down, sodden with the despair,
solitude, silence, absent answers,
his natural walking companions!

No Stopping signs on almost every corner,
Do Not Pass, Do Not Enter,
One Way, Two Way, No Thru Passage,
but the one sign he seeks,
"Stay On The Path" absent.

Eluded,
dispassionate endings,
the essential quietude among
furious surround-sounds of creative destruction
he ceases to ask, for unanswered, undirected.

Concluded,
either
their is no one listening, or,
there is no one caring, or,

Deluded,
illusion is truth,
he is an illusion.

------------------
Who Am I?
By Carl Sandburg

My head knocks against the stars.
My feet are on the hilltops.
My finger-tips are in the valleys and shores of
     universal life.
Down in the sounding foam of primal things I
     reach my hands and play with pebbles of
     destiny.
I have been to **** and back many times.
I know all about heaven, for I have talked with God.
I dabble in the blood and guts of the terrible.
I know the passionate seizure of beauty
And the marvelous rebellion of man at all signs
     reading "Keep Off."

My name is Truth and I am the most elusive captive
     in the universe.
K Balachandran Feb 2014
Inebriated blue cloud,
I know you well enough
libertine ways you have
make you a lover of
deep thunder and meek rainbow
and also a chit of a lark
that loses itself in a song
be it is in grief or mirth.

Strange is the ways of my heart,
how much I long to fall in love with you
and proclaim this to the world scheming
to disrupt the pleasures one seeks
without any reason at all
"Look! love has no limits, no reason even
the lovely cloud, softness personified
caresses my foliage with sensuous abandon
kisses me with her wispy lips of moisture"

I know you understand, though unmindful of
my unbridled passion
making breaches in the limits,
I have no illusion about our improbable union.
True, how can we live
happily ever after?
I envy your gift of wings
though you have none visible,
you borrow it from the wayward wind,
too willing to carry your sweet load around.

I stood on the hill top,
wistfully thinking
that you will come and
take me within your soft folds
though I am a tree with deep running roots
that has become a restraining thing.

Freedom without any limit
gets you inebriated every minute,
your love for love,  makes you desirable
you live in the present, suspend thoughts on time to come
as it is hypothetical, you say.
You are in a hurry to roam
wherever lovers lead you one after the other
do you have an urge to dissolve and pour-
as water, without any remorse?

Do you know my  penitence for your love
on this hilltop is a true sacrifice?
My love for you doesn't bring anything
except my wilting hour after hour.
Let me be on your blue breast for moments
when my boiling love will seek
your shining center that melts, melts
we'd freeze as one, how long my darling?
Time would simply stand still
to a distance, i'd be transported,
where tree or cloud means nothing
we are an incessant rain lasting for ever.
Nickolas Niles Jun 2018
The pages dripped,
As so the time of the lover.
What seemed so pure,
Gone the distant time another.
From tears to blood,
Pleased and fitted the seeking lines.
This writing love,
Above all the pure soul he whines.
Somberly eased,
One seeks a fine place to rest on.
Of all chastised,
Left a soul requited and blessed.
Run forgiveness,
Placed heavenly upon his chest.
What you know...
Tammy M Darby Jul 2013
From the black recesses of the earth
She rose from her long slumber
Icy death smile on her crimson lips
Face gleaming with wicked knowledge


Slanted eyes of emerald green
Glazed and mad
Her crown jewels of the dead
Bleached human bones
Encircled her head

Fine glass complexion of shimmering gold
She spoke the words of The Sleeping Three
Hair falling in rich waves down to the floor of snakes
The color of the crows breast
A rich purple ebony

Snake scale gown of finely woven human skins
Gathered from her poor victims sin
Wrapped round her lithe body
A thousand souls it took to weave

Awakened from its dark sleep
Spells cast in  ****'s deep
By a powerful witch
Who stirred the cauldron
Tainted with revenge

The demon was now visible to sight
The apparition appeared in smoke and orange red light
To bow down and submit to the witches bidding
The command never waived from intent
One of chaos and death
Slaughtered, cold in rows they lay

Pity for the one this creature seeks
Of a terrible perfume her heart reeks
That of blood and brimstone
Perfumed smoke and fire
The devil is her line and sire


So by demons touch
Plotting cold hands
She claims the souls of mortal man
More thread for her clothing
The beautiful demon


This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base. All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws
Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright
Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3), Tammy M. Darby
Vrushali Jadhav Oct 2017
Where nowhere to go,
But somewhere to be !
My heart seeks for you,
As a bird searches its tree !

Around you I could be me,
As you felt like my home!
You made me a wanderer,
With the courage to roam !

All the pain,
That my heart holds!
Suddenly diminishes,
As your love for me, unfolds!

As I walk with you,
And stand by your side!
I promise to be your half,
Through the storm and the tide!

Shine like a star,
For my vulnerable sky!
As I show you,
How my love gets you high !

Together then we will see,
What feels like a FOREVER!
As you tight my hand,
And I leave you, NEVER
Jarret M Spiler Dec 2015
He crawls out of the mud,
starving for light,
no matter what the cost.

All he needs is an inkling,
just a tad,
just a moment,
just a rhythm,
To know he's winning.

Divinity,
he seeks
may be pure,
may be white,
but absent of light,
for the man in blight.

A great man doesn't fall from the sky,
He crawls out of the mud,
wet, raw, and ready to fight.
Dark Fjord Dec 2016
needling by the lake, she seeks me deafly,  
pure warm, and watery grave, gently released me of the week
to sleep, and to my flesh, I put to work, I kiss.
to be just with idleness or just with  laughter.

whose blue eyes are fairy, like the landscape
and with each day, I come to seek you,
she finds in me the cures,
oh gently, let's me down to you mirra, mirra, mirra.
sleeping beauty
Pax Jul 2018
What makes a poem
- a poem?
Does it express your
emotional life and
the selfish deeds
it contains
.... then you shamelessly
Share it...

Does it really matter
someone might
read it or not?
Someone might
understand you or
not, does that really
matter?

In the world
we live in
many hearts
have died
for they don't
know how our
pen works.
How it does
- what it does.

When a poem
does all the
technicalities,
it may seeks
the power of
fame and fortune
but does it really
matter?

I may not understand
fully what makes a poem
- a poem. But behind all
of it, I'm just here
trying to write a poem
whom my heart
spoke out loud
like he never could.
"How many have to die
so that you can feel loved.
by Florence + the Machine"

you know her music resonates my darkness.
her music really tugs some heartstrings I
tried to hide.
Nickolas Niles May 2018
The seven walked in fury,
No more a land called their home.
Forced many miles dreary,
All for a place called their own.
In a searching journey on,
They seek lost treasures hidden.
Each land to step, cross and come,
These exiled souls forbidden.
A rescuing hero large,
He seeks to redeem himself.
Even if till a last charge,
Saving souls fighting their ****.
Kingdoms to come together,
For peace and love forever.
And the epic saga continues...
trf Jul 2018
Does your darkness forecast shadows,
Lies arise like heat lighting statues,
Are the sharks circling our shallows,
Cause I'm bleeding, must be the answer.

Peripheral landscapes drape your gilded chatter,
Purple & pink horizons, summon laughter,
Your eyes are lightning speed patterns,
My clouds that follow, five miles per hour.

What in this wide world changes,
Can we live high on mountainsides,
Open our door to the strangers,
Exist surrendering to the ocean tides.

My palette craves color,
Your canvas seeks attention,
My callused fingers are covered,
When your callous words are mentioned.
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