Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Here come the formidable rains,
An air of sombreness it decrees.
With it, bringing--
The tears of the forgotten dead,
Cleansing the earth of our influence.
Francie Lynch Jan 22
I took the pen with me,
After signing the parlor guest book,
At the Home.

You might think of forgiving me,
Thinking as good people do,
I took it as a memorial sticking point;
But I didn't know the deceased.

I was acting as a devout escort,
To be seen as doing the right thing.
Perception, you've been told,
Is everything.

So, I made sure no one saw me
Take the pen.

For extra insurance,
To project my semblance,
Following the eulogies,
I attended the luncheon,
And ate salmon sandwiches,
And carrot sticks.
On leaving, I grasped the hands:
Sorry for your troubles;
Came home and used that pen,
To create this.
The End.
Gabrielle Isa Nov 2017
His "I love you" came swiftly.
Like the monsoon pouring down on a leaky roof
Those three words broke through my defences.
At first they were an ambrosia;
They sustained my life and our relationship.
At least for a short time.

Then "I love you" became an excuse;
For absences, and purpose-filled accidents.
And I ignored the warning signs, the flashing lights.
I pretended like "I love you" was enough...

...But it wasn't.
His "I love you"s were like band-aids on bullet wounds;
Like using play dough to fix cracks in concrete walls.
But I rationed our good memories,
I held on as tight as I could to our love
And watched as it slipped through my fingers.

His "I love you"s became poison
That seeped deep into my bones
And turned blue skies grey,
And turned light into darkness,
And slowly killed whatever semblance of love
I fooled myself into thinking we had left.
Mara W Kayh Jan 21
My life is a virtual battlefield
complete with hidden traps,
layered atop cowardly assaults

between highly guarded spans of peace,
Inside my house
chairs and walls
are coarsely blown to bits
by verbal bombs,
and stark fists of shrapnel.

Behind that simple smile,
semblance of solid love
so easily shaken,
lies a ripened mine field

I tread on tiptoes
yet it erupts under
calloused feet unprovoked,
blasting glory to grey
as sacred sanctuary
falls to scarred terrain.

Spears lodged inside ribs
I peel myself from the ground,
shake off soot,
wait for dust to settle
before I march forward, again.

yes I lose the battles
But I will win this war.
Reminded me of the song by Pat Benatar, "love is a battlefield"
But again, hate seeps in as well.
Andrew Jun 2017
My sympathy depleted
My friendships deleted
I have been defeated
By truths that hit so hard
I was decleated
By intense hatred deep-seeded
My history was repeated

I guess a three-armed mutant
Has no need for a right hand man
Until his leprosy riddled hands rot off
When he needs them the most
But his ***** limbs had been pretty useless for a while
Since he had lost feeling in them
He had to do a biopsy on his life
After the inaccurate results of the smear test
He took antibiotics to rid himself of the bacteria
But that didn't heal the nerve damage
He yearned for the rhetoric to be less inflammatory
So he took steroids
Transforming the ***** into an ogre
With no semblance of humanity
...Except for the people he devours
Their patience is delicious
He eats that first
Their pity is a delicacy
A rare treat
Their disgust tastes sour
But it's a feast
His cannibalism may seem callous
But the non-mutant lepers take Thalidomide
And get pregnant
Their kids come out defected
With an intense, deep-seeded hatred for three-armed mutants
And lepers and ogres look exactly the same
To those of another species
flowing rivers simulate the virtual reality of love
warriors topple over forgotten
like cartons of used milk
silk worms speak sovereign messages and warn us of our fate
are we ill or are we healthy
stealthily imprisoned by our visions
finish the sentences and sever your attachments
respecting tradition leads to detachment
a semblance of serenity
the giver of the dawn used shards of standard force
hover in the mind’s sky
houses pass you by
in finite allegories
gardens blossom
governing movies and seating our jobless
go outside now
remove the shades from your eyes
breathe in soma and drink from the sky
sightless sorrow forges on towards tomorrow
art is a balancing act
she came out of her shell in order to tell you a story
of garlands of silver and gold
woven finely into ribbons
greased with oil from a rare toad
Will May 2017
There she stood. Beautiful. Perfect. As I looked at her she faded away. Not because I was forgetting her, but because she had forgotten me.
When the world turns. The days changes. Night's dark veil is pierced by the spear of oncoming daylight. Day reigns triumphant until the darkness arrives, drowning out the light. This endless cycle goes on. My heart beats on.
The battles never cease. The war knows no end. But her love knew an end. Without her love, the days seem shorter and the nights drag on.
The darkness chokes the light faster than before. The daylight whimpers behind a shield of clouds and rain, Spring drags on. Summer drags on. Fall drags on. Winter drags on. The world drags on. My heart drags on. Missing her. Loving her. Crying for her.
The day reminds me of the joy I do not have. The night drowns me with its cool touch. How much longer until the night lasts forever? When will the daylight become a lie I tell my children before they go to bed?
Rocks tumble down the hillside of my face. They turn to dust, blowing away in the breeze. The memories of those boulders sting worse than the quake itself. The avalanche of grief in my heart floods any semblance of normality.
Life has always found a way to go on. But not for my internal purgatory. My self hating prison of darkness. As the imperfect man waits for heaven or hell, so does my heart wait for judgment.
PC classic Oct 2017
the morning light tides in
through the window
and searches the house
for it's semblance
and gently dims back
into streetlights

I existed

like a stone
or the wall
or the clock hanging on the wall
moving with time
not lending much disturbance
to it

Some days are like
wrinkled metaphors
a trash can
Marla Jul 18
my cold little world
is spinning violently,                                          
                                     its sensations grappling
every semblance of my spirit                                
                          ­                as everyone keeps living
and i just...
i've been waiting for a guide to come and take me by the hand
Anderson M Sep 2018
Astutely speaking, we all at some point

Ponder on matters spiritual, the kind
In the realms outside observable phenomena.
Even to some extent, we can’t help
Consulting various spiritual practitioners to
Extrapolate circumstances prevalent in the future.

Otherworldly beauty is not only a matter of
Fascination it’s an obsession too.

Hallowed space in today’s world is
Exceedingly limited, an abundant scarcity
A paucity of meaning attached to it.
Various denominations exist to
Entrench a semblance of piety to counter
A rather stack waywardness.
Neverland, is it real?
CK Baker Jul 19
there’s a semblance
of order
in the pink eye
of the street man
that messianic soul
(caught deep
in the binary)
glancing on
with rose colored glass
and magical spoons
skimming whimsically
(and cocksure)
dancing on the
crab grass
with his
home grown *****
and cheroot

lost in a dialogue
(complete with
wink and jest)
the day with
spontaneity and cheer
grinning profoundly
(an incomprehensible grin)
covering a nicked
and scarred
ear to ear

summer drought
or winter rain
are indifferent
in this mind
culling on his own terms
(with a honed discretion)
pundits would say
that he spoke
in a broken crow
or nigerian slang
(but only he knows
that eloquence)

cloaked, and head steady
behind whispers
of tavener
(he had always
said they were enough)
he gets on
with the rosary ~
and finds
comfort lost
ryn Oct 2014
She comes to me every night...
When all is asleep with stars lit yonder.
Comes to me with subtle might
Peeking fiendishly from darkness's cover

Await such time she'd choose to show
Await the chance to finally take.
Ready to pounce like a well tensioned bow
Arrow-like talons, ever honed to stake.

Awake or asleep, she would come without fail.
Creep is her gait; this shadow clad figure.
Always a ***** in my impervious mail.
Claiming her wants with ferocious fervour.

Deemed to be strong, easier to succumb.
Don't fight...don't struggle... Don't call for aid...
Just wait and will yourself numb
She'd come regardless of prayers that's said.

She was here with me last night
In bed, I stared at a being that's faceless...
And my heart wrenched tight.
Gripping and feeding me senseless...

Soon as she came, she left but not before
Siphoning the good and replacing with dread...
Stole was what she did; left me wanting more...
Once deed is done, into the dark she fled.

I know her all too well,
Nocturnal guest that I unknowingly invite
Her intentions to incite, not quell
Send me spiralling through emotional blight.

Day will recede, making room for dark
She'll come; swift and without sound.
She'll arrive majestic; inflicting her mark
I'll wait for her, ready and unbound.

Looking forward to her return
This silent foe whom I find familiar.
With every touch I cringe and burn
Oh secret friend whom I'm beginning to savour...

She is synonymous with various names
Each would bear the likeness of semblance
Let fly her cloak of not dissimilar aims
Endearingly I call her...,

ryn Jul 2014
In a few moments I'd be thirty-five
Excited not but a feeling of dread
Time has come but have yet to arrive
I lay with a pillow over my head.

Tears streaming with eyes burning hot
Gasps in between, riddled with disbelief
Mess I've made that I wished I had not
It manifests itself in full ****** grief.

Discontented with how far I've fallen
Far cry from any semblance of my dream
So deep, wonder how far I'd have sunken
Long way down fraught with tears it would seem.

The sun had shone in the days before
Tonight it seems I'm alone in the dark
Wounds I thought had healed; still open, and sore
Thought they'd disappear but instead leave a mark.

Where do I turn before I start moving
I wish that I had some sort of bearing
Truth is in circles I have been walking
Plagued by questions that now need answering.

Like every year, I'd still make my journey
A lifetime it seems; walking with aimless pace
Wounds be forgotten and would scar eventually
Next year, I'd arrive back at this very same place...
28th November 2013
Andrew Jul 2017
Your friendship feeds the fire
Because you're my entire
You're my whole completion
But I have a worry secretion
You'll use a companion deletion

When we're having fun
You and I are one
I feel extremely close to you
For you teach me the value of two
But you begin to lose me
At the introduction of three
Jealousy piles on more
Once you reach four
And so on and so on
Until I'm all gone

The fire we've built together is too great
I fear the day
You are burnt by the friendly fire
The pain brings you to your senses
And you notice the extent of my wildfire
Having no semblance of control
It must be extinguished
Because by this point
It's all I can see
Part of my family tree
A fire that burns so bright
It protects me from night
But the fire was so red
It travelled to my head
You see how that went
With me pitching a tent
To hide in solitude
From the steam that rises
When fires must be put out
Happy to hit 50. Appreciate all the support and feedback. I try to keep communication to a minimum to see how the poetry stands on it's own. Thank you to those that have read any of my poems. If you're one of the few that have read all of them, you may understand me more than most of the people in my life.
Even the scene I was making was making a scene:
I've been freed by friendlessness, so why do old pals
embitter w/ velleity a reunion can still rouse?
It's just I'm so swizzed by reading trueselfbydates.
Shawl, who is also called Pall; runagate who is also prostrate.
To the bull's eye, the hawkeye is palpable, tangible, felt
To the hawkeye, the bull's eye is palpable, tangible, felt.
Phone went. Atonement? Opponent. Alone meant
renewal of the same old selfentering entertainment.
Narcissistic conception: a privately bred clone
'tis my duty to bully, torture earnestly. One does one's own.
British Ionists don't even understand Zirony.
But I wish I was as simple as just contradictory.
Tragready? Incipit tragoedia: travesties hurt.
Like seeing my Riot Grrl swiothrrt in a 'Travis' tshirt.
Trillions killed during filming, fastforwarded orchids.
Cast of inexpendable heart oscitation deleted.
To einsof soft life on the air, we're lost. In the sour feast,
50 years' service is a ****** on the mantlepiece.
*******, mon semblance! Goose scry to the scaly
Torygraph; Presidented Gein; masSACREDad (God's Mochrie).
It takes CITV & CBBC & pre-DWP DSS & pre-DSS
DHSS to raise a child, not a Doubting Momus.
Dreamflounder, dreamfloater, dreambounder in a dreamboater.
English country Capgras bros. of a stranger in  an oater.
Nil admirari, ennui, omnui, zennui, nitchevo.
Yet buckaroo Love's hopingpong lives out my spermself's FOMO.
I foamed at the month, Lysember, annually,
for flavour of the mouth should be Oxyjanuary.
Sandwich artists, stationary bloggers & ancient astronaut
theorists all walked Jackonoryology in school reports.
'Sweirdly emasculating, like a tall grandmother,
how I cannot poetsplain the future or its lovers.
1,000 albino bishybarnabees rorschach the tragic
lantern: swarm th'only pattern of fatback TV static.
Negress of the World dreams of unio Mr.Car
in the cave of charades that's shrine to an umbra.
Afflatic calculus of tragic trajectories, romantic ratios:
lyricalgebra. Show my working: Statement of Aesthetics, Rothko.
Song of alien vitalism, Neanderthal Jesse Garon.
Prosody fit for Methuselated muse, Struldbrugg paean.
How clean is your dream disqualidayhome celebrikitchen
bug in **** conscience, Carol Vorderline? Pigpen's plugin.
Jack of Shapes, Jack of Ages, Jack of Doors, Jack of Cues.
Best of all possible Lords to follow? Serendipitous debuts.
The Devil writhes a kiddiefiddlin' schtick.
The Devil is a devout Catholic.
Pincered zen selfsparta builtsitting in what it's from:
cogito keeping its damnable cheek above fatsam & fleshsam.
I feel it so intensely: irony of ironies when I don't care.
Selffulfulling jelly w/ nothing to fear but fears nothing hears.
Experienshit, differenshit, definitely still ****, diffranchiser
of scheisser. Choken record: wist zither, aubade nebuliser.
You pick up. Seashellsussurus of a radioed purlieu.
Your crepitant crelp, monastic by virtue of ***** flu.
Bellybutton ash/blue & green dahlia: inner & outer bull
of bull's eye anthropocentrism. Both can & can't be too careful.
Hawkeye Bennu or other siderolite's solipsism
cuts short my nut cutlet nuncheon: absurdissimum prism.
duane hall Feb 28
Although it was early in our courtship
I thought You and I had a lasting relationship
We hit it off like  celebrities at an Oscar presentation
I was totally enamored, there was no hesitation
Only to discover I was just one of your boy toys
More to the point, just another one  of your donor boys
I'm just an ornament you hang on your Christmas tree
I just wasn't good enough to complement your pedigree
I'm just another amulet hanging from your neck
Good God woman you're nothing but a train wreck
Now I see you for who you really are
You squeezed my grunions in a vise and put them in a jar
Only to discover I was part of an  array
You put on the shelf as an elaborate display
I wasn't even  good enough for a seat in the front row
I guess our relationship  was nothing but a freak show
I was nothing but an ornament to satisfy your  ego
While I still have some semblance of pride I think it's time to go.
Axion Prelude Aug 2018
I'll seek refuge in places that don't hold my name to be true, and even in emptiness I remain wrought through heavy handed tones of antipathy

Echoes of resolute desire plea with somber empathy, but remain indefinitely beyond the horizon of which I can not seek - and I shall remain waiting for something that has yet to come, for good it seems..

It rings barren any semblance of genuineness, the shadows I fall under; in plighted qualms, through quarreled teeth; without strength to hold my own, my very soul becomes the ground with which they walk

Desolation is the staunch friend from which I may not doubt will never be there in my time of need; and what I truly need, I fear, will never set foot upon my gaze

Like a sullen rose barred behind a glass wall, bereft of life giving nutrients and slowly wilting away one pedal at a time: I'll solemnly gaze upon the last glimmer of hope what was once profound and pure, now gripped with agony, and sin; decaying, alone, forever out of reach with only my eyes and heart to embrace it, yet never once again know what it may feel like to hold close with my own flesh

I am surrounded by an unspoken emptiness; an infinite abyss in every direction, except forward - and to each footstep I hear an echo of its past, one more inch beyond itself and gone before the last moments incur what hollow life is left within

Each passing moment brings me further to the edge of the unknown, this hope that's guided me for this long has burned like an eternal candle, now wisping what light is left to bear before me

One step more, and into the embracing darkness I will fall unto

The cries of war are beginning to recess; the battle has ceased, and I am still without a place to call home
I am utterly exhausted, in heart, mind, and soul
Matt Shaw May 2017
I plucked a book from my closet
The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson
I open to a random
The Test of Love -- is Death

It hurts
to hold this book
to hold this poem
in my hands

because you got me this book

you showed me all the most painful things
brand new, this book, ******* you with wine in my veins
and played me out, and I was young and dumb
I should have played the game, but I flipped out
you were terribly cute, threateningly Norwegian
I HATE to admit this, but I STILL love you like
the deepest laceration, the sorest wound of this animal
though I know it to be only longing
for the semblance of a truly wild life.

It hurts so bad because I'll die and never talk to you again
I always purposefully acted crazy and burned bridges with every ex-lover
Here's what I held from myself:

I know that I am good enough
That I don't have to worry
That I will overwrite your memory
With new love, true and blazing bright
And it will all be okay. More than that,
It will mean more than you could ever mean to me.
"it's either my thyroid
or an iron deficiency"
i would say.

but it was always you:
etching away at
my waist
my thighs
my cheeks
to the bare bone.

how did you expect me
to busy myself
while i slowly withered away,
waiting for the day
when you'd realize how
were the one
who was drowning me?

but it's just that
every ******* time our eyes met,
or we grazed each other
under the platonic guise,

i collapsed.

i exhaled,
retaining my semblance of calmness
while i dutifully
parted ways with
another fragment of my pure innocence;

i knew it was you.
it always was you.
A baby being bathed in the kitchen sink
His soul is wasted
I feel like the nemesis
He becomes a part of the background
married to the foliage
Clinging to a semblance of security
And I can't sit here for forever (eternity,infinity)
Reflecting sharp green leaves
Palm trees illuminated by
drops of twisting Sun
Kaleidoscope lights spread across
insular rooms
Open the circle, close the circle, trade a blanket of tobacco
A December of remembering
living in a snowglobe
Chewing on gum until it looses flavor
Crimes of passion, if you trace the tail back it flickers zig-zag like from side to side
A rattle that burns the skin red
A cackling bonfire
You just visit on the weekend
empty seas Oct 2018
i feel so cold and alone
all the hurt i’ve experienced is my fault
i’m so dumb
so naïve
so willing to please
i let my personality fade away
and i don’t know where it’s gone

all the feelings of those months
came back to me
the constant nausea
the paranoia
the want to hurt
the feeling of being
so utterly useless and ****

i was beginning to regain
some semblance of self-confidence
but when i think of those days
it’s gone
and all i can think is:
i’m so ****
i’m so dumb and stupid
why am i like this?
why am i so awful?

i feel like all the progress i made is gone...
Steve Page Dec 2018
Let me see beneath your perfection,
and look behind your Sunday best.
I want to see if you're super human
or if you're more like the rest of us.

I want to test your holier than thou,
your upfront semblance of flawless.
I want to check that you're all that we see
or if there's less beneath the surface.

If you think you have no cracks or dents,
if you have no room for improvement,
I'd really like you to meet my friends -
as we need a new source of amusement.
Nobody's perfect.
Marla Aug 14
My ears are ringing,
these eyes are bleeding,
the semblance of love is fleeting.
Out on the stoop, fully clothed
and yet vulnerable,
like the day I was first kicked out.
Of all the words in the English language,
I can't stand those six letters together now.
Whatever happened to unconditional love?
I guess it frittered away.
Why do you hate me for being me?
You don't even know that I'm ***!
Why'd you have to drop that atomic bomb on me?
I guess you had nothing better to say.
Next page