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Benji James Dec 2018
So many elements
Make up this man
Let me open up
Show all that I am
Take a little insecurity
Fill these eyes with some tears
Take a little fear
Sew them into this skin
If I'm gonna show it all
I need to let you see everything

Open up this heart
Cut it in half
Let all the love bleed out
Just so they have no doubt
All I've got is yours too hold
Take these hands filled with hope
Come inside my mind
Where you'll see all these
Dreams on display
Sometimes this Imagination
Runs away

There is passion
There is inspiration
There is motivation
There is faith
Stitched into the fabric of my being
Strength and hope, open your eyes
And you will see
All these things make up you and me

Sprinkle some hurt
To fill the drive
There's a little hate hidden inside
Kept in the dark corners of our mind
But I choose love, that is where I side
Opinions could fly out from these lips
But that would be counterproductive
I'm just trying to be me
The best I can be
I'm just trying to see
A world in which I can exist
And be proud of all I've accomplished.

Take a little anxiety
A pinch of crazy
Pour a little jealousy
Over me
All these little things
With some humanization
That adds up to this creation
I'll walk this world
Arms wide open
You'll see every inch of me
Nothing to hide
No disguise
No agenda in my eyes

There is passion
There is inspiration
There is motivation
There is faith
Stitched into the fabric of my being
Strength and hope, open your eyes
And you will see
All these things make up you and me.

Sprinkle some hurt
To fill the drive
There's a little hate hidden inside
Kept in the dark corners of our mind
But I choose love, that is where I side
Opinions could fly out from these lips
But that would be counterproductive
I'm just trying to be me
The best I can be
I'm just trying to see
A world in which I can exist
And be proud of all I've accomplished.

Take a little self-control
Inject some humour into my soul
Drink down some bravery
Fill my warrior spirit
through a dance
Filled with fire
Fill these eyes with starlit skies
Feel power building inside
A determination to be great
Finding a way to new heights
Through freedom, Through flight
This is so raw, This is so real
You're inheriting all that I feel.

There is passion
There is inspiration
There is motivation
There is faith
Stitched into the fabric of my being
Strength and hope, open your eyes
And you will see
All these things make up you and me.

Sprinkle some hurt
To fill the drive
There's a little hate hidden inside
Kept in the dark corners of our mind
But I choose love, that is where I side
Opinions could fly out from these lips
But that would be counterproductive
I'm just trying to be me
The best I can be
I'm just trying to see
A world in which I can exist
And be proud of all I've accomplished.

Honesty soaks into my skin
Revealing truths
Layed out before your sights
And it comes as no surprise
All of these acts that take the stage
Are giving there all
No time for questioning
No time for dismay
Only came to display all it is they can be
With each opportunity that came there way
With belief in their talents shown
Audiences left with their minds blown

There is passion
There is inspiration
There is motivation
There is faith
Stitched into the fabric of my being
Strength and hope, open your eyes
And you will see
All these things make up you and me

Sprinkle some hurt
To fill the drive
There's a little hate hidden inside
Kept in the dark corners of our mind
But I choose love, that is where I side
Opinions could fly out from these lips
But that would be counterproductive
I'm just trying to be me
The best I can be
I'm just trying to see
A world in which I can exist
And be proud of all I've accomplished.

©2018 Written By Benji James
Skaidrum Jun 2015
.
In my act of
defiance and grotesque penmanship,
I'll be the silver-eyed poet to beckon you from wonderland.

Darling,
I've written you the universe and I'll
sew the seams to your switchblade shoulders.


"What are these?"

"Wings."

.
Come Lycan,
time for you to trust in your wings

© Copywrited..
Sibyl Feb 2016
Breathe in slow
enough to hear
his voice - ichor
dripping from beneath

his lips sewn
with incessant thoughts
of the looming
shadows that he sees

at night, with heavy

gasps
drawn deep within
his lungs, he dreams
he's awake
Mary Gay Kearns Jun 2018
I come from sunlight,
      The sweeping of leaves,
      South London streets,
      Lurburnum seeds;
      Hot semolina,
      A spoonful of jam,
      Hands full of gooseberries,
      That's who I am.

      I come from rose petals,
      The sound of the fairs,
      The smell of candyfloss
      Mist in the air;
      I come from warmth,
      My parents hands,
      Outings to parks,
      Both small and grand.

     I come from knowledge,
     True and false,
     From nursery rhymes,
     And stories and pictures of God;
     I come from gentleness,
     A quiet afternoon,
     From visions of loveliness,
     Sewn on a spool.

    I come from two worlds,
    With different ways,
    A threaded pearl necklace,
    And sensible soles
    A mother and father,
    I think I knew,
    I came and I wandered,
    I looked at the view.

       By Mary **
Poem inspired by the Slam poets on BBC
Lizzy May 2015
The color of calm,
Sound of a blue canvas.
All the shades of ease,
Cover me in blue.

It's not cold,
Or sad.
It wraps me up,
And whispers to me.
How soft,
How silent.

There's loud silence,
And quiet.
The loud lives in my shaking hands.
But keeps me unable to speak,
Only loud inside my sewn mouth.

The quiet will not restrict my words,
But leaves me without any at all.
The quiet slows my heart,
The quiet keeps me still.
Sends silence through my veins,
And all is blue.
L B Aug 2018
This woman I know
quite the old hippie
gave me this lovely gift

A softened silk and denim dress
Folded loosely
just handed to me, unwrapped
(We felt the same about the waste of paper)
“This is for you.”
Opening it, I saw its gentle gathers from the shoulders
almost elegant, its drape
and the rough
but soft and dark of it
Real indigo dye
with silk laces from bust to waist

...then the tiny stitching...
NO!
Not by machine!
Knew the labor was – intensive
Every edge
was finished, sewn
by her caring hand!

"Oh, lady of my dream

whom I do not know
I THANK YOU!
From my soul"
I would have made this in another life –
time
of hope and longing

And then I saw that seam!
along the side
that wasn't... really...
just those thicker threads
a silk macrame
of knotted net
so –  bold
to hold that one inch open
to hint at nothing –
and everything –
in between

“Oh hell! Oh ****!
Does it come with an occasion??!!”
She smiled
somewhere between shy and sly
You get them when I get them.  This from a month ago.
Jeff Stier Oct 2016
A most pious man
whose well-tempered music
brushed the cobwebs
from the throne of God

Evolution was made manifest
across deep time
these lyrical figures
achieve the same purpose
in the space between the morning star
and the dawn

A fallow field
is sewn with pearls
a moonlit beach
illuminated by shadow
every scrape of the fiddler's bow
merges mind with the present
harvests the meaning
in the moment

The composer
that good man
was
for a time
church organist at St. John's
its notable steeple leaning
all askew
as a rebuke against God
or perhaps the drunken architect

A finger of candlelight
plays across the manuscript
a fugue echoes
through the still church

And though no living person
on that still winter's night
shares the organist's solemn delight
the stirring mass of possibility
that is posterity
awaits
James Keplinger Sep 2018
My heart has been torn and sewn
I'm in pain but soon it'll go far away
Just not now when you leave me alone
When you leave all my heart astray

I see all my future with you
Love, a wedding, maybe a child too
You cheer me up with the faintest smile
Why couldn't you stay a little while?

I hope you don't plan on leaving
Who am I without you?
I know my tears can be deceiving
I'd be nothing without you

I love you
Spenser Bennett Jun 2016
On the bank of an endless river
There is no money to be saved
All the waste of life is washed and clean
Presented to the future still dripping
And you are waiting there for me
And I am waiting here for you
On the bank of an endless river
There is no change to be sought
All the days meld to nights sewn seamless and neat
Stretched taught over the space between birth and death
Where you are waiting for me
And I am waiting for you
On the bank of an endless river
Under the sheets of emotional armor,
A shy little girl masquerades as a martyr.
She’s the Queen of Deceit with her lies getting smarter,
While every tale told draws her self even farther
From finding out why she’s emotionally bothered
By all of the men in her life: like her father
Who only was trying the best for his daughter
And striving to be something more than a pauper
But coming up short. Who knows how much harder
He’d try if she wasn’t an argument starter?
The guilt and the shame from the family slaughter
Has made her insane and continues to bar her
From finding out just what the world has to offer.

Luckily she won’t have to be here much longer;
In fairy-tale land, there's nothing can harm her.

She suddenly finds herself all alone
With nobody’s thoughts to address but her own.
This is the time when she’d pick up the phone,
Demanding a savior to hear her bemoan
About all the problems that she’s ever known,
But what she doesn’t know is a friend can’t atone
For the lack of a man with his patience to loan
To a lost little girl whose bad temper is known.
All she needs is a strong one that doesn’t condone
All the treacherous lies and the hatred she’s shown.
It’s hard to deny all the reaping she’s sewn.
She’ll have to tread soft lest her cover is blown
And everyone finds out she still hasn’t grown
Through the hundreds of tempers and tantrums she’s thrown.
Hopefully soon she can bury the bone
And calm herself into a nostalgic zone
Where smiles and candles were filling her home
And love and affection were all that was loaned.

Enlightenment comes when you realize you’re prone
To the wrath of the heartache that comes with the throne.
Damsel in distress
NiTSUDD Oct 2017
Living little less than the right way
I've turned all my friends to stone
Weary legs carry me
To the river
Wash off everything I've known

I've seen dead flowers on the way
And crowds of people all alone
No charity tempts me
To deliver
Now stinginess I don't condone

And I don't want to roam
Too far from my home
Don't want to leave it all away
The world seems small
When you have it all
Oh I wish that I could stay

When I arrived the river had frozen still
Ole Neptune saw no other way
If I could only find a little time
To ****
I'd be out here all the day

And I don't understand
Why I'm branded where I stand
Don't think you know how it might feel
It doesn't take
Much for a heart this cold to break
Without a hope ever to heal

And when you hear these words
Next life my friend
I don't know where I'll be then
If there's one thing
This world has shown
We borrow everything we own

Oh to reap what I have sewn
Oh to reap what I have sewn
Oh to reap what I have sewn
Oh to reap what I have sewn
King Panda Dec 2017
I still have
your taste

in my mouth:

the dregs
in your blood

your ghost of

disparate powders
and hair
your

red bone

daisy veins

body
sewn to

a butterfly

and the
rain falls in

twelve beasts
as I tell
the window

how I still
write you

when the thin rain
tents over

and patterns
your name

on my roof
Sam Hawkins Mar 2016
Carefree in leisure time, one blasé tourist,
almost happy, I once had collected a complicated stone;
after the sunny hours had ended and last opportunity
for keepsakes began.

In my hand the stone had kept all of its mouths sewn shut,
holding its amalgamated story, and likewise in the car,
on the plane, through US Customs where it was not
in the least suspected.

A thumbnail identity I now should guess at, marking an old date,
and fixing it to, with reasonable estimate, a map location:
Plot No. 243, East end of the island, slave sugar plantation,
the stone from the corner of a ruined sugarmill stair—
broken free by my criminal hand.

The stone like a bleached out mini-monolith,
square rectangular, could be stood on end;
was swollen at its center like a pulled cork.

What could have moved this sequestered world to opening?
That was not for me to exactly discover,
except what came on Christmas Day,
two days after my returning.

Slave watercourses, the sight of innumerable Dutch ships,
ballasted with human flesh and hewn rock
for sugar works buildings.

The drop at-arms-swish of the Driver’s bullwhip.
Flecks of spirit splayed on vegetation.

A mongrel dog barked beyond the windless wall of sugarcane
in centipede and mosquito heat.

Seaside, beautiful seaside impressions;
distant coral light shadows, etched deep azure;
snowy colored breakers that pencil-marked the sea.
The staid, vibrant, mocking power
of visual symphony backdrop.

So little of aid for the slaves, but for those dangerous secrets,
un-housed in the fallen coolness of the night:
demonstratively crystalline heaven of stars;
a ragged moon, clouds scudding eastward toward Africa.
And there -- Orion’s Belt, mid-sky, illustrious bright,
with its three centering star points in rational line,
as if Hope could have flung its anchor onto Life
engendering sanctified resistance.

Christmas morning, 5 a.m.
I had awakened from a stuck place, shapeless and dark,
half in dreaming and half knowing I was in no dream.

I was sobbing, yet strangely, because there were no tears.
I had only put the stone inside my pajama top onto my heart.
a story of what happened...a feeling and vision I had, in 2008. written then. the stone is piece of mortar...
FreeMind Jan 22
You've sewn your heart on mine
With a needle the size of a knife
January 22, 2019
#72
Skyla May 26
There are girls made of glass
With bones that can shatter
Be careful when you touch
For the shards may just scatter

Their eyes are glassy and broken
Their mouths are sewn shut but their wounds are open
Their skin is a suit that they hate to wear
They claw and they bite and they viciously tear

They silently scream and pull at their hair
Icicles pierce through their throats
But they don’t seem to care
The more they starve the more fragile they become
They live in the darkness of winter, and never see the sun
The light is forgotten and they ache and they and shiver
Their sore spines quake, and their lips violently quiver

They live in puddles of misery, they beg you to touch
The fingers of the sun just burn too much
The fingers of helping hands can never reach quite enough

There are girls made of glass
With bones and hearts that can break
Be careful when you get too close
For death comes closer every breath they take.
ATL Aug 2
my memories are con men
spinning fibers into thread
for forging famous tapestries
sewn sweetly in sugars of lead-

smelting dead language
into covers for their feet,
they run through broken glass
just to hear a phrase repeat.
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