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laura Oct 2018
jewelry, shining on her neck
in the glow of the night
goes through my mind all day
want some, but it’s too girly
maybe it’s the status
but then again, i’m broke and spending
all my money on clothing anyways
my friends said last night
I should write something light
something shiny and bright
to the readers’ delight

no fights and no terror
no soldiers no war
no suicide bombers
no refugees galore

after all   it’s the season
when altogether we sing
of the love that we bring
to each other
    within reason

so I am doing my best
NOT   to make a clean breast
    of the worries that plague me
cuddle deep in my nest
only welcome the guest
who brings me good news
and carefully wipes
all the dirt from his shoes
ere s/he enters my house

so  to rouse our good feelings
we all listen to the chimes
of the church bells so pealing

and to a poem that rhymes
CDs Jul 2018
:・゚✧:・゚✧:・゚✧:・゚✧:・゚✧:・゚✧:・゚✧:・゚✧:・゚✧:・゚✧:・゚✧:・゚✧
    ­                                                                 ­       the day ends
                                                            ­             singing to us
                                                              ­         ourselves to
                                                              ­       each-other
                                                      ­             of the hour
                                                            ­     to a minute
                                                          ­    on the clock
                                                           ­we drink roses
                                                        for fading embers
                                                        th­e burning match
                                                           ­ that dying breath
                                                          ­      the familiar pull
                                                            ­      towards dreams
                                                          ­          towards sorrow
                                                          ­                       the pain
                                                            ­                        the joy
                                                             ­                          from
                                                            ­                         dust
                                                         ­                            to
                                                                ­               dust
                                                            ­              emptiness
                                         ­                             orderliness
                        ­                                         indifference
                                                    ­    mounds of gold
                                                    ignorant­ shiny
                                                 pile of ashes
                                               enlightened
­                                            afterthought
        ­                                 in the morning
                                        in the evening
                                        all the beauty
                                         is all suffering
                                          living forever
                                          dying together
                                                        ­  hands
                                                         ­     over
                                                                 fists
:・゚✧:・゚✧:・゚✧:・゚✧:・゚✧:・゚:・゚✧:・゚✧:・゚✧:・゚
L B Mar 31
My bright and shiny little girl
with dark smiling eyes and yellow curls
who learned to talk before she walked
Who lifts sorrow
like an offering to joy
who waits
and gives and gives-- and gives again
to everyone whose path she's crossed

It didn't matter
Yes, it did...
Those bride's maid dresses
never fit
Made for tiny friends and frames of dreams
a day to hang a life on...
For others always
She made their days
She spent herself
Not telling tears
of sausage dress
she could never wear
"What were they thinking?"
"Maid of honor" she became
--in name only
She stands aside of honor by design

Awaiting honor to grace her
in its own time
The name Phoebe means bright and shiny one.  She is the tiny child in the poem, "Yellow Waking Mother."  

Did I say that I adore her?
Yesterday, her love gave her the ring
Birds and angels in the heavens are not enough...
today, to sing!
Cné Mar 2017
Shiny flask full of fun,
Shall I fill it with whiskey or ***
Wanting only to refresh my day,
Maybe with coconut from Parrot Bay?

After all, it's my best drinking buddy
That always makes me witty and funny
With never a shout, cry or pout,
That is, until the whiskey has run out!
Doh... Can't drink all day, if you don't start in the morning. It a ****** Mary morning.
Azurel Oct 2018
Soft melodies of the deep sea echo
Moonlight dances on my pretty scales
And icy bubbles whirl under my vest
Through my slippery hair
And down into my lungs to clear the way for overflowing foam
Laughter splashes behind my lips as my anticipation rises
Waiting for a night of twisted fairy-tales and uncalled for surprises.

Shimmering bodies swarm in spirals
Grinding in unison with the waves crashing at the surface
We're anxious for overflowing foam and hidden treasures
Purple light pierces the dark like shards of crystals
Casting a ghostly shade on bulbous faces
Pressure rises as each wave surges
Whirlpools of hot breath suffocate our gills
But the sidelines are shallow
And stragglers float motionless

Hair like seaweed at the nape of his neck
Unbuttoned linen soaked and dripping
Her hollow eyes glow green
Like the jelly orbs of a fish under florescent lights
She’s pressed against a boy who has hooks for fins
Searching for the parts that are edible
Tender, Scale-less, Slippery
Nothing wrong with being the catch of the day
Right?

Bubbles rise and pop as the last melodies drown
Schools of us are begging for shiny hooks and bad decisions
A handsome boy has been smiling all the while
He’s caught in a fisherman’s net
Craving salty lips and the spell to make him a man
But fisherman don't care for little mermaids
With hearts like sea glass and no hidden treasures to steal

Sweaty fins splash and cheer
The fishbowl shatters
Sea glass spills out onto sand
We squirm and flop onto land
Gasping without air to breathe
As our mouths and ***** thoughts dry in the sun
Leaving behind fresh meat without mouths to feed.

Rainbow confetti was stuck in the grooves of my scales
Wet clothes left on the floor of a steamy bathroom
Gasping and moaning into tile
With the face of a handsome stranger
Because this meat shouldn't go to waste
And I'm drunken with desperation
For overflowing foam, jewels, and shiny hooks
But I'm just another fish in the sea
Tumbling in the waves with my rainbow confetti scales.
A school dance
King Panda Oct 2015
this is where you
own our love
purse your lips and
twist mine
because I am the one who has
to sleep without
you no compromise
you said
as I ran my feet
over
the smooth 12,000
threads but no
body

even the patter of the
rain can’t soothe
it hits my face
in horizontal
crosswind and I sit in
that same fold out
chair on the porch
looking out across the park
at the children playing
in puddles

now when I think of
your highlighted jaw line
I am truly gaping at
the mirror that shiny
shiny reflection where my
eyes pop blue
and I’m magnetized at
your breathy yawn

what’s in your head?
what caused this
boiling
this cream that
settled on my coffee?
actually
already
easily
I am forgetting
interestingly
intriguingly
amazingly
you still taste sweet
when I blast music
in my car and then I hear
myself uttering
*thank you.
s Aug 2018
Hi there.
Sometimes it hurts to think.
I'm driving around in my hometown
I saw this old park that me and my friends would run and laugh and play at all the time.
We played cops and robbers
Lava Monster
Freeze tag
We acted like knights in strong armor and princesses with glittery dresses and we all slayed the dragons
Well now here I am staring at this old swing set that no one swings on anymore.
I used to think that I could touch the clouds with my feet if I swung high enough.
There is something so lively about a group of kids laughing and playing on a playground.
There is something so eerie about an old empty playground where no one goes.
That playground used to be so alive.
Now the swing creaks as it sways in the slight breeze.
You can almost hear faint whispers of the kids laughing from years before.
Now all those kids are adults with lives and responsibilities that are much more important than slaying a dragon.
The wood has splinters that get stuck in your fingers.
It is not shiny and fun anymore.
It used to be new
But I have found that everything changes eventually.
I wish people didn't leave so unexpectedly.
Anyways I am just rambling
but next time you see a playground
just try to look away.
it hurts to think too long
Bye.
I am so sad. So many people keep dying
Andrew Nov 2017
We are a puzzle with missing parts
That is why we make art
It is a healing start

We are all dream chasers
Until pencil meets eraser
Until boat meets glacier
Reality we must face her
When we sacrifice imagination
For societal integration
We search for placation
In lonely play stations
And through vacation
We experience migration
When the results are doubtful
And the response a drought mold
Because people are skeptical
Until there's a shiny scepter sold
Then you're put on a pedestal
And have your pecker pulled
By various industry tools
Loading you like a mule
With expensive jewels

Art must be the only motive
Not climbing any totem
Because once you're dead
Your art can still be read
Audiences may still be fed
But there's a frivolous influence
So you must be vigilant and prudent
To cut that from your life
So art may be your wife
That works to end strife
Yet that kind of help
You can't put on a shelf

I strive to make my art timeless
Though my pockets are dimeless
We live in a world of depression
That carries the risk of regression
My art could help push past it
Now that would be classic
Can be found in my self published poetry book “Icy”.
https://www.amazon.com/Icy-Andrew-Rueter-ebook/dp/B07VDLZT9Y/ref=sr_1_1?keywords=Icy+Andrew+Rueter&qid=1572980151&sr=8-1
Cindra Carr Jul 2011
Sweet Salacious Sally was a special girl.
Long and lean, Sal wore pearls and kept a blackjack in her purse.
Shiny and bright, Sally was doing all right.

Sweet Sally rode up to my house on her jet black hog.
When Sally came by, attention was paid and the game was on.
It was time to play so I slid up behind her.
Last looks left the neighbors gawking.
Sweet Salacious Sally was a special girl.

cc063011
Mary Gay Kearns Dec 2018
Of all the things inside my head
I wonder which I’d choose
The shiny saucers on my wall
With patterns on them all.

Some painted by Susie Cooper
With dainty flower heads
And others Brambly Hedge
With hedgehog tucked in bed.

Then in blue and white china
And Churchill on the back
Picturesque moments of bridges
Willow chintz and that.

Finally the many flower fairies
Their delicate floaty wings
Sitting on a tree branch, Cicily Mary Barker
Who loved all tiny things.

Love Mary ***
patty m Feb 2015
Silly fools,
touching the planchette
as it invades the haunts of spirits and demons
their dangerous interaction
pointing to blackened letters
or the answers yes or no.

Open gateway something relentless creeps to the surface
unbeknownst to anyone.  
Do they think this is a game, this summoning?

Bluesman, playing his guitar
sings about a shadowy man
on a dark road and the bargains he makes.
Moonless skies and rumbling trains
a strange twisting in guts
as a crows caw spreading shiny wings.

Shadows, the long road is filled with shadow,
filigreed limbs darkening fleeting time and the trains with
their black smoky smudge muffling secrets.

A strange man turns up, like a carney in a traveling show
to show us a frightening future.
Spreading prophesies of horrible events along with the demise of millions, with demons gnawing human flesh.
Then too there was the promise of the dead rising;
exhumed bodies, an army of zombies marching.

Old men smoke their cigarettes, lungs crackling
in phlegmy coughs, rheumy eyes filled with pain
as they watch the children **** in frenzied dance
their heads spinning clockwise. . .  
The train chugs off in the distance
as the last illusion crumbles into a dark and rotting hole.

We no longer see the stranger.
as the song comes to an end,
yet disquieting things skitter on the edge of reason
as they slither through our fear.
Up ahead looms a fiery god staying
trajectories of doom and damnation,
while the Bluesman strums his old guitar
on a ghost train going nowhere.
Tammy M Darby Sep 2015
Loves shadows and hates fire
Whisper softly my hearts desire
To a cold dead moon
As the old demons howl
The ground in terror will tremble and shake

A bloodless murderers hand
Into my steaming cauldron is thrown
Long toothed Blue bats wing from northern caves
Mixed with enchanted grave dust stolen from the fairy land

Out of my blue colored feather covered bag
A tiny sticky yellow red eyed frog
One shiny two horned pinching beetle
That will bite no more
Into the ***
Three long gray hairs from a rabid dog

I sing the song humans fear
The notes fall upon frightened ears
My words travel deadly and silently
A venomous arrow into the night
Laying upon my victim
A fine coverlet of blindness
By spell removing their sight

Loves shadows and hates fire
Whisper softly my hearts desire
To a cold black dead moon
As the old demons howl
The ground in terror will tremble and shake

Copyright Infringement laws
Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright
Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3), Tammy M. Darby September 9,  2015.
Woody Jan 2016
I made the trail
with my feet, barefoot
from the trailer to the well
through the dirt

I sold the shiny faucets
inside that didn't work
I bought a big pail
big enough for two or
my dog and its tail

In the mornings
when it's cool
standing in my body blue

Dripping like water
from a willow, I see
the widow down the road
gazing out her window

thinking of rain and dry spells.
Lizzy Jun 2014
Grayness swells and burns as ice
Coldness fills hollow creeks
My mindless ghost of a shell
But drifts ever so quietly

Ghostly shells as mine
Follow the current
Follow the breeze
Too weak to fight
To swim upstream

Now I am told the sun returns
But will it return without help?
Without artificial dawn?
Will this dusk be everlasting?
Never reaching devil's hour
And never returning to shiny morning

My ghost ever mourning
A loss of some unfamiliar friend
Sick for a home that has never existed
I forever dwell on my oscillating waking
Stu Harley Apr 12
oh
night
what
shiny sea of bells
that
rings across
the
starry starry night
that
swells
but
still
we
are haunted
by
the
black chimes of night
what
shiny sea of bells
Wayward Jul 2018
I was born out of fur and cotton,
With eyes that were shiny, black buttons.
From the store rack, I always watched the distant tree.
But one fine day, this little girl picked me.

My owner handled me with great care.
I was, after all, her beloved teddy bear.
I seemed to be her biggest comfort,
When she couldn't sleep or she felt troubled.

Years passed by and so did my time.
The little girl didn't need her teddy when she cried.
As I lay with the other toys in the attic,
I realized that my short life was quite tragic.

"Mr. Cuddles! Your child's best friend!"
But who's going to care about me in the end?
I played my part. I stayed with you.
But in the end this is what it came to.

Mr. Cuddles, the lonely one.
Who lies in the attic with his fur undone.
The cotton keeps falling out of his limb,
The once happy bear now lays grim.

                                                    -Waywa­rd❤
I attempted personification for the first time. I kind of relate to this poem though. I feel like Mr. Cuddles. And that somehow is my greatest fear. I fear being unloved and forgotten. I hope I got the message delivered in the poem.
L Oct 2018
Why do old things never become shiny again?

Its a shame,

really.
Honey shiny skin
Hot minutes Mr. postman
Relaxing poolside.
Deb Jones Jan 8
Some people are ground so far down it seems that the earth is embedded forever in their skin.
But if you scrub long enough and hard enough you can eventually wash that ingrained filth away and become the shiny and brightened person you were always meant to be. And it feels wonderful.

For all the victims, both genders, that become survivors
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