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patty m Mar 2016
Dropping flower petals into the water
voices merge, lifting in song and prayer,
I wish that I could join them,
instead I whisper my prayer
very quietly, hoping that God
might hear me.

Brief deceptive gleam of sun on water
that catches the eye,
now hollow as dried driftwood, light as foam,
everything conspires against me even the weather;
Tumultuous sky, the squally wind squeals through wires, rattling flags.
The sea is glaucous with strange phosphorescence;
I sit watching rabbit tail grass flicker and bob palely in the wind,
the insects hum and the grass whispers.
Adrift in tides the
sand beneath my feet
spills centuries of debris,
shells, bones, pieces of fossilized matter,
fragments of unimaginable time.
Fire flies often dance here and the crickets sing in
warm grassy hollows

Somehow we co-exist, men exerting surly independence
trying to climb above the wretchedness.  
I take a loving look backwards
at this seaside town, and the boatloads of wood
brought in to fuel our fires.  
Now the rain pummels in endless drops
forming ever bigger puddles,  
flooding dreams gone to seed.  

Perspectives collide,
this is my way of life
even when it becomes bland and unsettling.  
All the icing on the cake has washed away;
why cling to memories with their warm persuasive kisses
in the poetry of moonlight?  
Now the fire has burned out, leaving me cold
with only the ghosts who slide through end of day.
K Balachandran Jul 2015
The soliloquy of the night,
what we think as
falling stars and meteors,
make time and space immaterial
in the transmission of pain across light years.

Sitting here alone, a sentinel
to pain's interplanetary travel,
and witness of it transforming
in  to other forms, eloquent,
I hear them when my eyes,
acquire a sense, primordial
receive the dark waves
of pain in my veins
a volcano palpitating to blow up
in to  fireworks of emotions.

Everywhere eyes could travel, is filled
by night, thick, gooey, agglutinated;
then the meditative darkness,
dreams up a beam of  gentle light,
out of its deep transcending yearning,
to speak to itself,to get  an alchemy work on that pain
then, the pain itself becomes a haunting journey with words
this ,is how  my love, my songs
in the midnight of my lonely soul, are born.
DivineDao Aug 2016
"You haven't change a bit."


"Interesting!"


*
"I like you even more now."
Tommy Randell Feb 2017
Truth is hard to come by
Harder than Love

Love is hard to recognise
harder than Need

Need is hard to justify
Harder than Dreams

Dreams are hard to testify
Harder than Hopes

Hopes are hard to simplify
Harder than Choice

Choices are hard to live by
Hardest of all.
Emmanuella Jan 23
"Hello, little Little shoulder,
Haven't you seen a bucket of tears over the years?
Or was it?
Was it all just yesterday?"
Because it very well could be.
Inspired by the saying: "You can cry on my shoulder."

~~A little melancholy question for her shoulder.~~
Gary Brocks Aug 2018
Picture a late afternoon
iridescent honey-yellow:

The glance she knows is seen
her cool hand placed in yours
your stripped shirt she rips,
her mouthing, “You’re it!”, hiding,
revealing herself stripped,
her finger tipped shh,
the brush of *******,
surrender and assent.

She'll rise with a rustle
of desiccated pines,
needles will fall from her back,
she'll crumple a cigarette pack,
humming a vacant lament,
fingers caressing a fossil flea,
embalmed in a dangling pendant.

Copyright © 2003 Gary Brocks
180828F

A girl I knew. She said on several occasions, “All my boyfriends remember me”. This was very important to her. Seemingly more important than actually maintaining a relationship with any one of them. Her memories of them were like fossils, like insects preserved in amber in a pendant, that she would rub over after a final *** act with her most recent specimen. Naming her Amber for the way she kept and used her memories (was I to become the flea?), and portraying her actions as a farewell soliloquy in mime seemed like emotionally truthful fun.
Malik 93 May 12
What is love to a person
you can't understand
to assume you know them
but to them
you dont comprehend
the source, past experiences
to you, it's always him
feeling deeply connected
but wont look deep within
your own mind, your own thoughts
your own body
I told you before
It dont matter if you try me
I love test though
cuz I fail them all to well
You say you love me
but dont even love yourself
With Swollen Tears did my Countrymen commit
In week's Soliloquy request for Aid
And Soul's own Moments whose Sympathy permit
Whilst Sheltered Families pray for more space
Pledge, dear Lord! And Citisens of the World
My People's Wounds soaked in Unwanted Rain
At least in Voice and Gift-Wishes unfold
Would indeed suffice to soften their Pain
Look, Union Jack! The Scenes of Caskets float,
Plastered houses a-washed with nails and wood
Then came the Bayanis, in rubbers and boats
Bore frozen Victims to their Neighbourhood.
It's a Sad Film for anyone to see
Please offer Burnt Roses; Make them Happy.
Tommy Randell Nov 25
I'm not the only Poet
Who prefers a heavier pen
I don't have the elegance
Or the truths of lighter men

I'm not the only Painter
Who looks away to see
What hides out at the edges
Not where beauty lives and breathes

It might take a while
It might take 10
I may have to make excuses
Perhaps certainly start again

But, for sure it will get done
And you will hold it in your hands
The Me, the Who I Am
The Ordinary Man

Clumsy often with my words
No moth flirting with the flame
But yes, recording lazy circles
And despite being lame

Travelling with deceptive purpose
A Life's Walk and a good one
Plenty to want to talk about
And more than some of it fun
Haphazard soliloquy,
Uninspired philosophy.

Hello Poetry.

Streams of senseless dreams,
And many more to follow.

Swallow'd by a sense of disparagement,
Characterized by the cries in my head.
Survival of the fittest synapses.
That hold myselfs together.

I hold nary a candleless flame,
With a mind to set my minds ablaze,
with my haphazard soliloquy,
my uninspired philosophy.
Bo Tansky Dec 2018
It was the coldest day of the year.
We welcomed the return of cooler weather,
Fellow followers of the southern sun.
Winter had almost begun.
Delicious cool breezes uplifted our spirits.
Inspired these awesome(?) lyrics
There was a luminescence to the light.
It sparkled with the dearest delight.
The days were shorter.
The nights' longer.
The seasons were changing.
Change was in the air..
Change was everywhere.

Southern change is slow and steady.
Unlike the north where one must always be ready
The mass migration from the north was still underway.
Hordes and hordes of high blood pressure,
Scoliosis afflicted octogenarians invaded our state.
We who bore the brunt of the brutal summers,
Felt like we belonged to a sunny exclusive club.
Entitled to space, the roads, the sunshine.  
Now we must share with the worst drivers of vehicular crime
Accidents galore.
Everywhere you go.
Someone overran the barricade,
Cars totaled
Cars mangled
Twisted and tangled
Cars flipped & chipped  
A road detours
In the land of the aged & mature
Mature, I say, only in age
Otherwise, it would be an absolute outrage.
And it is.

People meeting people in the most unfortunate way.
I tell you it tests your mettle,
It tests your patience,
It tests your good nature,
Not to mention the nomenclature
of your exclusivity.  
Better rethink civility.
Better rethink senility.
Better rethink livability
In the south
In the wintertime
  
Missing you had become a pastime of mine...
Seeing you and Robert in the coffee shop that day-
Delighted me.  
So that I completely forgot to order tea.
I knew I would see you soon,
As fate would have it.
Not being in the habit
Of that particular time
That particular coffee shop
That day,
Anyway
Unplanned as this was.
That is to say
Not planned in the usual way.
Did the afternoon gods align?
Should I take it as a sign
Or is it pure coincidence
I know you agree with the ladder
It doesn’t much matter
Coincidence and me don’t agree
Nothing is accidental
No, I’m not mental
If you agree with me.
I admit it’s a hard nut to swallow,
Unless you’re in the habit of swallowing hard nuts,
Which most, I think, are not
Although I’ve never actually inquired
For the usual reasons
Excuse the nut reference
If you have a hard nut allergy
In which case you should stay away  
It’s not a bad thing,
More hard nuts for the rascal squirrels,
No hard nuts for the hard nut adverse.
How nutty is this verse?

I digress
As you can see
My thoughts always take me back to thee
Thought I’d get a little fancy.
Back to the Day in question
Referenced by me in this digression
If I thought something interesting was about to unfold
Oh no, oh no
It was the same old, same old
After the polite amount of time
You picked up your phone
It was a sign
Business as usual
Or is it you hiding behind
Some kind of some kind  
I don’t know what
I such a nut
Stale coffee sits in the microwave
It pings its readiness
Forget my forgetfulness
One more round
The coffee’s cold
Like you
Still
I take it out
Drink it anyway
While I wait
Still
The coffee’s cold
And so are you
That’s all I have to say
And that’s why
Without thinking
I grabbed the phone that day
While you were busy texting
Hey, I wasn’t getting in the boxing ring
You knew that

Robert was rather overreactive
It was only me being me
I’ll meet your cold
And up the ante
Are you all in
Do I win
I was only playing, all along
That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t write me a love song
Two for her
One for me
I think you’ll agree
It’s quite unfair
And you want to be fair
Don’t you
This isn't optional
Even rational
Or actionable
*******
My phantom love
I get it.
Still
I’m missing you.
Do you miss me too?
annh Apr 22
[Enter Marco, a young Milanese courtier.]
It is he, is it not, whose honeyed barbs drip with sweet condescension, and whose kisses taint fair Bianca’s lips with similar speech? Behold, how he frames her vision to reflect his own and directs her preferences accordingly.

Fie, I have been April’s fool in believing Antonio my ally. His encouragement was as sweetmeats to a greedy child; but I have chipped a tooth on that candy-coated morsel and found its centre to be flavoured with deceit.

My cousin Bianca, whose name speaks directly to her nature, whose light once made shadows dance for joy; how extinguished she appears now. For as Antonio sparkles and splutters at her side, her brilliance flickers and fades.

Lo, how he has seeded his untruths within her honest heart. His lies smuggled like contraband, his blandishments the articles of his trade. God’s wounds! Such a purveyor of frippery and falsehood I have never met the equal of.

It is high time to confront this sneak thief in his lurking-hole and to uncloak his creeping connivance. I shall bottle my rival’s words and choose carefully the occasion for their uncorking; then pour for the crowd a rich liquor of ripe requital.

‘It is notorious that we speak no more than half-truths in our ordinary conversation, and even a soliloquy is likely to be affected by the apprehension that walls have ears.’
- Eric Robert Linklater
unnamed Jun 10
Why
i smoke poetry while i ****
i wrote this thinking of a soliloquy
caught lying, poisonous seed
i feel no need to be. unfettered by what is need
I'm dying
Quotedbykayla Aug 2018
She cleaves onto her like a blunt razor-
stroked onto the mustache of a young man.
If only she was omniscient enough into resisting
the beguiling beauty within and beyond the tangible.
She constantly craves composition within thine peoples,
yet they make augured gore holes into her oesophagus.

Lesser does she know to refrain from it,
yet more she knows to stay.
More does she know their separated fortune,
lesser she chooses to be borne in hand.
Her notion is of higher standards,
yet still the lowest.

Scarf up thine eyes;
Plug up thou ears;
Tape up thine mouths;
Nevertheless chop off thy tongue
I know a bit about
learning to dance in the rain
like nobody is watching

but...

I know way more about
dancing like a *****
in the kitchen

despite the warden
standing aghast
eating up his own
billowy firebreath
soliloquy reprimands

I earbud block
shimmy, pivot and pop
raising vibration tornado
toss it a flippant middle
and cheeky smile
without breaking stride

devil dismayed
lips keep on syncing
as if I can hear demeaning
demonic procession

but I already know
what he’s saying

stop dancing like that
in front of our son


you mean…

to the beat of my own pulse
shaking divine creation
diffusing rainbow throes
undulating radiant orbitals
all for my own blissing?

one day that boy
will be a man
who knows

better

than to ever
call a goddess

a ***** in the kitchen
J Apr 2017
Squall borne aloft, wildly brewing;
Erudite words or malarkey
Bustling and rustling and howling;
This poor mooncalf's soliloquy

Snow came to lay on rolling hills
Extinguished surviving embers
Absent warmth to counter the chills
This lone, tortured soul remembers

Spring arrived, flowers grow in bloom
Butterflies morphed to razor blades
Star! Save me from impending doom!
As this replete ice thaws and fades

Summer warms trees and birds above
Kiss from the breeze of gentle sea
My lady's heart billowed with love;
Much love to give, but naught for me

Hope, a sweet promise and a sham
Such a cruel drug, a poison
Sure to put a man in bedlam
I stand, steady as a bison
I'm a peripatetic napper aka a somnambulant philosopher... who is prone to salubrious somniloquy aka hammock rapping, on a variety of savory subjects such as which parts, leaves, petals, stems, peels or fruit of the lilikoi and guava families make the sweetest and most healing teas... for example, I sense that you can swallow this soporific soliloquy straight or with some surf, salt, sea and sunshine and skip the sleeping pills indefinitely..
Let me write you a symphony.
Let my words ring with
The intricate sound of my beating heart.
While my soul resonates in your ears,
As my music fills you up
Til’ you overflow.

No shame if you hear my soliloquy.
I’ll confess my love to the gods in the sky,
And they will lift me up-
Your hands in mine,
And return the piece of you
That thought I had lost forever

My tears will attest for my love.
My cry will be my shield
Against the truth-
And the pain will linger
On the tips of my fingers
As I gently close my eyes.

Let my song reach the top of the heavens,
And the last note shake the gates of hell
May my aria give solace to the lost souls
So that you may find me
Somewhere between C major
And eternity.
rook Dec 2014
I sat upon the window sill
and thought - for thoughts are never still -
that if all the world my oyster was,
then all the world my choices stung
and if all the world a stage may be,
my part is such a site to see
a monologue, soliloquy
the question - to be, or not to be?

a poem in pentameter
but such exact parameters
find talent lacking quite a bit
to coin a phrase: "well, ******* ****"

the critics all prefer your prose,
but you can't quite see over your nose
reduced to quaint obscenities
and use them so uncertainly

but on the past, i must digress
and to my original thought regress
for window sills demand your calm
So I must cease, or I'll be gone.
Eleanor Feb 13
And if I loved you more than you loved me,
would anyone in truth of it be wise?
I measure you not in soliloquy,
but how you hold me when I start to cry.
If all the world did freeze and cease to turn,
the sun, and moon, and stars exit stage left,
the feeling would be something like this burn
that scalds me as you take up my time— theft.
We laugh, we cry, I hurt, we hug— but see?
I know that doubt will live here in my head,
so long as you share not your heart with me;
it’s easier to fade away instead.
I love you still, but needing to be free,
I’ll take the heart you left; it still belongs to me.
Skylar Kunaris Nov 2018
I lie inside a purgatory of overpowering apathy, drawing the will from within me with each attempt to relocate my being, such that I cannot achieve the thing that I desire. To exhume from within myself this endlessly building and foul nectar. It would be a welcome release, but it seems as if this release is not my fate. For my body, and perhaps some dark, hidden part of my mind, have seen it fit to betray me in this hour. My limbs refuse to obey my will, and my anguish grows with each passing second, yet still I am left powerless against my own lack of will.

That is to say.

I have to ***, but I'm too lazy to get up.
Upon a midnight’s visage airy,
T’was a lake frozen by fairy,
…and weighing on mind’s tonnage bearing?
There for ice’ opaqueness winter’s seized,
…and arms encased in rime; trees.

“Oh my,”

At dark of sky thought the eye of something troubling upon my mind?

And the frosty cloudy glass,
Take to it upon my axe,
…and the sting of shards will pass.
And will I eat at last.

Thusly, thrusting through the skull, wettened, weakened for the cold.

…and burden carry I with me,
So encased in rime is he,
Doth make of fishing’s night a chore,
Something that I do abhor!
…and stare I did into that sea,
…my frory breathe in imagery,
Dismay it did fluster me, when my eye captured by Sea,
...and in whirling thoughts could reflection see?
…and something else came back with me.

Pool with drops, light curves, dark rings; in vapid mind now find nothing...

T’was a misty sheen seen after showers?

A damp muggy place of reflecting hours,
Typhoid strange did make snowing;
The Asteraceae of my wilted flowers,
…and that Wren philosophically sings,
…and at lake a lone be -ing,

Appearing peering my soliloquy, I am therefore I into thee.
…and fixed calm stared back at me,

“What pray tell I Enquiry?”

Did something else look back at me?

...and glaring gaze thus did see, something I had hid from me,
…and gawking in my mind did ogle; a malevolence of thought once frugal...

A gaping, oscillating, pierced Abyss, forced farther back into consciousness...

Deeper in and further still,
Climb atop Old Arthur’s hill,
…and the winged Raven’s nearer, reflected on me in my mirror?
…and time did pass turning frozen dying, icy tears of sadness from my crying,

…so did silent Hume release, all the pain that’s troubling me; whilst frozen frame thus held in peace?

I fell forward and felt submerged,
Both characters, both now have merged.
And that creature which accompanied me?

Found a solace back in wine dark sea.
David Hume and Narcissus.
Eno Sep 2018
There’s 3 left now
To state their case
For past and present
They’re all happy to show their face
One more so than others
Gets up on a podium
And shouts
When everyone
Was already
Listening
Hard to let it in
Without the illusion of choice
A soliloquy
Of triumph
Should be spoken alone
You wonder
If modesty
Breeds honesty
Or the other way around
Or neither
I was born a gentle soul
Reformed with an old jovial wisdom
Which was corrupted by the first attack
Stripped of my candor and left to meander
Until a visceral skin latched to my back

I watched my rivet dreams vicariously
All the while from side scenes
Spending time refining the premise
The fine hemmed edges
Were sharp yet crude
When tuned to this percentage

The very root of metamorphosis
Became an epitome of what I am
While walking a tight rope
Of Hope's chokehold
Invoking me to stand
Forcing me to look down
With nowhere to land

Echoes of mediocrity only fuel my drive
Staving fires from mere survival
Into the desire to thrive
While every injustice withers and dies
I bide my time refining my form
While the perfect storm subsides

The strengths I hide
Preside just beneath the surface
A revival impulse is convulsive therapy
Leaving me resolute within my purpose

Uncouth is the pretense
To claim and obtruding suspense
Whilst I am colluding and fearful
Whether I reminisce or remain pensive
The time has come to be cheerful

The only power over me
Is what I allow to reside
And keep me preventive
So if I choose to stay inside
It's because I'm designing
The next in line incentive

After I've repented
The only indefatigable witness
To my truth is me and God
And at times I ask myself
Will I know the blister's burden
Or fabricate a facade?
Mary Velarde Feb 18
Between your breath
in my hair
the weaving of sunlight
by the window,
the sky’s audacity to resemble
that of a painted sorcery
violin legs intertwined—
darling, i am
undone.
Stay.
Blow a gentle kiss on my skin,
but forget, I shall not,
that this all but a dream.
Let me lament
a morning dressed
in apology.
Let me toss and turn
to a quiet soliloquy.
What is there to grip
but a ghost
molded by the loneliness
of the night.
What’s it like to be the lonely?
What’s it like to be the night?
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