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Lizzy Sep 2016
I'm too tired to look up
From my hands.
On them I see pictures
Like movies
Playing scenes I know i've seen.

My hands remind me of things
That once entranced me
But now seem like distant memories.
Memories that don't even
Belong to me.

Now the silent films
I watch on my palms
Hold me hypnotized.
Almost like the things
I watch on my hands
Which enamored me before.

But now my eyes
Have grown exceptionally heavy.
I can't divert my gaze
To any other projection
Or distraction.

My eyes are locked.
Stuck watching me
Mishandle myself without consideration
For the life that burned in me.

All i can do
is wait for my
eyes to close.
hopefully soon
Dark Fjord Nov 2016
To go where, she asks,
to make her swoon;
get lost to find it- to map the territory
and in tearing with shears
wronged it going inside her terror!
see spot run
CK Baker Nov 2017
mirrored fly-glass
and polished chrome
are tinted
in the blood orange dawn
running dogs of lummi
hush quiet
on this celestial
summer morn

clubman bars
and tan saddles
strapped to
the lowered hind
skull caps
and fitted chaps
for the open flow
and rich peripheral scenes

concessions at the peace arch
(from the blue-coated fuzz)
black *****
and maples
cake the bow hill
and chuckanut

choppers launch
at edison
(with their metal fleck
and tuft)
a half moon rises
on the concho
and interstellar cross

cinnamon gulls
and ravens
scour the netted docks
warlock driftwood
and row homes
spot the winding
coastal roads

rumbling sounds
at the packer slew ~
the redolence
of briny bay
alive
on the overlook
at fairhaven
Spent a couple days in late September on a motorcycle trip with my brother...weaving through the small towns and villages of the Pacific Northwest.  Magnificent!
Fayre May 2018
Trapped in a state of solitude,
The area surrounding her became a vacant land.

She was magnificent.
Like a flower that wept petals.

Delicate,
but so
immensely
breakable.
A poem of acceptance.
Shofi Ahmed Jul 2018
On the very edge the living earth
dared to replicate Queen Fathima
The Queen of Heaven’s footstep.
That way is the destination de jour
graced by thousands of prophets of God!

In the name of Allah she descended
on the Night of the Ascending.
From the Night of Measures unlike the rest
none can enumerate it yet an unnumbered zone
in the perfect geometrised transcended location.  

The earth steps in the gap making way for her:
The only asymmetric golden ratio.
Slips out to the symmetric prophet flock!
Sequenced in symmetric phi she moves on
in the veil, reveals her unique divine relation,
the front burner for sure is ever closer to God!

So pretty she is the paragon work of art
the sunrise amidst the eternal night.
Her beauty in her shadow is burning fire.
She is 'Zahra' pure light the luminary dynamo
the only one woman had no shadow!

The great women flocked and mirrored the earth.
Treading across every atom on that angle
perfectly aligned down the Moon.
Until those beneath the skin atoms
bang, explode, on approaching the behemoth,
the vibration beneath Fathima’s foot!

The ocean billows up
floating on the clouds.
Choreographed like a little dew
hanging low on the rose.
Just to drop down on that hot spot
like a cool honey drop.

Even the Moon on the horizon
fancies to sip from this drop.
Ah, the lunar punter is rowing down.
The sleeping beauty wakes up
eyes are on the silver dance.
Eying on every star in the night
the Moon is floating down.
The seven seas sing out in the dark
bubbling with exuberant fireflies
that would gleefully rock the moonlight boat
over to the cup of this pretty little drop.  

Poetry in motion is a sea on the ground
the same is known as the Moon in the sky!
The storylines jump ever more
on that way over the shady grove.
Painting the colour of the winds
the sky rains down on that spot
singing the sweetest title song.  

Never was a woman prophet of God
to the one primitive woman, the leading lady
'Sayeedatun Nessa' Queen Fathima
heaven is no secret, it is an open mirror!
For her heaven is made an open book
the first batch of houris came to be
tuning into the sounds of her toes.
The earth in its primitive water first moved on
bang, Big Bang, soon she drops in it her hair lock.
She's the hidden gem in the secret end of God!

For the planetary ebb and flow on the way heaven
the planet earth is the only stepping stone.
No matter how many times more it tries on
there will still be an unturned stone.
Until the very one woman, the original
the Queen Fathima steps on.

Her presence connects the dots
the nadir and zenith perfectly line up
intersect into one grand perfect circle.
She will close it with the pi once for all
without a gap spilling new decimal.
Putting it all on the map ‘as above, so below’,
all in all, like it's in pure scientia scenario.

Heaven will open its grand door
where the queen will stand on.
No more reverse engineering physically
the original, Fathima will step on,
on the last turned stone.
From the one great woman
paradise starts from here on
from beneath the mother’s foot!
Äŧül Nov 2012
In That Moonlit Night Standing In The Abaft,
Watching The Towed Flaccid Wooden Raft,
I Thought That I Saw An Angel Resting,
Lying Exhausted There In That Craft.

I Call The Girl Out Unbeknownst Of Her Kind Name,
"Hey Young Lady!!" To Which She Didn't Much Respond,
She Looks Up Towards Me Once In Anguish & Collapsed,
I Spot Desperation In Amber Eyes & Resolve To Help Her.

The Crewmen Had Now Been Doing The Paddles After Resting,
I Summon My Captain & Ask, "Do You See That Girl In The Raft?"
The Captain Now Smiles To Say, "Commodore, Better Get Married,"
I Look So Clueless To Which He Simply Replied, "There Is No Girl."

True He Was As She Had Simply Disappeared,
I Started Thinking Of My Sleep Needs That Day,
I Looked Around Again In A Hope To Find The Girl,
I Had Compromised My Routine As The Commodore.

Then I Immediately Realized It Was My Wild Phantasm,
Now This Was Just A Plain Illusion Of A Tired Sailor's Mind,
No Mermaids Could Have Ever Existed In Reality & Were Fake,
I Turned Towards The Deck To Go Back To My Bunk For Sleeping.

As I Climbed Down The Stairs To Enter My Room Amazed & Dazed,
I Saw Her Standing And Waiting For Me By The Side Of My Bunk,
I Accepted That Delusion Of My Mind & Started To Lie Down,
She Said, "I'm As Real As Your Thoughts, Don't Fear Me."

She & I-Me & Her, Had The Best Time That Night,
In The Morning She Was Gone & Was Just Gone,
Disappeared Into Thin Air While I Was Asleep,
Each Day I So Dearly Long For Her To Return.
7 Stanzas of a Beautiful Open-Eyed Dream

Read the entire Angel Saga by me, Atul Kaushal.
https://hellopoetry.com/collection/13567/the-angel-series/

My HP Poem #19
©Atul Kaushal

I thank you all so much for the overwhelming response that this poem has received.

If you get interested in reading my novel's eBook after having read this poem then do visit http://www.amazon.com/gp/aw/d/B00MYY0DMA for buying my story titled "7 Seconds" and supporting my medical expenses.
patty m Dec 2015
I'm a poetry **

addicted to the high,

the ******* ride that always finds my sweet spot.  

Maybe I'm a ****,

it doesn't matter if I'm paid,

when I steal away from loved ones

to ride the waves of poetic passion and sensation.  

Undressed thought

either beautiful or lewd

slides across the sheets

embedding itself in the core of me.

I squirm in delight or

struggle against restraints,  

the whiplash of panic

bringing tears that need to vent.

until euphoria erases sight and sound.

I'm a lost cause,

spilling my heart, my love, my lust

for everyone to see.

Do you have some time

to take a ride with me?

.
all innuendo pertains to writing poetry :o)
andru Feb 2
1
today on the radio, the voice of british engineer
kenneth bigly,
shackled in a chicken wire cage in iraq, is crying and
begging his prime minister
“please don't leave me here...”

the sound of his desperation rises like black smoke,
takes a solid
form, lodges itself in our hearts, non-transferable as
we continue to
invent as we go, what to do next.  this evening,  a
televised debate
about homeland security and foreign policy...

life has spilled out of its channels.

2
the rain has finally stopped, the puddle in my
basement is
deep enough for minnows.  dawn wrings itself out
before the
sun comes up, and trees shake off their heavy wet
skirts and
move on in the wind.

outside the back door, a large spider, the colour of
sand looks like a
crab walking on air, weaving, weaving the repairs of
her lair.

this airy space, this life, holds everything in place.  do
not pluck or cut
or name what you find hanging – it's only time
rearranging itself.

a sense of the invisible in the corner of my vision, a
glint of gold, a
secret life is moving between the trees; they are
always whispering.
in the solitude, behind the rocks, in the tall grass, and
below the
surface of the water, meaning passes silently.

this is not daydreaming. it's watching yourself dream.
the way children
play.  draw the curtains.  open the curtains.  vanishing
or fusing?  what
course will this take?  when the time comes that I can't
feed myself or
get up from where I lay?

3
thoughts are throwing themselves like discarded
clothing inside my
head.  i pick up a few and make some notes, but the
rest, strewn
about, disappear when i turn on the lamp.  sometimes
the very word
i need goes dark.  i want to get on my hands and
knees and look for it

4
the trees have entered the house.  they are on the
stairs and in the
hallways between the rooms.  i can hardly see you
anymore.

you stay, you go.  you will be someone who will always
remember
sounding the hurting horn at the wrong time.  you
catch your plane.
my body wants to fold forward like a suitcase locking
in the pain.

i begin giving things away.  a long time resident of my
head, I tidy up,
fold the past away, and gather what feels like a new
method of
thought – to admit that we just don't know, never knew,
where we are
going.  passengers waiting for departure.

5
tonight i pull on a cloak full of the moon that won't come
off.  i begin to
dance around a hole in the world where love once
thrived.  i hear the
trees applaud.  whirling in the shining light, i float.  i
fall.  i learn to fly.

healing without, healing with
laura Sep 2017
happy **** day, **** me
**** you, humpback **** front
don't stop, follow dotted lines
until you find the little treasure spot
get a little wierd with love
get a little wierd with me

you aren't safe out there, kiddo
just stick with me, too much
talk in the office about us
make out behind a filing cabinet
stuck on the phone all day telling
everybody we're going
to be alright, happy hunting
There is a spot where
Words fall so effortlessly
Out my hands that I
Can't help but question
What happened
Here?

Am I
Writing
Or am I
Dancing
When no
Pauses
Interrupt my
Flow

And I'm left
Beside myself
Asking
Where am I?
Who am I?
And
Who are you?
Do you have a spot?
Mak Jul 2014
i love you i love every breath you take i love every sound that escapes your lips as i kiss that spot between your jaw and neck i love the way your hands touch my skin, no rush, nothing to prove, nothing but pure love braiding itself within my heart and reassuring my mind i love the way your voice sounds in the morning when sleep is thick in your throat and your eyes are heavy

i
     love
              you
please
     please
              stay
Kavya Mukhija Oct 2018
With the disease spreading like wildfire,
You really don't know who's clean and who's not,
About who doesn't have a black dot
And who's past is an entangled knot.
But I wanted to give it a clear shot
And make this relationship work topknot
Because you looked handsome and hot
And you had in my heart, a soft spot
So I ditched my parents who cradled me to sleep in that apricot cot
Shoved in tight the values they had taught
Stayed out all night yet didn't get caught
But their daughter was one in a lot.
They trusted her at the sound of a gunshot
That night, I sent them a snapshot
Of us in the parking lot
wearing yellow shirts with Polka dot
They finally lent a free thought
And understood that I had for him a soft spot.
Tried an all rhyming poem for the first time. :)
Robin Carretti Aug 2018
Where do we meet
    Oh! No He_*
Getting onto
the next courses
Oh La- La "Cheri"
K>ANSAS>>City

_ Prime spot pretty

 let's >- jump ))) To Love
Please raise the horses

What a skirt steak in her
Petticoat Junction
Going to Kansas City affection
Different tribe or breed
What needs to love me
tender Elvis meet Beavis Buthead
    More  T.L.C  
computer DOC Tick Tock
IRS taking a meat beef
chunk is everybody drunk
IOS what is really the meat
Business Politician Trump

Subscribe well done
Cooked or rare spooked
Taking a Spin City kick
She got canned and licked
The prime meat hot seat

The ******* who arrives
first class steak knifes
Ms. Pork hard chew 
Mr. Beans second rate
Dark pumpernickel
Saloon *******, he
is eating
The young tender
chicken leg

High five thigh? Hands
up Robin Fly
Save the meat "let it be"
  "Let it Be" Beatles
The beat Colonel deep fried
Grade A rare meat slicing

Eating in a board meeting
The pig meat market
of pricing

Doe a deer
he loves
International beer
A very sensitive time
Slaughterhouse no way out
His poker face meets
potato heads beef jerky
Surrender Weds
maple smiles picky
The rich Syrup
Disney Mickey Mouse
Kansas City Wonder
meat house

The beauty of animals
"Moms kettle she is talking
to Parrots" meat
the market for rings riot
Six enemies making
6 rounds
Six servants 666 carats
Robin smiles heartily
"Campbells Chicken" little


He's the Beef Man stew
If you only knew

He's spitting tobacco chew
She peels the potato for the
meathead bad to the
T-bone Dachshund I Bone

Garlic knots heart of the
Sausage wearing the
meat corsage Superbowl
My sweet basil good soul
Grilling your bullhead
Pirate Ribeye steak pupils
Mr. "Billygoat" Bachelorette
Hair flat crepe Suzette

Moms Korean style fuss
coleslaw
what a seesaw
Playing Porgy and Bess
 Scarlet the red rare meat
Rolling stone baking pin
Mississippi one or two
Under my meaty thumb

Comes in three-4-5-6- Lucky 7
-Crazy 8 furries
Nine meat ribs-10 babies
with bibs
Hungry Man meat when!!
Country plaid tablecloth
"Kansas Men" of the cloth
The Pig approval
Kansas City Mayor
new arrival

Family together eating
Don't eat our animals
Why is life so unfair
Feeding the poor
with cans
The bad cut of meat devil
this is not the "Grade A"
This is not a ring
circus trainer Bullseye

Robin coffee animal-friendly
Two peas in a pod I pods
  I tune like Gods
Were the luckiest people to have
animals  

The Floridian with dog murals
Palm trees green thumb
plants sunshine events
The symphony dog tails
of hunts
Whats to compare her twilight
eyes hold the moment stare
Talk to the animal's hearts care
The barbecue all the meat men and the women who love their fruit listen to the Owl lady how she hoots those Kansas city slicker boots and the Hehaw have a good time with family and friends treat the animals with tender loving care
Lilah Apr 6
Big, intelligent eyes
Taking in all their surroundings

Memorizing
How things feel

Quiet mouths
But loud in their confident stance

A sense of maturity
Surrounding them

Telling people
“Shhhush! I’m trying to write!”

Giving friends
Life advice

And most of all
They are the troubled ones

That boy without a mom
That depressed girl
That *** girl with homophobic parents
That boy stuck in a girls body
That girl with anxiety
That boy who gets picked on every day

In their hearts
There is true poetry
For they have felt true pain

Poets know disappointment
They know heartbreak
They know
Not to get their hopes up
There is a poet in everyone
For everyone has known pain
Sometime in their life

Everyone
Is
A
Poet
Anyone can be a poet, whether they have a place to write it or not.
M Nov 2014
You say that you love rain, but you open your umbrella when it rains.
You say that you love the sun, but you find a shadow spot when the sun shines.
You say that you love the wind, but you close your windows when wind blows.
This is why I am afraid, you say that you love me too.
      -Qyazzirah Syeikh Ariffin.
This is a Turkish poem called “I Am Afraid (Korkuyorum)” translated in English. Enjoy.
zebra Nov 2018
Oh the virgins ravenous vault
college girl ******
a seething abashment
with mixed loyalties
who belongs to no one
ferocious for annihilation
*** blast
poured out from essence
spread shanks
wet spot
hot shots
meditative and gleaming

huge hearted
she is one and many
choking on desire
far flung in Turkish bath fantasies
a singing **** tearing heaps of suns
like burns and spatters
her ***, a high pitched note
his ****, rage at bay
poised hot **** ****
gasping fire

*** criminal's

foot kissing
****** biters
Sylvia Plath was referred to as "The Smith College ******" in some biographical material. I love her poetry, like incredibly, and so by the proxy of her literature I remain very much in love with her both as a writer and as a woman, albeit a vivid fantasy. That love remains amplified by her suicide as I find myself still aching about her now, 50 years after her death. I remain continually mesmerized by the appalling dread, yet sensuality of her draped corpse hanging out of the oven. Her dead body is an ineffable poem of grace in form and shuddering despair. I always want to rescue her.... It gnaws! This poem is prompted by Sylvia Plath, a Goddess of modern language, her youthful passions, and inconsolable despair.
laura Jul 2018
want to throw ya in designers
tear the streets up, just you and me
you know what i'm thinking
go to bed wearing your white tee

our loving's like super bae though
hearts been broken before
and our feet's kind of sore
losing control, shades of grey

blind against the world, rainbow casting
its ghost across the cloudy sky's sweep
how can we leap when we limping?
how can we laugh when we weep?

only together, dont tell ya friends
i have a soft spot in my insides for you
Anastasia Mar 2018
You’re all alone,
Sometimes getting messages,
Sometimes not
To go on Tinder dates
And so sometimes you go.

Some go real ****,
I mean it’s Tinder, dah.
But latest one goes kinda well,
And so you go with it,
You wanna settle down.

The only thing
He’s a proper *******
You read on Instagram about.
So you pretend to be a fuckgirl,
No feelings sticking out.

The exes really sense it,
You’re with another guy.
Especially, a full moon
Does something real strange,
They start to really feel that.

The exes either come in packs,
Or they don’t come at all.
They see you’re sort of happy,
So it becomes their master plan -
To ******* ruin it all.

They text, they call,
They start remembering
The nicest **** you’ve done.
They try to reach that special spot,
They’ve reached then shattered many times.

But once for all, this time for 'real'
You have decided: "I'm ******* quitting it",
"This time feelings will be nowhere near it".
So you just keep on seeing the *******
You've met on Tinder.
eleanor prince Jul 2018
mementos
richly held
hidden in
fractured chest

big people
shifting boxes
heavy
light

silenced
a child's fissure
clasping favourite shell
close

swift salvage
in tight world
rescue from
gaping hole




#family #disruption #moving #treasures #mementos #lost #ignored
For a very young child, moving house can be incredibly bewildering, disruptive, even traumatizing, especially when moving countries tends to mean belongings need to be severely curtailed.  Few remember their own childhood attachments, closely held treasures, even if perceived by harried adults as inconsequential as a bag of broken seashells.  Would a little more listening and empathic explanation with kindness ease things well at such transition times
ryn Apr 2016
Many have come to pry me open.
Many have come asking for the key.
Offering promises that the doubt would lessen,
flaunting their oaths as currency.

Plenty have assured that they're not like the others.
They promised that their words were forged in steel.
They had come with nothing else except to offer,
their ears and support just so to seal the deal.

"Forgive me", I'd say... I am still a tad apprehensive.
But I do feel the need to speak...
I do long for ears attentive,
Not the ones which are attached to mouths that easily leak.

I know that there are such ears...
Hard to find but they're definitely there.
They'd be ready to catch my tears,
more than willing to show concern and care...

Yours seem rather reliable... That much I see.
They've come with intentions seemingly untainted and kind.
Don't suppose they'd take my words ever so lightly.
They won't lap up my secrets with treachery in mind.

Again I find myself here at the same spot.
About to hand over the duplicate key.
This familiar leap I hope you'd have me caught.
Please don't give away my secrets for free...
Daisy Marrow Oct 2014
My love is vast.
My love is strong.
My love is driven by the thought
of you noticing me one day.
Although I am told that some love never blooms
like flowers struggling during the bitter colds.
I have nothing to offer you.
All I have are my bones.
They hold me up
on days I feel like a bird with broken wings,
but I will always love you with the lights on.
I will care for your wounds
until you're able to fly again.
Until you can reach the moon.
So play your guitar
and sing your songs.
I will admire you from afar
as you carry on.
Don't worry about me.
I'm not trying to come off as a creep
but I love your eyes,
and how they look like dark coffee.
I love the way you speak.
Each word a melody.
Every sentence a song.
I'm caught on your hook.
I could listen all day long.
I'm lost in your music
while you're lost in this madness.
So don't worry my dear,
the flowers will someday bloom.
I shall save these words for you.
I'll read them out to you,
but only once during the blue moon.

You're a sweetheart and a really brave bird.
So walk with me to the edge of the earth
and I will share you all my secrets,
and you will share me yours.
We'll tie them both to balloons
and let them go.
Lay with me down on this pearly dew-drop grass.
We'll watch the clouds travel to and fro,
just stay with me in this perfect spot.
You don't have to go.
2014
Kelly Weaver Jan 2017
As your salt stings my chapped lips and my open wounds I come less and less to you

You grit your teeth into dust that carries through your heinous breath that makes my eyes water and my heart ache

And I cannot believe not too long ago I turned to you for care and comfort and compassion but instead I was caught in a tight spot lacking wiggle room

I can feel you burning a hole through my chest as I ***** words and phrases that don't make sense when put together like

"I love when you make me cry"
lmbf Aug 2018
In the pale blue veins of my wrist I spot my parents' joy, her smile, my friends' laughter.
In the pale blue veins of my wrist therein lines a faint outline of the Manhattan skyline at night; all natural and manmade wonders intertwined.
In the pale blue veins of my wrist I see myself speaking to a family of immigrants, and changing their world by offering them the same pathway into this nation of immigrants that I was afforded so many years ago.
In the pale blue veins of my wrist I see the afternoon sun glistening on her back by the water, and I see the thought of seeing her, loving her once again.
In the pale blue veins of my wrist I see the potential for regrowth.
Repair.
In these pale blue veins I see the possibilities of learning to live and love once again.
Summer Freewrite Sessions 2018 //
When I was 10, I had recurring thoughts of wanting to hurt myself. I wanted to fully visualize the pain I felt inside by seeing it play out in front of me. But everytime I do, I think of pale blue, and how in this world there is so much more I have to give and do. Hope this helps at least one soul out there.
"There are always more reasons why not."
PS shoutout to my English teachers for teaching me literary terms/techniques, this brief return to poetry wouldn't have been possible without you all!
Sammie wells Dec 2013
Christmas is here
Santa's been
Listen to them
Excited screams

Racing down the stars
Jumping on the spot
Excited giggles
Shouting out

Santa's been
Santa's been

Tearing open presents
Shouts of Delight
Lots of hugs and kisses
Smiles on everyone

Family gathers round
Chatter never ends
Laughter fulls the room
Kisses under the mistletoe
Raise a toast

Santa's been
Santa's been

Tucking into turkey
Hiding Brussel sprouts
Pulling Christmas crackers
Making people laugh

Merry Christmas everbody

Santa's been
Santa's been
Mike Hauser May 2014
I've got my Rip Van Winkle on
I've got my dreams all packed
Now all that is need be
A shady spot to lay my head

One that is unmoving
That will be around for years
When roaming the halls of slumber
Time is the first thing that is missed

I sit back as I relax
With a good book in hand
I commence to yawning hard
Enter stage left...Sandman

I've got my Rip Van Winkle on
The rest is history
I'll see you all around sometime
But only in my dreams
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