Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Stxlle Jan 2016
You sung her a song
while watching the stars
You made her believe in forever
With just one strum of your guitar

She never forgot the song
you sang to her that night
You even danced with her
You filled her heart with delight

You held her close to you
Your hand on her waist
You are the memory
She wish to erase

Bitter sweet thoughts
fill her mind everyday
When she saw you with
another girl in the hallway

Sweet and cute
you both acted
You didn't see her
You were too distracted

Quietly, She sat
A few rows behind you two
She wishes you knew how she felt
She wishes she told you

You thought she didn't like you
but you didn't notice the signs
Shy smiles, touchy hands
You didn't read between the lines

She takes half the blame
You liked her and she liked you
She regrets not admitting it
She thinks about the chances she blew

When the song plays
She remembers the dance as if a must
She remembers the look in your eye
As if no one knows anything but us

But life goes on
She'll live her life with this regret
You'll live yours never knowing
Maybe soon she'll forget
"Tenerife Sea" by Ed Sheeran
Go and listen to it. I needed to get this out of my thoughts. Its about I guy I liked in HS and he liked me back. I knew he liked me but he didn't know I liked him back. I was in the car and Tenerife Sea played. This was the song playing he danced with me. Every time I hear that song, it fills me with regret and sadness. It hurts to listen to it. I still wish told him.
train- May 2015
ed,
i "don't" know what me and my
"little bird" would do without you cause'
"uni" "take it back" to
"grade 8"as you
" kiss me" under the light of "all of the stars" cause'
"i see fire" when we both collide
and this "lego house" we had built for
me you and this "small bump"
so please don't "runaway"
but if you do i understand cause'
"even my dad does sometimes"
but don't fly away forever like a
"firefly" cause in the mornin' we'll sip some
"cold coffee" or we can get "drunk"
and you could "give me love"
but you'd have to "wake me up"
cause after all i am on "the a team"
watching as "one" of the "autumn leaves"
fall slowly down
and i realize that "im a mess"
so please don't "runaway"
we could take a "photograph" with
"the man" and "Nina"
or we could look at the "tenerife sea" while
we acknowledge our "afire love" and then i will
pull up my "shirtsleeves" and you can
feel my "bloodstream"
and maybe we could "sing"

what? i guess this whole time i was "thinking out loud"
Ed Sheeran is my inspiration, I really have to say he is my all time favorite musician. Thanks to Ed for helping me through 7 years of my life ♥
Madrid quedó vacía
sólo estamos los otros
y por eso
se siente la presencia de las plazas
los jardines y fuentes
los parques y glorietas

como siempre en verano
madrid se ha convertido
en una calma unánime
pero agradece nuestra permanencia
a contrapelo de los más

es un agosto de eclosión privada
sin mercaderes ni paraguas
sin comitivas ni mitines
en ningún otro mes del larguísimo año
existe enlace tan sutil
entre la poderosa
metrópoli
y nosotros pecadores afortunadamente
los árboles han vuelto a ser
protagonistas del aire gratuito
como antes
cuando los ecologistas
no eran todavía imprescindibles

también los pájaros disfrutan
ala batiente de una urbe
que inesperadamente se transforma
en vivible y volable

los madrileños han huido
a la montaña y a marbella
a ciudadela y benidorm
a formentor y tenerife

y nos entregan sin malicia
a los otros que ahora
por fin somos nosotros
un madrid sorprendente
casi vacante       despejado
limpio de hollín y disponible
en él andamos como dueños
tercermundistas del arrobo
en solidarias pulcras avenidas
sudando con unción la gota gorda

el verano no es tiempo de fragor
sino de verde tregua

empalagados del rencor insomne
estamos como nunca
dispuestos a la paz

en el rato estival
la historia se detiene
y todos descubrimos una vida postiza
pero cuando el asueto se termine
volverán a sonar
las bocinas los gritos las sirenas los mueras y los vivas
bombas y zambombazos
y las dulces metódicas campanas
durante tres fecundas estaciones
nadie se acordará
de pájaros y árboles
Louise Ruen Dec 2016
...my mom tells me as she tucks me to sleep.
Her eyes are bright blue with similarities to the Tenerife Sea. Solid, bright but with an icy touch. I believe her.
Then my eyelids flutter open after a kiss and I stare into a young man’s brown eyes. Solid, deep, full, sincere, warm. I trust him more than I should.
My own eyes aren’t that easy to decode. They’re a complete mess.
A chaos of color conflicting with eachother, instead of settling on one.
Blue when I wake up,but  green when I step outside.  
If eyes really are the windows to the soul what does that say about me?
Am I splatters of different colors floating around like petals in a mysterious endless lake in the forbidden part of the forest?
Am I a rainbow only to be seen clearly when both rain and sun hits upon me?
Am I a bouquet filled with different flowers plucked different places with different stories?
Forests are easy to get lost i.
Lakes are easy to drown in.
Rainbows are not tangible.
Flowers are pretty but their lifespan is short after having been plucked.
I wish I wasn’t a chaotic mess.
That I wasn’t torn in between the things I want, the things I can, the things I have, the things I want to be.
I hope that one day my eyes and mind will make up their will.
But for right now, I my eyes may stay a chameleon.
Only seen by those who really see.
I guess I've now reached into the coming of age poetry genrer. Interesting.
Christos Rigakos Oct 2012
What's rendered me an impotent of life,
while others live a life with vibrant hum?
A curse that's hedged me by a wall of strife!

While other lives with fine success are rife,
my own's deplete, a curse has sure become
what's rendered me an impotent of life!

Through failure to provide I've lost a wife!
Though I believe, there are those doubts in some,
a curse that's hedged me by a wall of strife

cannot exist, they say, I'm a midwife
to all my troubles, I am who has done
what's rendered me an impotent of life!

Or maybe I've insulted a spaewife,
who cast, to love and money make me dumb,
a curse that's hedged me by a wall of strife.

I've searched from North Recife to Tenerife,
and failed to find a way to make undone
what's rendered me an impotent of life,
a curse that's hedged me by a wall of strife!

(C)2012, Christos Rigakos
Villanelle
Leslie Philibert Aug 2017
the sea the skin of a wet dog,
black the beach; a ruined church,
the coastal lights a string of lesser ways;
we are as empty as a dropped shell
pulled across the ebb, a ripple of salt..

and as the night gets deeper
a dragon breathes like the tide:
no mistake, the dark needs its hours
Katelyn Foley May 2014
Henry, You lost the love I love the most....
                          You ginger hair is the suns warm rays shining upon a blue eyed angel who doesn't see the love coming from the one who needs that angel to save her but she realizes he needs to be saved, she is his angel who is there to shine light upon a broken wing who needs to fly up above those blue skys so hey can together become one In harmony, not to be broken not to be frayed not to be left in the rain but to bring back the Tenerife sea in his eyes, to make her glow like a bright sunrise in a cloudy sky, she needs him as much as he needs an angel to make him shine, nobody understands why their love is so strong and deep and why a beautiful angel is with a broken wing but nobody knows that he is her everything, hes not only a majestic thing he is her sunlight on a rainy evening, he sees the angels scars but doesn't think they make her unlovable, shes difficult, but angels need to love too, no love story can save this angels broken wings but this broken thing will try to make her see that if she believes she can be saved, he doesn't see the love that she is trying give but Is not receiving, she doesn't understand why she is pretty but she understands that she is unlovable, she is making a permanent scar on her arm unlike the one that she can only see, he doesn't understand why she doesn't see what he sees but cant tell her these amazing feelings.... they both say why as their love is starting to die, the cry, they fight, they love, they sceam, they hurt, and they bleed, if only that broken wing came to save the beautiful angel dieing, bleeding, screaming, and crying why as she died... He finaly started to wonder if she is going to be alrigt so he decided to go in the middle of the night to fix things to tell her these amazing feelings and when he  got there he fell to his knees, crying in front of this broken beautiful amazing angel that saved him but couldn't be saved, he held her and cryed out ”please don't leave me, I need you, I love you, im so so so sorry I never told yu that your beautifula nd perfect for me, PLEASE PLEASE DONT LEAVE ME!!” he never understood why god let this beautiful angel die for him? but one day as he was going through her journal he cried as he read the last sentence that she wrote and it was about him, it said “If my angel were to ever read this, I didn't leave because of you, I left because I am not fit to be a mother,” he stopped and thought “A MOTHER?” and continued to read the letter “I know what your thinking what is she talking about? but im carrying our daughter, I didn't know what to do who to tell, I couldn't let me ruin you future, your so smart, live your life and continue to succeed, I know that you will be anything that you want to be and I know you will find someone thatloves you more than we ever could, im sorry for all the pain I have cause, we love you -your broken wing” he cried and cried and cried and screamed “WHY GOD WHY?” he never understood why until 6 years passed, he was a journalist with 4 best author awards, he always new that he had an angel watching over him, the day that his first daughter was born was the day he realized that, that angel couldn't be saved but needed to save him, he wasn't a broken wing any more, he was an amazing thing who had these 4 beautiful daughters and a loving wife who would never hurt him, he understood that his angel was set free!
Its a personal story that means a lot to me, its sort of a poem but its just something that makes me cry everytime I think about that beautiful childs blue eyes....
Paul Butters Dec 2015
Right now I’m alive
For now.
How long will I thrive?
Don’t know.

For most of Eternity
I’ll be dead.
Such is Mortality
It’s said.

Let me meditate on that.
Let me contemplate the moment.
Sitting on my mat
Dreaming a romant.

Yes I’m alive
Of that I’ve no doubt.
But where’s my drive?
I must have a scout…

Been to Tenerife and Malta
Scotland and Wales.
Never Gibraltar,
Few travelling tales.

But I’m not a roamer,
Rather stay at home.
Yes ever the homer,
And often alone.

My laptop and telly
Are all that I need.
Give me Keats and Shelley
For a good read.

So it’s right in the Now
I really must stay
No why, who or how
To darken my day.

No thoughts of the past
Or dreams of the future.
Make each second last,
Turn off that computer.

This moment has gone,
Now that you’re reading.
Let’s have another one,
That’s where I’m leading.

For now never lasts,
That we all know.
It’s lost in our pasts,
No longer on show.

I try here to paint
What has been and gone.
An attempt to create
The eternal song.

Paul Butters
The lads have gone and I'm left alone in the pub for a few minutes....
purpledandelion Jul 2019
I hope you don’t call me a Drunk when I said,
You look so wonderful in your dress with hair falling to the side of your neck,
down your shoulders and back.
We’ll need to navigate the Tenerife Sea to dance in the streets of Barcelona
Si, te  adoro, senorita
Said “ChenChen, I wanna dance”
with my pretty little Kajang Girl
You’re my pretty Kajang girl.

Just another night, staring at the moon, wishing upon All of the Stars that some day I can invite you to watch the sunset over the Castle on the hill
Over the Castle on the hill
from Magyar Hungary to the shores of Slavic Croatia.
There is no waiting too long for ChenChen,
Maybe I played my cards wrong,
I apologize for it.
I just wanna Dive into the waves of missing you,
though they are more like tsunami tides now.

Those silly scholars of U.N.I versiti Sains Malaysia,
dumb beyond help for not offering you a seat to read economics in their halls.
Those silly fools Don’t know but I do, ChenChen definitely belong to Class A Team,
they might as well quit and go run a Lego House.
Gonna write them an insulting email as when they cross you,
they Cross Me

I am Thinking Out Loud now,
for the night skies to
Make it rain
make it rain low
so that you can sleep comfy and sleep tight.
You’ll need all the good rest to resume your battles t’morrow.
As you enlighten Nat -I See Fire, blood in the breeze.
Watch the blood pressure climb high, as you maneuver all the little chat windows like a Watchtower guardian.

Just wanna remind you to stay healthy and fit,
coz I miss the Shape of You
running the treadmill and the Russian twists.
Great practice missing you,
coz you’ll be gone by December snow,
I will wait for you to come back home.
Thank Goddess for technology to keep your Photograph
inside the GB of my iPhone “ x
ChenChen, always remember to replenish your Touch and Go card and be assured that my budget for you is un Divide ed.
I can’t give you anymore “ + “ because whether with heels or barefoot on the grass,
ChenChen you look Perfect tonight and every night...
Lyss Brianne Jan 2019
I still know how you take your coffee
And how you prefer baths
But your legs are too long to sit comfortably
You’re all long limbs and bones
Soft skin and freckles

I remember falling in love through a computer screen
Watching your hair grow out  
As we grew apart

Sixteen was magic for me
I met you and never went back
Even now I remember the curves of your back
And the night of our first date
Ice cream in May never felt more right

You still have my sweater
I still have forgotten hair ties
And your dads hat from a few summers ago
I can’t let go of you completely
You have a piece of me forever
And I don’t want it back
I just want to see you again
So I can thank you for loving me
When nobody else could
Con ciudades y autores frecuentadosVenecia / Guanajuato / Maupassant /
Leningrado / Sousándrade / Berlín /
Cortázar / Bioy Casares / Medellín /
Lisboa / Sartre / Oslo / Valle Inclán / 

Kafka / Managua / Faulkner / Paul Celan /
Ítalo Svevo / Quito / Bergamín /
Buenos Aires / La Habana / Graham Greene /
Copenhague / Quiroga / Thomas Mann /

Onetti / Siena / Shakespeare / Anatole 
France / Saramago / Atenas / Heinrich Böll /
Cádiz / Martí / Gonzalo de Berceo /

París / Vallejo / Alberti / Santa Cruz
de Tenerife / Roma / Marcel Proust /
Pessoa / Baudelaire / Montevideo
Ste Jan 2018
If your desperate for a job,
then in a call centre its always
easy to get hired.
Just talk to people on the phone and
you'd be unlucky to get fired,
no suit no references and no CV required,
no bulshit questions in the interview
they need staff and you will do,
just turn up everyday,
not too late and not too wired.

Its OK love,
you can stop your huffing
and your puffing,
dont you worry,
I'm not trying to sell you nothing,
in me you can put all your trust in.
But on any call thats cold,
thier's an idea to be sold.
Its my job to find easy meat,
keep you sweet, and transfer
you through for a stuffing.

Three hundred calls a day,
automatic dialer,
Something in your lunch box
to get a little higher,
you can get through it if your a smiler.
You'll hit your target and you'll be fine,
if your in everyday and on time,
and you can **** it if your a **** like me,
or a compulsive liar.

If thiers a hunt then I'm the hunter,
if your cuntish, then I'm cunter,
if your near the top,
then of you I'm infronter,
if your smashing it I'm twatting it,
you've got twenty five call backs,
but I've got one thats having it,
cant keep up with me
because your tongue's blunter.

I could sell a puma to a mouse,
I could sell Puma to a scouse,
I could sell Subo to a *******,
I could sell ****** to a man with no ****,
I could sell a bag of AIDS
at the methadone clinic,
and I could sell Jim Beam Famous Grouse.

I sold Bit coins to Barclays bank,
I sold my dairy to Anne Frank,
I sold a pea-shooter,
to the driver of a tank.
At a mosque I sold a pig,
I sold glow sticks,
at a black metal gig,
and I once sold cystitis
to a *****.

I sold a car to a man,
who did not drive,
sold a book to Ray Mears,
on how to survive.
I sold lessons to Tom Daley
to learn  how to dive,
Sold a man without a dog,
lessons to teach it how to behave,
I sold a razor to ZZ Top
and  persuaded them to shave,
and I sold a vegan a steak
so rare, it was still
half alive.

I sold a man a coffin,
one he'd never get in,
as he'd already donated
his body to medical science,
I sold a cave man an electrical appliance,
I sold a pair of eight thousand watt
speakers to a libary,
as a teen I sold a bag of magic beans,
but that was snide of me.
And I sold the man, to Johny Rotten
when he was the eptimone of defiance,
yea I sold that rebel compliance.

Drilling that dailer in a
cut throat environment,
psych's you up so much
things can get violent,
gotta be battle ready,
its a job requirement.
Saw a lad get phone wrapped round head,
he hit the floor and the line went dead.
We fixed that phone but he was ******,
and had to take early retirement.

Sad when that little bird is gone,
but then starts an even fitter one,
not that I ever got a grip o'one.
Such a huge turn over of staff,
I've a heart of stone
but even I had to laugh,
they cant take the heat,
so they get out the kitchen.

Ohh the joys of cold calling.
Stop complaining your job is boring,
only your benifits out
the bank you'd be drawing,
what else are you getting these days
in this nation,
with your record and reputation?
You'd have to subsidize
as a secret shopper,
or serving those that are scoring.

Our education, was at best pathetic,
all the ****** jobs are taken
by those with a higher work ethic.
they cant speak clear English,
but to thier credit,
they work hard and put in the hours,
but these call centres are ******* ours.
They've had everything else
but cold calling? haha they can forget it.

There was a manager, he was my chief
he had a week off,
to soak up the sun in Tenerife.
I thought ******* and scived for two,
had holiday of a lifetime in Elevenarife.
Got back, got grief,
asked why have I been off
when I was'nt meanter,
because I'll always go one better than you
when working in a call centre.
Yea I had self belief.

I'd turn up stinking of the *****,
my manager, for me would make lame excuse,
he knew through that day I'd cruise,
a liquid meal helps the speil.
lets hope so or both our jobs we'd lose.

To behave like that no-one aught'er,
if you'd murdered me at that time
you'd deserve a charge of manslaughter.
In pub at lunch, everyday in deep water.
look again, Ste is ******
advised to stop, but I did insist.
Did not finish top that month,
but still ******* smashed it that quarter.

In the end I quit,
I decided call centres are ****.
had enough of it.
I will not work in a
call centre again
until the day I die.
kept getting passed over for promotion
was not happy,
but reading over these words
I'm starting to understand why.
Yea at times I could be a ***.

Were all *****, us that cold call,
but I was the biggest **** of them all.
Yes I could sell a winter jacket
before the fall,
yes I could sell a nun a magazine from
the top shelf,
but most importantly of all,
I could sell my own bulshit to myself.
David Plantinga Dec 2021
The Wit is nimble, and can skip
The longest distances with ease.  
It flits on an extended trip,
One day, and back from overseas.  
The Wisdom hasn’t cleared the dock, 
A wide, and long, and sluggish ship,
Her cargo a tremendous stock,
And filled as if by faucet drip.  
But such a huge displacement packs,
What takes a flimsy, skimming skiff
More than a hundred there’s and back’s,
A bounty to save Tenerife.
He’d lain off the island just a week,
It was really only a reef,
That ****** up out of the waters
Ninety miles from Tenerife.
It didn’t show up on a local map
And he thought he’d heard it said,
‘Be sure, if you think of sailing west
That you miss the Isle of the Dead.’

On the higher part was a grove of trees
He explored when he went ashore,
And hidden deep in the foliage was
A house, not seen before.
It was made of wood, and covered in vines
That acted as camouflage,
It couldn’t be seen ‘til you came up close,
And stood with the door ajar.

He thought it must be deserted, though
A garden was weeded out,
And then, as he had approached the door
He was pulled up short, by a shout.
‘Who’s this, who enters my private grounds,
Who’s this, who plays with my head?
We never have visitors here, you know,
For this is the Isle of the Dead!’

He turned, was facing a sprightly girl
With a mass of auburn hair,
She wore a costume of paw paw leaves
That had made him stand and stare,
Her eyes reflected the brightest blue
Of the ocean, out in the bay,
And her mouth affected the slightest pout
As he wondered what to say.

A woman came through the cottage door
And she said, ‘Come in, Narreen,
We never talk to the strangers, for
You don’t know where they’ve been.’
Her manner was quite unfriendly as
She gestured to the shore,
‘You’d better be making way, my friend,’
Then shut the makeshift door.

He slept on his vessel every night
But he came ashore at dawn,
Hoping to get the briefest sight
Of the girl, for his heart was torn.
He hesitated to call it love
But it grew, each time he saw,
Her figure appear from the grove of trees,
Or saunter along the shore.

She finally came to talk to him
And squatted to hear him tell,
Tales of the wondrous world out there
Of jewels and gold as well,
Her eyes grew brighter with every tale
And he said, ‘You should come with me,
We’ll sail on the balmy Autumn swell
And you’ll see the world for free.’

Her sister came to the beach one day
And she took the girl back home,
‘I think that it’s time you sailed away,
We haven’t the need to roam.’
But he came ashore the following day
And he lured the girl to his boat,
She seemed surprised at the size of it
And the fact that it could float.

He tried to sooth, as he raised the sail
‘We’ll just go out for a spin,’
But she was suddenly nervous, and
She asked that they go back in.
He thought that he’d made the girl his own
As they sailed from the bay, at last,
But then he noticed the withered crone
Who clung, in death, to the mast!

David Lewis Paget
The thunder got locked into the dreary sky
Knells, kettles, little nullified and filling voids rather easily
I in the waters had some hundred men, with fibs and pies
Who was looking for a way to make waves with rib-steaks
The beast wandering the houses reeking of suicide
Take me, don't be afraid, grab me by the neck
The sea next to the northern droning ocean
Take me through the cloudy crosswinds, running far
Beyond adventure and danger beyond the Tenerife bay
Take me down like the killer down best friend lane
Friendly with the rider in the south
Stormy with the strength of the crowd
Fluent with the crime, knowing of the curse
All this knowledge is in vain if you suffer from being unloved
Alguna vez en palma de mallorca
hallé en el borne dos filas de árboles
como las que hubo en un recodo
del viejo parque urbano

en la habana otra vez
pensé que el malecón
era como la rambla

en santa cruz de tenerife
hay una larga franja
como la de pocitos

la gente que camina en las calles de atenas
se asemeja a la nuestra
sólo que al mediodía

en helsinki si escucho cómo hablan
me parece lunfardopero nunca lo entiendo

el cielo de la noche blanca de leningrado
me recuerda mi cieloen tardes de tormenta

en buenos aires hay un barrio
flores
que puede confundirse con la aguada

el rastro madrileño
es una feria de tristán narvaja
sólo que gigantesca

ahora por fin
están aquí a mi alcance
parque rambla idioma firmamento
recodos calle feria esquinas

ya no preciso referencias
Dominique Sep 2020
unwashed shrimp; sick pink wishes
putrid puking and hot weather flashes
headaches and nausea for forgetting me
raw plates of karmic misery, i drank too much

I'll weather it with you through the phone
congealed seafood skies when i was alone
bred the bacteria that made you so ill
petri dish summer, i never wanted
to **** you, i drank too much

forty degrees like a tenerife beach
maybe from now you'll remain within reach
below the surface marine life bubbles
the fish of my thoughts will swim out of trouble
from now on
maybe I won't drink too much
don't wish death on friends, no matter how much they ignore you
John Bartholomew Sep 2021
Thats nice
Oh, I like that
It'll look good on the shelf
Now stuck in that drawer, gathering ill heath
The football programmes
The bottles of bleach from the Tenerife sun-tan
The school nativity play from your neighbour Stan
All shoved in the closet
With the receipt for the apartment deposit
Gathering dust for that day that you want it
Forgotten in the turns of time
Like that vinegar once bought decayed in brine
Stuck in the cupboard behind the lemon and lime
We look at it and always sadly mutter
I love it
I'll use it one day
This endless debris of useless, worthless, selfless,

Clutter
“Out of clutter, find simplicity.” ― Albert Einstein

“Clutter is my natural habitat.” ― Maggie Stiefvater, The Scorpio Races

“...that once were urgent and necessary for an orderly world and now were buried away, gathering dust and of no use to anyone.” ― Patricia A. McKillip, Alphabet of Thorn

“I like working among ‘creative clutter’. It gives me a sense of activity and achievement.”― Fennel Hudson, A Meaningful Life - Fennel's Journal - No. 1
On the first day,
there's a Pink Floyd prism, instant coffee,
the kettle at the back of the room, walls
with their primary-coloured displays with frilled edges,
words like 'spectrum' and 'clauses'
in a cursive font.

Someone is set to call. At this time
(8:36), I am alone, glue sticks suffocated
in their ziplocs, coloured spheres on a screen,
a board with the date, numbered.
Then, chatter. Tenerife is mentioned.
Somebody is blossoming.

It is the glassy unknown, mornings
to birth with breaths of fog, seeing the Co-Op
at the end of the road instead
of the bedroom ceiling. I am thinking
of seven years ago, autopilot, a dip in a park,
all of it, the years gone, time going on.
Written: September 2020.
Explanation: A poem written between 8.30am and 9am on 2nd September 2020, right before the day essentially commenced - the first day of my new job. Very few edits made from the original. A link to my Facebook writing page can be found on my HP home page.
NOTE: 'Co-Op' refers to a British food store and 'ziplocs' to the brand of zipper bags.

— The End —