Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Lizzy Oct 2014
i need some company
im lonely and im sad
i feel like a burden
and my mind is tortured daily

im sorry im a clingy ******* mess
but i still feel like im drowning
im still afraid im gonna sink
please dont let me fall

please hold me
please dont let me go
i need your arms wrapped around me
i need to know
whatever man
Corey Apr 2017
Religion has such power. It guides in a
certain direction while allowing the followers
to take on their own life. They are submissive
despite its controlling ways.

I worship you, and you worship the moon.

It has such control over you. It allows
your tides to rise and to fall. Yet, you are
not forced, you prefer to adhere
to it's gentle push and pull.

I have no religion but you.

Perhaps the moon is as unknowing of
its control over you, as you are unknowing
of your control over me. It is pleasant
to allow you control.

For you, I am tidal.
Vexren4000 Sep 2018
A wave of mighty ocean,
Crashing upon unsuspecting shores,
Decimating infrastructure,
Making humanity remember,
The power of the ocean waves.

©BAS
Osiria Melody Mar 24
"Smoke ****, not cigarettes."
stood the calmness in your chest.
inhale the soothing, healthy greens.

fall awake in a state of mind where
time never stays to sleep.
energize me with the raspy air,
gasping for more of another hit.
it doesn't botha me that you're chill
like that.

5 AM, get up like light never knew
how to glow.
swim in your pool of thoughts until
you think your brain will rot.
feelin' a bit hungry, so eat mountains
of calories.

12 PM, choreography of rolling another
blunt: step 1, 2, 3....
pass on the soothing healthy greens to
everybody.
it doesn't botha me that you're chill like
that.

your eyes are watery and bloodshot like
the capillaries, arteries, veins in my body.
5 PM hits with red rose petals blazing
brighter than red: what color is that?

feelin' a bit tired, but there's no need to
count sheep when you could count the
cigarettes that you never kissed again.



Melody
3/24/19
To my dear friend (who stated the words that
I quoted),
I am not mocking your words. My artistic mind caught fire and this piece was salvaged from the ashes of my creativity. What you said impacted me so much that I felt like writing this piece. Everything's fabricated, except for your words that I quoted.
Lily May 2018
Fluid and soft
she will slip through your hands
like water

meant not to fill you,
but to help you grow.

She is not your rock
in a hard place

She is a tidal wave
that breaks you
at the receding.
CK Baker Apr 2017
to exonerate the clipping
we took the back road to oswega
the tudor house rabbits
had long lost their heads
(presumably to the *****)
and what remained
of the scape
was dead
and dry
and orange

that happy home
on the brink
of cattle loop
was now gull grey ~
the needles
and stragglers
(from shady bay)
remained in numbers
on the outskirt
of the park

the fabled town
of horse drawn tours
was stone washed ~
on the back of
government docks
sat decrepit toppers
set on high tide
against the lighthouse
and its measured song

flutes and fiddles
and acoustic sitars
ride the accompaniment
nose rings
and signage
in the hands of
staged protesters
the sickly spit strewn
with tidal run
and ocean bags

hedgerow trimmed
alongside the sea walk
rolling hills bend
before the chuck
mint juleps
and flop hats
peak the parade
clydesdales
and royals
blinded in back
Tommy Randell Nov 2014
The music was spilling out of us
The Guinness was going in
Terry’s octave mandolin
Was riding out in front of him

Like a boat tethered in a tidal surge
Like a young colt backing off the rein
And for each unexamined wreck of a song
He’d let out a little more sail

We were flying

Upstairs in The Taffes Inn
Was an oven of chords
Songs about the famine and
Ireland’s tragedy of wars

And I answered
With an ash-pit tongue of a poem
Showing our Yorkshire wounds
Made by London’s bonds

We were crying

Telling of Fishing, mining and grief
That having no say was having no meat
Coming stumbling and shaking to our common regard
To a Dublin breakfast, a mixed grill of the heart

Where we agreed to our passions
And our histories’ concepts
Where we sat and said nothing when saying nothing was best
That one sausage alone is a very deep subject

We were frying.
One sausage etc is a quote from Ciaran Carson's book on Irish Music and culture 'Last Night's Fun' - A must must read!
Nat Lipstadt Jul 2018
~weary weighted~

flummoxed are the sea watchers;
the long rhythms of sea change reveal only minor modesties,
difficult discerned are the tidal subtleties

though repetitive thrashing extracts it toll,
only the weary-weighted see the true meaning of the beating,
knowing full well,
it beats for them

recalling their early day’d fascination with its endless chaining,
now knowing all are similar
detained-chained,
and  the ******* churning but a cover up masque,
they need not longer conceal,
an unrevealed confess:

water is heavy-weighted, you cannot forever float,
constancy is of a thing to be wary,
its sadder longevity,
a chipping away erosion of wearing,
‘tis is the knelling noise of  sad respite,
an unlight lighthouse



~for Victoria, a year later~
Khoi-San Dec 2018
Waste
deep
underneath
the
moonlight
in
tidal
waves
tumultuous
Drifting back to the ocean
like it never even happened
unraveled dreams washed clean
crystalline renaissance bestowed    
by wind mountain spring waters
rising from the heart
of mother earth

A remnant light glows deeply
of one love's untamed wonders
an unfastened feather glides abandoned
rushing waters floating
alighting pilgrim blissfully sails on
stranded without wings
a fallen wild feather free as bird
wanting a place to be let free

Sun in the summer air
wind in buoyant feathered hair
softly dancing upon
wild river restless ripples
to feel the love of holding on
adrift asunder whence it touched on
destiny's far-reaching
journey yonder
holding onto flowing rivers
rolling towards the sea

The incoming tidal waters blossom
surge to greet wind river's gentle saunter
converging slackening passage
salt on feral feathered fragments
arousing currents babbling swirl
imbibed by the impassioned sea

Wild rivers' born intentions
a different kind of drifting passage
to kiss the distant horizon
where the sown sunlight settles
submerged in shoreless ocean waters
    to be free all at sea at last


someone you used to know  2017
The ocean becomes my temperament vicious and uncalculated
Breaching boundaries and flooding streets with emotions  
Tidal wave's pull me under
But I still feel your light no matter how deep I delve
You became a new sun when my head convinced me my world had ended
And after all this time I've realized saving my self Is more important than saving grace so strike me down if I'm the devil in myself
Causing plague and disease in my own head .
Jordan Rowan Dec 2015
It's like a diamond stake pushed through the silence of my brain
It's like a thunder of voices coming down like a hurricane
It's like a forest of gunfire blowing past my bedroom door
It's like the force of a god pushing down on my floor

Whip smart, by all accounts, but lost beneath the sheets
Forced out of a comfort zone and pushed out to the streets
Spastic changing voices like a record out of line
Just speak like you always do and don't **** with my mind

I'm like a tidal wave that only gets halfway there
No shore to erode with no Taiwan to even care
I'm like a promise left on the kitchen table after dawn
Someone will find it but it will be thrown out on the lawn

Born without a spoon but there is silver in my teeth
I'm made out of as much spirit as a plastic, clearance wreath
Dust beneath the stars cancels out the dawning sun
Shine on the bums, the prophets, everyone
zebra Nov 2017
i feel like talking tonight
reciting poetry to your big blue eyes
and raw pink mouth smiling
high as a wind whipped kite
discussing
art, ontology, and existentialism
sitting like lotus
at the
Cafe Figaro on McDougall st
in the west village
the  belly of a ghost
lost in a vagrant memory

afterwards
we go to a
little one bedroom flat in the east village
haunted by the vapors of history
a slight stench of ****
and dingo tongue
dripping toilet
all peeling walls
intimating births, cheer and squalor

after a hot bath
of lathered torsos
we would follow each other *****
winding around a table
into a swaying bed
that beckoned
**** here my darlings

and i licked and drank out of your drenched
rose red blossom for hours
it licking back
I salvaged my soul between your thighs
like a wounded dog whimpering
thanking God with every graze and ******
of your all supple shifting limbs
and
your company
your company
your sweet droplets
of company

a summer balm

we looked in the mirror
reflecting on my secreted glistening face
all red raspberry
lips emerald hydras
laughing our ***** off at how artsy i looked
smeared
with your blood painted thighs
appearing as if half eaten

and you growled swallowed  and
licked big butter stick piggy
till your nose ran like the Ganges
gagging
eyes bloodshot pools of fire
cooing and oowing
driving me maniacal
with every ****** of your wild glinting tongue

we poured our selves into each other
viscous creels gushing
coursing like tidal waving lava  
radiating

and finally used to the marrow
we found ourselves drooping
our eyelids  leaden

the night mist fell upon us like breezing shade
and we drowsed
in careless embrace
our *** shriveled
like cast-off umbilici
and we fell to sleep
steep steep
floating
like two buttermilk clouds
adrift

your company
your company
your sweet droplets
of company

a summer balm
*** *** ***  love memory fiction nostalgia
Amanda Mar 2018
Fill the hollow crevice of my existence
With light, show me a warmer way
Stop numbness from taking over
I am slipping further0 into dismay.

Down the senseless pit of despair
My direction is out of control
Darkness paralyzes my mind
Strangling thoughts that crawl and roll

Constricting my body until I give up
I kick the air but cannot land a blow
The empty space will never stop resisting
The sound of my own scream has become my foe.

The endless void swallows my voice
Here the tears I cry fall forever
The lies I have told mean nothing now
I knew my will was always meant to sever.

Faced with nothingness all around
This is my life; a ******* hole
It's slowly shoving me outwards
Little by little, pain taking over my soul.

Chaos has reality gripped
In a tight but unsure grasp
Confusing the mass of color
And motion contained in its clasp

Bullied by the tidal wave of isolation
Head above water though it is strong
Giving up the ability to move
Surviving by the current floating me along.

My consciousness is traveling lethargically
I no longer feel my torso or limbs
Attempt to wiggle a finger but it won't budge
It takes all my strength to speak and part dry lips.

This is where existence ceases
Where time's beginning meets its end
An unending loop of monotonous emotions displayed
A breif instant in which Eternity life does suspend
This started as how I felt when I was crippled by heartache and doubt but switched lanes kinda. It's random I suppose. But it sounds pretty.
False Poets Oct 2017
does the moon get tired?

~for the children who never tire of moon gazing upon the dock,
by the light of the fireflies,
till the angels are dispatched by Nana,
to sprinkle sleepy dust in their eyelashes so long and fine~


<•>
while walking the dog I no longer have,
a happenstance glanceable up over the River East,
there you were, mr. moon, in all your fulsomeness ,
surrounded by a potpourri of courtier clouds,
all deferentially bowing, waving,
passing past you at a demure royal speed on their way
perhaps,
to Rebecca's northern London,
of was it south to grace of  v V v's Texas^,
in any event,
the cloudy ladies, all bustling and curvaceous,  
all high stepping in recognition of your exalted place,
Master of the Night Sky

We,
the word careless, poets excessive,
sometimes called silly poppies, old men,
left footed, still crazy after many years,
most assuredly poets false all of us,
without a proper prior organized thought train,
outed,
bludgeon blurted,
an inquiry preposterous and strange,
strait directed to the sombre face,
to mister moon himself!

tell me moon, do you ever tire?

the obeisant clouds shocked
as that face we all uniform know,
unchanged anywhere you might go  to gaze, be looking upon it,
watched the moon's face turn askew.

He looking down at our rude puzzlement,
with a Most Parisian askance,
a look of French ahem moustacheoed disbelief,
while we watched as the moon cherubic cheeks
filled with airy atmosphere,
then he sighed

so windy winding, was it,
so mountain high and river deep,
that those chubby clouds were blown off course,
from a starless NYC sky
all the way past Victoria Station,
only to stop at Pradip and Bala's
mysterious land of
bolly-dancing India,
on their way to Sally's Bay of Manila,
magic places all!

Mr. Moon looked down at this one tremulous fool representative  
(me) and in a voice
basso beaming and starry sonorous,
befitting its stellar positioning,
squinting to get a closer look at the
who in whom
dare address him in such an emboldened manner!

Mmmmm, recognize you, you are among those
who use my presence, steal my lighted beams, my silver aura,
my supermoon powered light, borrow my eclipses,
reveal my changeling shaped mystery without permission,
only mine to give, you tiny borrowers who write that thing,
p o e t r y

head and kneed, bowed and bent,
I confessed
(on y'alls behalf)

we take your luminosity and don't spare you
even a tuppence, a lonely rupee, no royalties paid
to you-up-so-highness,
and we hereby apologize for all the poets
without exception,
especially those moon besotted,
only love poem writing,
vraiment misbegotten scoundrels....

with another sigh equality powerful,
mr moon pushed those clouds across the Pacifica,
all the way to the  US's West Coast,
up to Colorado,
where moon-takings from the lake's reflecting light
so perfect for rhyming, kayaking,
and moonlight overthrowing,
once more, the moon taken and begotten,
nightly,
as heaven- freely-granted

yes, I tire
and though  here I am much beloved,
usually admired though sometimes even blackened cursed,
seen in every school child's drawing,
in Nasa's calculations,
of my influential gravitational pull,
moving human hearts
to love and giving Leonard a musical compositional hint,
and while this admirable devotion is most delighting,
would it upset some vast eternal plan,
if but one of you once asked,
you fiddler scribblers
my prior permission,
even by just, a lowly
mesmerizing evening tide's tenderizing glance?

yes, I tire,
even though my cycles are variable,
my shape shifting unique, my names so at variance
in all your many musical sing-song dialectical languages,
my sway, my tidal currents so powerful a deterrence,
unlike my boring older sunny cousine  who just cannot get over
how hot looking she is,
I,  so more personally interesting,
yet you use me as if I were a fixture,
on and off with
a tug of the chain string,
never failing to appear,
even when feeling pale yellow and orange wan,
and worse,
mocked as an amore pizza pie,
do you ever ask how I am doing?

yes, I tire,
of my constant circuitous route that changes ever so slowly,
but yet, too fast for me to make some nice human acquaintances, especially those young adoring children
who give me their morn pleasurable squeals when they awake and my presence still there,
a shining ghost of a guardianship protector still
watching over them*

how oft in life do we presume,
take for granted
grants so extra-ordinary
that we forget to remember
the extra
and see only the ordinary

how oft in life do we assume,
the every day is always every,
until it is not,
only an only
a now and then,
till then,
is no longer a
now*

oh moon, oh moon,
our richest apologies
we hereby tender and surrender,
our arrogance beyond belief,
what can we offer in relief?

silence heard loud and clear,
mr. moon was gone,
a satellite in motion,
so our words burnt up in the atmosphere
unheard

we did not weep
nor huff and puff,
blow those clouds back to us,
for we knew
the extraordinary
would return tomorrow,
we will be ready,
better another day,
to prepare
a lunar composition,
a psalm of hallelujah praise,
for mr. moon
of which
mr moon will never tire,
for filled with the perma-warmth
of our affection
False Poets is a collective of different poets who write here, in a single voice,
hence the confusing interchangeable switching of the pronouns.    sorry bout that.


^ HP - give them back the claimed  V name!
Christian Ek Jan 2015
I love to make someones day.
Let loose! Let loose! I say.
Choosing inspirational words i can make the stress go away.
Tonight is your night, the drinks I will pay.
Dress up in our finest clothes, kings and queens toast like a parade.
There is a party and everyone is going in the city of L.A.
A brother asked me "show me your best dance move" and I said okay.
And like an energetic crescent moon I changed the tidal waves with one move.
Just for you.
Because the good times roll when everyone can celebrate and no one hates.
Arianna Dec 2018
Breathing deeply
Of the heat
Rising
In tidal rushes
From the velvet of
Your skin
Cascading
Over mine,
Entireties
Enveloping
Melting, us together,
Suspended in this
Pulsing plane
Of pleasure and pain,
As
The warmth of wine
Hits the blood
Wherein
La chaleur de nous-mêmes
Indistinguishable

HEART

Reunites
Inside-outside­
At once,
At one
In a carnal


SYMPOSIUM


Pomegranate cheeks
Pressed, rouge
Into wine,
Flowing
Ambrosia
Of sweat,
Honey,
And the Hunger
Of



TIME



Grapes bursting
Forth from vines
Of bordeaux kisses
Devoured,
Plucked ravenously
With tongues,
Flowing
In leaf-winged abundance
Over humming, desiring
Stomachs
Bursting with
Crimson cabernet
And the drunkenness of roses,
Blooming scarlet
And savage
Between thighs, and
Strewn back
Up the ripening
Raspberry vines
Now entwining,
All-compelling,
.
.
.
.
                                               T                                                       
                    R                                                  

A                         ­         I          
                              N                  M  ­  
N                                                
                     G.....         R
                    S                              ­                          
                     O
                                                     F                                                          ­  
               .
               .
               .
               .
Between skins,
Garlands
Of laurel caresses
Woven
‘Round necks,
Braided through shady
Willow tresses
By rose-stained
Fingertips
Hovering

D
O
W
N

To alight
Upon strawberry lips:
Inhaling
Hymns
From the depths beneath them:
Lush,
Flowing
Harmonies of


FEELING


Echoing,
As the tambourines
Chime louder
In breaths
Amidst the swaying
Of hips and

IMMOLATING

Free of form,
The dance



REVERBERATING



In the ardor
Of souls bared
Whole.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i4qePY2Wdss
Moonshine full upon our seas
Evening breeze sweet beckoning
Reach below, within me deeply
Move me with movements, tidal pools
Acquiescing a kiss or two
Inside where we’re wet with need
Drown me in your love.
Bison Apr 2016
Now we've been tossed and thrown and beaten in this storm we call life
But it's alright
It's alright
We're gonna be alright
This ship is ancient and she creaks and she moans but she's born of light
Yeah she's gonna carry us
Right up to the edge
Where we'll find ourselves as we've never been before just hold on tight
The waves are crashing but there's hope beneath this ribs and I savor the salt in my eyes
Cuz this storm rages on and on with razors for wind and violent laughter in the skies
But we're making it
Making it
We're gonna make it through
And that new day is gonna be so beautiful that I can't stand to see it now
And when it comes I'm gonna dive right off the bow
Into the great big ocean full of love and wonder
If only we suffer through the thunder and survive those tidal waves that threaten to bury us in those dark sands
But I know we're gonna be okay because I feel the strength of our scarred hands
Holding tight to these ropes that strain beneath our sails
Darling, things are gonna be okay
I've said it before and I swear I'll say it again
In the darkest of times trust in love because love never fails.
Written as more of a spoken word piece/non-traditional poem.
Jasmine Garcia Oct 2017
Unilluminated space
Reached the tidal of praise
Dressed in black and white
Lead in surprising ways

Silent and faceless
Yet gesture still in tune
Painted palm like beam of light
Reflects a life

As a hand that moves
And a hand that blooms
Is more yet to come
In another art
of groove.
An Imagery poem
me Dec 2013
M - Many beautiful talents did you have before they drown in a bottle and disappeared from your children’s eyes

O - Outrageous pain did you create for yourself and those who tried hard to love you

T - Tears that were shed as the tidal wave which flowed from a bottle swept over your own life as well as others near you, who were thrown against the rocks of life

H - Hope that waned, its light growing fainter as the years grew weary

E - Effacing the difficult memories hidden deep trying to sort them from the …. others? Trying hard to fine the others. I know they must be there …..somewhere?

R - Resolve that I will never repeat the environment in which I tried to grow, putting it to rest inside my soul, giving that which I so craved, but didn’t know
Next page