"tinniest" poems
A tree stands tall on soil,
A human on earth,
The ground,
forming soils upper 'crust'.
But what would thou be,
If sans was the soil first?
We origunated from the soil,
Evolve through it,
One day, we'll be this soil
The soil, on which thou may never sit.
Life still isn't a thing,
without this mere soil.
It endures so much,
Yet gives back peace.
And complains not,
Of its strife's and greifs!
The food we eat,
The air we breathe,
Will all be futile,
Sans soil beneath.
There wouldn't be trees,
Would fresh air we'd breath?
The water we drink,
Would'en really be free?
And Oh, the ground that
Endures you feet,
Would you be standing,
Without the soil beneath?
The soil forms lifes,
Aids us live,
But little we know,
Of its sincerest deeds!
It burns itself,
To prevent us from heat,
It wettens itself,
And absorbs all heat.
The birds,
The beasts,
the tinniest creatue indeed,
Are the elements indebted
to soil in brief.
Thou life is but this soil,
The soil that reings life,
we are the trees,
Who stand on it,
Who laugh, endure,
Learn, speak,
Yet keeps so much,
like those little seeds.
Thy parent are seeds,
And the roots to be
Thy friends are leaves,
That may shed in weeks,
Thy siblings the arms,
Those helping hands in deeds.
The soil of life,
Sees success, misfortune and griefs,
Yet fertile is the one,
Who masters to smile even in adversities.
The soil is major part of eternity,
And our lives an essential part,
The part, we then call as an 'evergrowing tree'
Nov 14, 2017
Nov 14, 2017 at 6:03 PM UTC
It was a simple thing
throwing out the trash
cleaning out reminders
the embers, and the ash
When it fell into my hand
memories, long now forgot
resurfacing again, to pain
the ring, that I had bought
Take care when remembering
don't linger, on the chaff
the tinniest, and little things
will kick you, in the ***
Apr 17, 2017
Apr 17, 2017 at 1:35 PM UTC
I
An orange overcast this
evening splayed pink
hues stripes and
saccharine beads. The
twilight caricatures live golden years.
Restless becoming in the garden of
her drunken sons their flowers
soaked in brass, seams
bursting in uncontrollable
laughter we pause. To
admire the briefness
of that era exploding
its petals peppering
spraying saliently we spill
indoors churning across tabletops.
My arms hang dead by my sides.
Her eyes gaping sway
swiftly biting deeply the dottedfaces
lurch. Streets fall unconditional
amidst tears we comb lips
sharply distinctly
her stubborn *** stumbling
handles loosening she holds
my hand my arms hang
dead we pause.
II
Children babble sunlight across
lawns; I hear sirens traffic icecream nips
our tongues twinge on windless
pipes gust our hair flying smiling
at laughter from the
playground behind us.
Placid smiles stain enamoured
halls; for glimpses
we mumble necks crooked
sheets flap draped over bars
her eyes waver glisten
shiver. A warm breeze
dries my hair.
III
Wallowing I oscillate utmost trep-
-idation entangling grappling but
hushed beneath foliage eyes
downturned soil clings when her
fingers impress deeper through
to where rivers end.
Glowing dawn I turn further
lighter almost her hair caught
between the floors;
gently feverish we see turgid
lines the tinniest cracks we pray
on tranquil mornings.
Window panes blemished it was
spring only darker from
deafened rivers throbbing;
under lucid eyes I fold
and heralds blare. We consume
the silence sounding from still lakes.
Aug 26, 2013
Aug 26, 2013 at 9:22 PM UTC
Everyday we will smile and play
Windows will shatter across our platters
The morning will come and bid us hello
As you can imagine everyday was fantastic
All of a sudden the world came crashing
Rivers overturn and tress were falling
Echoing around me where sounds of animals screeching
The colors slowly fadding
Light cried goodbye, Night rose awake
Now these forbidden colors washed into grays
I try to tell everyone but no one listened
blinded by their own injustice
Green has been replaced by death
and i try to bring them back to life
all i have are ashes
The world grows form the tinniest of seeds
And blossoms into the flowers that captivates our sights
We pull form the ground and we stop its life
And for what?
To see it die in a glass container in our house
Forbidden colours of a field in full bloom
But not anymore
Greys have blocked the sky's light from reaching them
The world is slowly coming to a screeching halt
Winters are longer and summers are hotter
I wonder if we will survive
Forbidden colours
Of ice in the north and south that are melting away
Into the blues of oceans that are heating
The rush of water that is filling our land into a swamp
People try to fight against something they cannot control
People will like to blame anything at all
But themselves
All of these colours
fade away as we destroy their homes
And become extinct
Have filled the world with ash
Dark and thick like ink
Forbidden colours
Of the ocean blue
Magentas and purples of coral reefs
Red of the uncut redwood forest
Forbidden colours
Of white mountain tops
And cerulean of shining lakes
With underground forest vibrating viridian
Forbidden colours
Meadows that flow of fushia and lavender
Or fields of golden corn
With the rich brown of dirt
Forbidden colours
Of our pink lungs not filled with industrial vile
© Sofia Villagrana 2018
Jun 2, 2018
Jun 2, 2018 at 6:15 PM UTC
Dancing little kitten
Plying for my toes
Just the tinniest flinch of movement.
And away your paws go.
To cling to my toes and my fingers
To swing at my nose
Soft kisses are like wishes little kitten,
They rarely help.
But like wishes, soft kisses
Are allways felt
So crawl back to my arms
Tears sting skin like sandpaper
Crawl back to my arms little kitten
Ill show you dont need a maker
Dec 29, 2015
Dec 29, 2015 at 4:14 PM UTC
Only the purest of hearts have the ability to hear the dewdrops whisper in the earliest of mornings.
Sometimes the ones with the greed and darkness entwined within, need only a sign from someone else that they too are accepted.
Only the smallest of things have the advantage of seeing the world at its largest point.
Sometimes the ones who stand tall and grand may secretly be timid and afraid, with only their outer image concealing their true feelings.
Only the less flexible have the opportunity to grow and someday make it to a different level.
Sometimes the flexible have no more room to lengthen, leaving no space to progress in time.
Only the youngest of children can have the most unusual friends, who no one else can see,
Leaving the ones who are older, in a narrow-minded and constricted place, with nothing but reality wrapped around them.
Only the ones who forgive and let go will be able to move on,
Leaving the ones who don’t, trapped and lost forever.
Only the old with the tinniest of steps have had the longest journey,
Leaving the rest, with the wider and faster strides to continue on.
Only the ones that live their lives in the moment, will live it to the fullest,
Leaving the minds of the others, behind or ahead of time, giving no space for them to see what lies at their feet.
Only the ones who love themselves, will be able to spread and give love to others,
Leaving the ones who hate and resent themselves, to have no possible way to fully love and take in someone else.
May 3, 2010
May 3, 2010 at 4:26 PM UTC
All that exists, from the tinniest particle
To every scientific article
What were able to see through the naked eye
Or feel through an act of kindness or a simple smile
All thats invented, discovered & what surrounds us
All of the world, galaxy and entire universe
The timeline thats been placed upon us
Comes to an end to create value in us
Everything around us
Good or bad has been bestowed to surround us
Determining a way to fulfill us
In prospective of life's compromised promise
Everything, couldn't have been
O king
We where nothing
&
Because of you
Where all something
Nov 11, 2012
Nov 11, 2012 at 4:34 AM UTC
want to become an artist? get ready for poverty, and get ready to feel uncomfortable writing personae, where no form of narration will give you a good night's sleep, esp. "first person" narration; get ready for many contradictory revelations, and the rudest form of mockery: ridicule. get ready for the lynch mobs of the digital age of frustrated writers who, frustrated, antagonise; get ready to realise that poetry, compared to other mediums of writing is only the bare minimum, the sheer nakedness of it, the bare minimum.
i find it most peculiar that a once
mighty and budding colonial nation,
nay, nation expanded into
a colonial empire, should suddenly
implode and craft a mini-commonwealth
inside its boarders, and become
so blind with self-righteousness
as a means to erase the past, and see
itself as a champion of all kinds of freedoms,
of all kinds of necessary obligations
to provide the epitomes of human dignity,
as to not offend / provoke, all stiff-upper-lip
hush hush, to see the monochromatic
audiences at large stadium concerts no
later than mid-nineties: but what the hell
do i know, i'm just a plumber, a plumber
to the mammoth economic class of england
like in the olden days of marx and engels.
i'd change the anthem though:
poland a cinder after the raging flames of
prussia austria and russia - dictated our
extinction - a cinderella of europe -
and for its once proud ally - now a game
of blame when unified for the mini-commonwealth;
or as the irish say so well established in this
land, and esp. after the good friday treaty:
integrate little cinderella boy, integrate,
learn the language, and customs too, but afterwards
return to your people, and live in our
great multi-cultural society, under our
former masters' brow, in a segregated multi-cultural
society of the many death circle pockets,
live by all means, but do not be relevant with
us or our masters on a friendship base.
come the days when neighbour is no longer a neighbour,
should a neighbour be the least of a borrowed
cup of sugar, or anything of such -
the tinniest categorisation of aid.
Jan 22, 2016
Jan 22, 2016 at 5:52 AM UTC
for indeed, the little things in life magnify, as in: how attractive is the tinniest dog, when compared to a cerberus; the tinniest dog you seem to entomb in snuggles; while before the giants, earth sun and moon, we crafted a science of understanding, as if to enlarge ourselves, and dwarf them... but the giants knew of man's schemes, and perpetuated the answer: for indeed, how the little things in life magnify.
to feel in heart, innermost or outermost,
to the innermost zenith,
to the outermost pinnacle,
to feel in heart, a fabric akin to
a sparrow's nervous twitching,
to feel in heart more drama than
the river or the sea,
take care of the sparrow,
maybe someday one will fly from
a rosebush and sit on your hand
like one did on mine,
when i was a child - keen to remember;
if only the heart and all its turmoil
were so nervous as to constantly
imply a nervous itch -
that sparrow's twitch -
should we say any more, better a fickle
heart than a fickle mind,
better fickle emotions than fickle thinking;
for at least with fickle emotions
the many can be loved even if that be
a trivial entombing of us all,
but with fickle thinking, well,
who is there to be pleased?
Mar 30, 2016
Mar 30, 2016 at 9:53 AM UTC
When you have been deprived of sunlight,
For two weeks or more
The tinniest bit
Makes a day
If you were a tourist,
You would think
It's a holiday
If you were a ***
You would think
It's a Saturday
The light pulls us from our selves
From our dreams
From our room
At least for an afternoon
It's all
Ok
Without light
The tinniest bit
Makes a day
Dec 31, 2015
Dec 31, 2015 at 5:07 AM UTC
Your mood swings toward me
Are drastically unproportined that even I
Can't keep up with them
But I'm headstrong, I know how this goes
Every person I meet is an Anne Frank
And I am drowning beside ******
Only one can be saved
I don't know.
Maybe it's because this liquid courage
Strengthens my backbone just enough
To think easily of how those headlights seem
To be on the right side of the road but really,
They're just barely over the yellow,
Just enough so that the bones in my nose and forehead
Disintegrate into the tinniest pieces,
Slicing through my brain
Liquid courage helps spill my guts,
Not my blood
And I know what you're thinking
That this is a bigger joke than even myself,
That it's disgusting and maybe pathetic
But it's actually just entirely sad
Because there's no use for miscalculations,
There's no worry of the outcome
When you feel like life is not worth living
And the fact stretch marks don't even come close as to why
You're not even halfway good enough
For boy's like that
But the daydreams,
The longing of a hand on your thigh
While he's driving you to his favorite place
Or the first kiss you share,
Holding you every night
It makes the dull lit flame in you,
That you have no idea how or why is still there,
Spark and grow into this wildfire within your chest,
Tightening and warming it as you breath.
And that's exactly what you do.
You breath, you smile,
You imagine
Because there, in your imagination,
A boy like him would never hurt you
A boy like him would care
Apr 7, 2018
Apr 7, 2018 at 12:25 AM UTC