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Vii HunniD Feb 2018
I wish her a
Blossom of my heart
That will never
Wilt away...
Just some thought of LOVE I have to share
Kelly Weaver Feb 2018
Your seething tides churn in my mind
As my shaky hands subside
And though love can be caustic,
You are sweet-tempered.
Your voice could calm even the roughest storms.
I wish I had enough time in the day to tell you of how many times you've kept my heart beating
Or of all of the times you've interrupted the steady streams of woe escaping my bloodshot eyes
All without even trying.
I wish I could thank you for holding my hand while I puked up roses, and drying my eyes when I choked on the thorns.
for my darling boyfriend, who I love so very much
Daksh Nov 15
I have switched off the fans, the air conditioner
covered you with your blanket
And have stared you unconditionally.

Teary eyes?
Walking; Eating ice cream.
Never stops leaving some of it on her face.
I can't stop myself.

I will hold you and then look at you.
The lights will then fade out,
and we'll then disappear
                                             into
                                                    t h e  
                                                          n i g h t.
;
Vii HunniD May 2018
Have you ever been
Touched gently,
Kissed sweetly and softly,
To make you think is it reality...?
Deep down I felt
Your voice kissing my soul slowly
As you pronounced words.

Have you ever glanced
To the stars at night
And asked yourself,
How could there been i and u
But their so many alphabets inbetween
And wish u and i are always together,
As it is on your keyboard?
Yuki Jan 8
We all have poetry
inside of us.
So take this poem,
title it with your name,
listen to the beautiful
verses your heart
dictates to you
and write them down.
Marla May 26
a fire lights itself inside of my soul and leaves the body in place of the mind so that all can dissolve and unwind like cinders absolving
in time unlike the fabled sets of blue that drape the regal palace of your majesty's cerebral celibacy am I fit to rule and be queen if I'm too young to tie my shoes or too old to fall for religion I'm not quite sure but I do enjoy my whiskey upside down for life is a bright hole of blazing despair disguised as passionate joy oh boy oh boy take me
Noteworthy notes of the duly-noted variety.
Daksh Sep 23
She speaks; slowly, softly, inside her, there's a storm.

Holds to hope, she raises her lanterns to see the horizon.
Wears long black clothes,
has a smile that I call home.

Runs clicks and see new things and closes her eyes to find something
no one ever tried to.

I call her magic

Loves ice cream and lefts some of it on her face.

I call her strength.

Last seen wearing a **** dress
If found; tell her that I miss her.

I can never love her enough
Vii HunniD Nov 2018
To the extant,
That love is an expression,
Of familia any over time,
My excess to infinity time lines
Precludes in excessive of a time line...
Vii HunniD Nov 2018
On some mental shish,
Some hyper bolictime chamber shish,
Working out, unpreferred peripherals.
How quaint thinking hyperbolic thoughts,
Translation, non-medicinal words got me hollering...

"Cacophony cosmic cluster concussions"

Thinking sarcastically recklessly on a regular,
Causing mental anguish when thought of.
stopdoopy Jul 2018
(In a vacant church Little Girl and Big Man sit on a parish
a few feet apart, in between them lies a book titled"My Feelings".)

(The curtain opens. Little Girl sits staring at Big Man. Big Man gets up and goes to the statue of himself in front of them for a closer look.)

Big Man: Will talking in person really make a difference?

Little Girl: I like to think it does.

Big Man:  (turns to look at her incredulously.) What wishful thinking, you're so naïve.

(Little Girl opens her book and starts to read aloud.)

(Big Man cuts her off with a noise every time she starts to say something until she falls silent.)

Big Man: Just as I thought, it doesn't change anything.

Little Girl: But you don't-

Big Man: (cuts her off again.) You just can't let things go, that's your problem. I told you I didn't want to do this, yet you dragged me out here. It didn't accomplish anything!

Little Girl: That's because you don't even want to listen or try to talk, you just want to yell and blame me!

Big Man: That's enough, this conversation is over. (Walks off stage right.)

(Little Girl screams in anger and throws "My Feelings" at the Big Man Statue.)

(The Curtain closes.)
I wanted to try something a little different! I've never written stage directions or a play before but I thought this would be a nice change. I didn't really convey the raw anger or passion, nor was it the scene what I originally wanted but maybe it's a step in the right direction. Trying out different styles is neat. Not happy with this piece though but... oh well.
Qweyku May 2014
Loves' tribute;
was a traumatic bloodletting,
at the feet of Earths' foundation,
passed over through resurrection,
as the author; Perfect,
penned the first song,
startling in Red;
chorused;
Sacrifice and Redemption.

A soul melody,
padlocked on repeat,
a key,
to live,
to move,
to exist;
the act of human being.

A dance of humiliating instruction,
'twas the universe's orchestra simply conducting;
a priceless,
yet eternal concerto,
forever titled...
‘Unique-Spring-Awakening’


**© Qwey.ku
Marci Ace Apr 2016
Todays mixed emotions for today is:
Slow,
Cold,
New,
And old,
Difficult,
And hard,
Chess play and pulled cards.
The day soaks in when I make it home
The dark hole I bury my sins,
Leaves me in the fog,
Lost
And gone.
Headache, tears.
Stress, it steers.
No words, its weird,
My breathe I feel.
My demons I ****, and no love I reveal.
Hours almost spent in the fog I fade.
I wake up reincarnated with a prayer I say,
“God forgive me for my sins, and remove my
Name from the grave.”
A few more minutes,
And it’s titled
Shower Days.

-Marci H.
Daksh Sep 8
Kisses; showers, cold showers, nightmares, and panic attacks.

You left without saying a word.

Grab the wrist of time
and run right back.

I’ll take anything for the pain I endured again.

Just to hold you in my arms,

              One
                         last
                                     time.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
T­his poem is self translated version of my Hindi language poem titled "शिव स्वरूपं" published in pratilipi on (Dec. 2017) Can be read through the link ==>> https://bit.ly/2P4j7vE
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^­^^^^^^

That face of Lord Shiva is most beautiful in which he holds Ganga in his hairs
The Moon feels blessed by beautifying the head of Shiva as a glittering crown

The Serpants also became jewellery by themselves and decorated his blue neck
Shiva holds the trident on one hand and plays the Damroo from the other one

He has seated himself on a mat of Tiger Skin and rubbed pyre ash on his body
He has left elephant and the horses and decided to travel on an old Bull Nandi

By such an amazing face form, he is always ready for the welfare of devotees
The cruel and wicked have always been afraid of his eldritch face and form.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^­^^^^^

Shiva (See Line 1): A God (The Destroyer) in Hindu Mythology
Ganga (See Line 1): The Holy river whose flow and speed is controlled by the coiled hairs (Jatas) of Lord Shiiva
Damroo(See Line 4): A sort of musical instrument ( Pellet Drum )
Nandi((See Line 6)): A bull in Indian mythology who is the vehicle of Lord Shiva
The Mesmerizing Face of God Shiva
Patricia Arches Sep 2013
Choices

This ever blotting simple thing that makes up things

as small as a mouse but also as deadly as sin itself

A simple formula of cause and effect

An effect

A result

A consequence

No pretences

Or fences that guard our decisions

Keeps it safe for being just a choice

For it is no longer just a choice

It is not that simple, see there is a formula to remember

An economic study to this choice where c=e

because

For every cause there is an effect

For every cause there is an effect

For every cause there is an effect

Let it dwell in your mind and affect you

Because that is where it all begins

Let us open up your mind and there we will find that

Alongside that implanted thought are a plethora

Of more thoughts that are placed beside your dreams

Nestled in between your hopes, skilfully intertwined with your visions

There they all lay

Our mind is our drive that takes us down

A road that is long and winding

A highway down to our hands

Which eventually become steered by, picked up with strings ever so delicately like a puppet

Held by that one thought

Your actions are birthed from your thoughts

We see these to be choices

To study these choices would be economics, to understand them would be sympathy

To take a leader who steals from his country

Or a mom who abandons her child to keep herself alive

And view this as sad, as a cry for help?

How and why?

Oh no! We do not stop at just those two ghastly choices

For this is a study of many

Choices

Of things that have happened to determine what will and to save us from what has been

Let us open up this book

And flip each page to see what decrees and laws

Revolutions and words put down on paper

Have anything to do with where we stand today

For the choices of the past still linger here

Mixed in with the choices of the present

Creating this air that we breathe in and out every single day

We would be infuriated with rage as we scan through the pages of this book of choices

A chapter of injustice

A paragraph of cruelty

A statement of selfishness

A line of adultery

But, wait! Oh, let us stop on this

One

story

For this I do not even understand

See I have studied choices, and put them into many formulas

To see the effects and the causes of each

but this story is different

For it is not just one chapter

One statement

One line

It is the whole story and each is intricately woven within it

In fact, the book is titled for this one story

And to begin it would be to start off with a choice

By a God

To send his son

To die for men

Men whose choices we see throughout the whole book

Men whose choices are vile and selfish and ruthless

Sinful men

*****

And yet a God so Holy and pure still sends down his son in His likeness for these grimy men??

See, if we picture it. It is a white cloth, pure and clean not just dipped but completely submerged in dirt

Now that is not a choice that I would make

But it was made

A man so untainted and holy

Came down

To die for the sinner

Who stole from the helpless woman in the ally

Who murdered an innocent child in the womb

Who told a tiny white lie to his mom and dad and gave himself away to drugs and peer pressure

Who lusted after the world and what seemed good but really was death covered in make up whispering

in the promises lie after lie

To die for the sinner who is you

You

Jesus chose to die for you

On that cross, with his hands bound by nails and his feet the same

And with every last breath, last drop of blood and whip of the chain

he thought of you

and that is a choice that no study, no analyzation could ever make sense of

but it was done

it is done

is what he said for you as his arms were spread out wide

and all your choices

he negated the effects, and ultimately the effect of death

and formulated a solution of eternal life instead

for this one choice

changed all the rest

Now, think, think it through

Every choice you make

and every choice that was made is made brand new, infused with grace

Remember this for when there is a test the formula of cause and effect

Still stand true

but also remember Jesus who did what you had to do

for you may make many more flawed choices without a thought

Therefore go down on bended knees gaze at the cross

where stood the Father’s son

never a doubt that this choice for you was a wrong one

that any effect wouldn’t be worth it

you are worth any effect

you are an effect

of that one choice made on the hills of calvary

look up at the cross when your lewd effects force out the mistakes of your personal choices

then resurface that one choice made 2000 years before

bring it up amongst all the confusion and chaos

study it’s economic worth

hold it dear

smile at it even for

that senseless,

unexplainable,

brilliant,

grand,

intricate,

lovel­y,

merciful,

gracious,

holy,

divine,

choice

is all for you
Jay Jan 24
Yo,
Yeah you,
Brother, best friend.

I'm doing just fine.

I'm tending to those curls my mother gave me
And yeah, honey, I can still rhyme.

You can call me daddy
Actually, call me sir
But nothing will ever compare you to her.

Yeah.
We was cool.
Totally.
I didn't care that he was on your phone.
Not even on your mind.
I just want you to know it hurt when you lied.

At least a thousand times.

But it's cool, little one,
Cuz so did I.

I just hope he appreciates that miracle on your thigh.

Spit in my face.
Whatever, it's easy to see u don care.

But sincerely, cute thing.
Love gets you nowhere.

Tell the world-
The ******* Galaxy for all I care.

But when I needed a real woman;
My person,
You weren't there.

If you think that I care who you're *******,

You're wrong,
As long as I'm still walking art
*******

I'm strong.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
This poem is self translated version of my Hindi language poem titled "गीत का जन्म" published in Hindi Literary Magazine 'Veena' in June 2013
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Whe­n the wounds given by you gave much pain
Lightening occurred and cloud thundered
Downpour started, Poetry sprouted
It consoled and fed ambrosia
Relieved wounds, brought relief

Brick should be answered with stone
The poet also knows this
And also believes somehow
But throwing Brick is beyond his nature

In response to the brick and stone
He recites poetry
He sings a new song
On hearing his song

The one who wounded him, barks first
Then loudly bursts
Throws brick and stone again and again
The poet again recites a song

Keeps Smiling and Smiling
Creates a new poem
This proves beyond any doubt
Brick and stones give birth to Poetry.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
गीत का जन्म
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

तुम्हारे ज़ख्मों ने जब दर्द बख्शा
बिजली चमकी और बादल गरजा
कविता फूटी और जल बरसा
उसने मुझे संभाला, अमृत पिलाया
घावों को राहत दी, आराम पहुंचाया

ईंट का जवाब पत्थर से देना चाहिए
कवि भी यह जानता है
पूरी तरह से मानता है
पर ईंट चलाना उसके बस की बात नहीं

ईंट और पत्थर के जवाब में
वह कविता सुनाता है
गीत नया गाता है
जिसे सुन सुनकर

पहले तो मारनेवाला भुनभुनाता है
फिर जोर से फनफनाता है
पुनः ईंट और पत्थर चलाता है
कवि फिर गीत सुनाता है

खड़ा खड़ा मुस्कुराता है
नयी कविता बनाता है
इससे यह सिद्ध होता है
ईंट पत्थर कविता को जन्म देते है|
Peoetry and Song are born this way also. Do you Agree with me???
patty m Aug 2015
Emitting deep sighs old things fall apart

around me.

The roof leaks

leaving in pin ****** of light,

reminding me of the overgrowth

encroaching.  

Rickety table

slanting against the weight of my books

even the lamp seems to dim

against tired eyes.

.  

Love can be tiring,

a mountain of work;  

pleasing everyone usually means

you've given in

or had to bite the bullet.

Perhaps one day I'll be relegated to a museum,

titled the mindset of a previous generation.

I remember seeing the Neanderthals and shaking my head.

Is that how they'll see ME?

Words, how they stir me

a lost art,

buckling the flooring

only to be sanded away along with my emotions..  

Years of complacency

have softened my resolve,

now as I condense my belongings to fit inside

a shared house

I see photos of people no one after me will know or love

and my tiny self posing dynamically, hands on hip

the future sparkling in my eyes

before life smacked me down.

Now heavy rains seep into the living room

leaving me perched on circumstances

with an urgency stirring within,

the need to write.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
T­his poem is self translated version of my Hindi language poem titled "शिव लीला" published in pratilipi on (June. 2018) Can be read through the link ==>> https://bit.ly/2Z9Z57t
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^­^^^^^^

His neck has entirely turned blue due to Kalkoot, This is just a Leela of Shiva
He has taken everyone's pain and sorrow for the betterment of the world

He is the keeper of all the three loka's and also called as Trilokinath
He hold the holy Ganga in his locks, but do not drinks a drop from it

He sits on the yellow Tiger skin mat and keeps meditating for years to come
He satiates hunger by Datura and Madaar and drinks Bhang to quench thirst

He has a marvellous third eye through which all the three lokas are visible
Sitting in the Mahayoga posture, He keeps on concentrating and meditating

Brahma and Vishnu also bows before him with respect and feels blessed
Such a beautiful holy Leela of Shiva.  Nothing else but Shiva's holy Leela

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^­^^^^^

Kalkoot(Line 1): A poison generated due to Samudra Manthan ( The Churning of the Ocean by Devtas[Gods] and Asuras[Demons] )
Leela(Line 1): "Divine Play" (Just a pastime)
Shiva(Line 1): A God (The Destroyer) in Hindu Mythology

Loka(Line 3): Three three different worlds/realms. Swargaloka, the land of gods; Mrityuloka, the middle kingdom of men; and Pataloka, home of the Asuras, the fallen gods, and demons.
Trilokinath(Line 3): The Lord of the Three world/realms.

Ganga (Line 4): The Holy river whose flow and speed is controlled by the locks (Jatas - The thick hair strands) of Lord Shiiva

Datura and Madaar (Line 6): Poisonous plants (Datura stramonium and Calotropis gigantean)
Bhang (Line 6): Poisonous plants (Cannabis Plant)
Mahayoga (Line 8): Also called as Mahamudra – The Great Gesture (a posture for meditating)
The World is not real its Maya. Its the Divine Play of God
I once wrote a poem titled:
Loving once, and loving once more, is hard.
Though now, I am no longer blind to my own happyness.
Loving once; is hard
Loving once more; is lovely
Finally i'm happy.
matilda shaye Aug 2018
1
I read in a poem that there is no sound more ****** than the clink of a belt being undone but you only wear worn out t-shirts and a frown on your face. I think of the sound of tires driving slowly over the asphalt and how I could get turned on easier by a look than a touch.  Your bed and you both taste like sweat but I am not going to complain because I'd rather be overheating than alone. I consider switching on your swamp cooler but it's loud and I want to be able to hear your moans in order to remind myself that you want me too. Do you?

2
I was doing my poetry homework when I had to stop in order to write poetry.

3
I dont know if I can handle the fact that you have made playlists for other people and that is so 2018 of me. Did you make that playlist for her?

4
[redacted]

5
If panic attacks actually helped anything I wouldn't mind the hyperventilating but instead I still feel like a sink has sunk inside my chest even after I've calmed down. Wouldn't it be nice if you could cry it, release it, scream to the skies and then be okay afterwards? I'm not sure who made me believe the symptoms of my mental illness should be like a shower; I don't feel cleansed. I don't feel new. I only feel raw, exhausted. It feels more like that same dull knife is tearing me open each skin layer at a time until I figure out how to grab the hand that holds it or I'm left open on the table, whichever comes first.

6
I'm writing in order to breathe. If I can't get oxygen to my brain my fingers won't be able to move.

7
I'm so scared I'm going to lose you. I don't want you in any other way. I want to love you, hold you.

8
I hear a baby crying outside of your window and I realize I need to get up to go home and get my work clothes. I find these simple things excruciating. Writing to you is a diary but I never should have learned to open my mouth and speak.

9
I started this poem four months ago and titled it a seven day long poem but I guess now it’s more than that. You always made me feel the things I’m currently feeling, I've never given up control this much in my life. I like to be in control, the one ignoring, the one who needs the time. I wish I didn’t love you like I do (it's just, there you know. It won't go away. It's not too much or too little, it's just stubborn, just like you). I'm so scared I'm going to lose you. I don't want you in any other way. I want to love you, hold you. Did you make that playlist for her too?
Here we are again.
Rowan S Jan 18
Alliteration isn't cheesy
Not for me.
When I use words to stave off the clutching squeeze of
A panic attack
I can write:

"There is pressure on my chest and I feel anxious."
or
"Pain presses me into purgatorial prayers."

Alliteration becomes the stutter into which I
Skid to a stop
Today has been a rough day. Here is me, publicly coping.
Sefofane Apr 5
I orbited this sphere long before mankind evolved,
I was inspired by man's ingenious inventions long
before the machines were created, now I surround
this sphere,

Trying to instill positive thoughts to my comrades,
I was placed here with you by the creator of all,
I created the universal laws in which you chose
to disobey, how wicked you became living the life
of savagery.

Listen, I once extinct the existence who never obeyed
my commandments,
Although I wasn't fond of I could disintegrate this sphere
as long this unadulterate hatred and demolition of this
globe exist.

I'm no purgatory though I capture the long parted souls,
I'm the one who's responsible for resurrection or taking
your precious life, I'm the end and also the
beginning of you'll.

I capture the raptures of this and spread wisdom to the skeptics,
I feed your brains with food for thoughts you call poetry,
I mastered the four elements freedom, peace, perseverance
and love, I hope you could oneday incarnate yourself's with
those elements so you could live inhabitable once again,
Don't allow me to regret I ever allowed the creator to let you'll exist...
I wrote this a while ago, and I would like to get some feed back too,
I'm not good at titling poems yet so hence untitled thanks
Nat Lipstadt Mar 24
-for Zukiswa Mvunguse~
and for
~ Jul,
who once again,
loved each line best~


having already deduced that:

“the unplanned is his plan,
it’s his faceted flaws
that refract his coloratura”^

the titled alliteration teases him into thinking
there, is more to be said,
more to be prayed,
the unplanned lesser lesson is as-of-the-yet unlearned,
and the sunburst of a full fledged
lying-in-bed born from a static spark of kinetic energy,
awaking in an unfamiliar bed
or a too familiar state of mind,
begs for birth and vainglorious death-by-anon/amity
of another poem  

I have written poems commissioned,
“write about suicide,” asked a friend,
“take this word and artfully knead it,” once, was once an oft request,
twisty manipulate your scheming resources into
finely assaying a field rock raw,
laboratory mind-mine it into an essay that delve dives
where you fear to treacherous tread,
resultant, an awkward prayer, now, a valued mineral

no poem is truly planned and no prayer ever truly answered,
but as you compose, pushing the last, next word
ever farther to the right,
you self-confess, expecting no absolution, that the poem,
this one as well,
and the next, and the next, and the next

has always been planned since your inception,
always a prayer asked, and in creation conception,
answered even if not directly answered,
for
in the bare minimum asking,
is the answering,
is the planning,
is the poem and the prayer,
is his owned
alliteration
spontaneously born at 7:57am on
Sunday, March 24, 2019
^ https://hellopoetry.com/poem/3021583/being-a-poet-is-not-planned/

read her poems. https://hellopoetry.com/Zig1/
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