"unlocks" poems
I'm looking deep into her eyes
*Looking into her eyes...
is like opening a door that leads...
to another door*
Wait..really? OK...I open the door.
*This door leads to a long, winding path,
like the winding path of your love.
The path leads to a third door*
O...K. I open the door.
*This door leads to a spiral staircase
descending down, down, down, deep
into her soul.
At the bottom of the staircase is--*
A door?
A door.
I open the door
The door is locked. The key might be under the mat
Seriously? I check under the mat
Nope, not there. Maybe try under the small rock next to the door
Oh for the love of...I check the rock
There is a key
Wonderful...I unlock and open the door
*Inside this door is a large atrium
the glass ceiling giving way to a
beautiful summer night, the stars
twinkling in the distance. At the
far end of the Atrium, there is a curtain*
Sigh I pull aside the curtain
There is a door
Come on! I open the ruddy door.
*You find yourself in a long hallway,
with fine art hanging along the walls.
Crimson carpet lines the floor.
At the end of the hall is a door locked
with a combination biometric
fingerprint scanner/retinal scanner*
What.
*You have 10 seconds to unlock the door
before the hunter-bots de-atomize you*
What!? Ok! I try my fingerprints and eye!
*The door unlocks and the hunter-bots stand down.
In the next room are three vials. Two of them contain
terrible neuro-toxins that will lead to an excruciatingly
painful death. The third will allow you to continue on
to the next room. You have 30 seconds to choose before
you are terminated*
What the hell is this!?
This is the path to true love hidden deep in her eyes
No, this is insanity!
15 seconds
OK! Geez! Umm..Vial Number 2!
You're totally dead
Oh god!
Just kidding. None of them had poison...was just messing with you
THAT'S IT! I'M DONE WITH THIS
Really? There's only one more door. I swear
...Fine. What ridiculous thing do I need to do to open it.
*It's already open. You find yourself in a circular room
with a pedestal in the center. On the pedestal is a hand
written note. On that note is the key to everlasting happiness*
I pick up the note
*You smell sweet hints of your beloved's perfume and
notice the care that each word of the note was written.*
What does the note say?
*My love:
Next Tuesday Only -- Buy One-Get One Free at J.J's Pizza. Cannot be combined with any other offers/coupons. Must present coupon upon purchase. Expires 1/14/14*
...An expired coupon for Pizza?
Such a wonderful expression of love!
How do I get out of here...
You see a door
.
Mar 8, 2014
Mar 8, 2014 at 4:00 PM UTC
*There's a key
that unlocks rainbows
that I keep within my heart.
It's a little "catch"
within my chest
where melancholy begins to start.
It unlocks walls,
emotions hide behind
(for my protection).
And it cracks the shell
surrounding me,
to give my soul direction.
Without this key,
I'll always be
a fire detachment smothers...
An empty vessel,
self-absorbed...
bereft of love for others.
But with it...
ah...then life becomes
a carousel of feelings.
A roller coaster
ride of love
with ups and downs revealing....
all the colors of the rainbow
all the tastes,
the sounds, the rhythms..
all the warmth of sacred lovers
and the heartbeat
that's within them.
And the key is dual
in purpose
with it's compass so unerring;
Guiding to my soul-mates
with a lifetime
that's worth sharing.
So, when I've found my heart's desire
THEN
I'll set the rainbow free.
Unlock the words
within my heart
and throw away the key.*
Jun 30, 2017
Jun 30, 2017 at 12:29 PM UTC
In the everlasting fragrance
Of the sound
Of your love
I bathe and notice
Each winding minute
To your door.
To your door
The key to which
Unlocks each and every
Passage in my heart.
Aug 17, 2014
Aug 17, 2014 at 5:03 PM UTC
She calmly unlocks the front door
as the wind flings the screen
through wild tantrums. She droops down
into her dusted rocker, pushing
with her lavender heels to start the sway.
Her sole taps softly,
as the chair creaks onto fallen lacquer
and the porch plays in discord
through dancing lace.
Interwoven hands lie atop her lap
in a sea of navy with floral ships
at its surface. Silver strands
fall from her clouded bun
and a few locks float past her sunken shoulders.
With jaded eyes she looks at the corner
to a poor table, where a cold candle
peaks among a grassy field of melted wax
riddled with burnt fuses.
And near the candle, a dusted white hat
remains anchored to the wooden surface.
She can still smell the stale cigar smoke
lingering in the room. “He’ll be here soon,”
she thinks as her daze slowly sets in.
The world seems quiet
as she fills her eyes with sleep
and the chair continues its march.
Her hands unlock from their grasp
and the screen door gently knocks.
Mar 23, 2014
Mar 23, 2014 at 6:19 PM UTC
Gratitude unlocks the fullness of life.
It turns what we have into enough, and more.
It turns denial into acceptance, chaos to order and confusion to clarity.
It can turn a meal into a feast, a house into a home and a stranger into a friend.
Gratitude makes sense of our past, brings peace for today, and creates a vision for tomorrow.
So be grateful for all you have and for the life that you live.
Aug 9, 2010
Aug 9, 2010 at 9:16 AM UTC
The great bird is conceived in a glistening eye
a mythical wonder waiting to be formed
coiled in patience under palest skin
waiting to unfurl its majestic wings
a cold steel blade unlocks its cage
blood must flow to bring it life
its freedom found in fragmented bone
the bars that block its sight are pulled back
hands reach into the great cavern
grasping the wings to set them free
at last in splendour and magnificent awe
the blood eagle is seen to take flight and soar
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 2:15 PM UTC
*Fried brinjal rolled in flatbread
Her magic recipe of love homemade
What treasure they hold what charm unlocks
When sharp at two opens up lunchbox!
A sweet candy from the finest cheese
Made from cow milk a salivary bliss
I feel helpless and little can do
My belly when growls sharp at two!
I feel entranced in that magic hour
When smell green peas and cauliflower
She makes them fine rich butter spread
The toasted breads her love homemade!
She knows my bowel not makes it rich
Fine cut cucumber in soft sandwich
In all them I find her special brew
Of love homemade to be opened at two!
Though it’s never that I made her known
How sweetly relish her love homegrown
But when I open lunchbox at two
Wonder without her what I would do!*
Jan 20, 2014
Jan 20, 2014 at 6:18 AM UTC
Sometimes
siLence
is
thE
key
which
unlocks
The
gate
keeping
one
from
findinG
peace
and
a
sOundness
of
mind.
Jan 18, 2013
Jan 18, 2013 at 3:01 AM UTC
When fierce conflicting passions urge
The breast, where love is wont to glow,
What mind can stem the stormy surge
Which rolls the tide of human woe?
The hope of praise, the dread of shame,
Can rouse the tortur’d breast no more;
The wild desire, the guilty flame,
Absorbs each wish it felt before.
But if affection gently thrills
The soul, by purer dreams possest,
The pleasing balm of mortal ills
In love can soothe the aching breast:
If thus thou comest in disguise,
Fair Venus! from thy native heaven,
What heart, unfeeling, would despise
The sweetest boon the Gods have given?
But, never from thy golden bow,
May I beneath the shaft expire!
Whose creeping venom, sure and slow,
Awakes an all-consuming fire:
Ye racking doubts! ye jealous fears!
With others wage internal war;
Repentance! source of future tears,
From me be ever distant far!
May no distracting thoughts destroy
The holy calm of sacred love!
May all the hours be winged with joy,
Which hover faithful hearts above!
Fair Venus! on thy myrtle shrine
May I with some fond lover sigh!
Whose heart may mingle pure with mine,
With me to live, with me to die!
My native soil! belov’d before,
Now dearer, as my peaceful home,
Ne’er may I quit thy rocky shore,
A hapless banish’d wretch to roam!
This very day, this very hour,
May I resign this fleeting breath!
Nor quit my silent humble bower;
A doom, to me, far worse than death.
Have I not heard the exile’s sigh,
And seen the exile’s silent tear,
Through distant climes condemn’d to fly,
A pensive, weary wanderer here?
Ah! hapless dame! no sire bewails,
No friend thy wretched fate deplores,
No kindred voice with rapture hails
Thy steps within a stranger’s doors.
Perish the fiend! whose iron heart
To fair affection’s truth unknown,
Bids her he fondly lov’d depart,
Unpitied, helpless, and alone;
Who ne’er unlocks with silver key,
The milder treasures of his soul;
May such a friend be far from me,
And Ocean’s storms between us roll!
3.5k
A scene too obscene to be believed
when it's seen
Like an acid trip intersecting with a wet dream
Where reality becomes a second thought
And you and I were caught
or maybe lost
in the crossfire of hungry hearts
I breathe you in whenever you're around
there's a code to my heart that unlocks with the sound
of your voice in a humorous shout
through the crowd
But what once was so loud
it shook me to the ground
burned so bright it may have burned out
the Chaos is Dead - All is Quiet now
And where there once was great noise
as joy did abound
is stricken with silence
like A Forest of Frozen Clowns
Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 3:17 AM UTC
She calls Him her boyfriend
But to Him, She is nothing but a Body to ****
Good girls go to heaven but
Bad girls with big ****
are everywhere looking for ***** to ****
Looking for loaded ****** to ****
l have been [Patient] for too long,
l think lm [sick]
Sick of these ****** Pretending to love when all
they after is *****
Sick of these ******* Pretending to love when
all they after
is taste of Pipi
Sick of ******* who cant see they is play
ground
and ****** is rolling ***** like is ball
They tell you is Hot even when you is not
you open ***** Hole,
Sperms and STDs float inside the Vigeegee
now you is sick, if only you had been patient
if only you was Patience
Im sick of ****** pretending that girls *******
are padlocks
and them ***** keys going around unlocking
as if they are good looking
****** dont make love they are UNLOCKING
*******
Bitchesfancy that his Tongue licks the
Vigeegee
chill, that's just LUBRICANT to make it slippery
when He operates you
Fingers you to make sure you ready for it
Figures you want it, makes you **** it like lolly
pop. then He makes your ***** swallow it
Unlocks the *****
Kisses you, making you drink the alcoholic
poison from His lips
then you get drunk in love
then your blood gets drunk in ***
then your **** gets drunk in *****
then you skip your periods you call Him he
picks up drunk telling you to **** off then you
realise late that you were a Padlock and He
was to unlock you
and you realise late that You Were just a BODY
TO ****
He lost nothing, but your
Innocence, dignity and virginity
perished.
But then you smile coz you played with His
**** too......
Aug 14, 2015
Aug 14, 2015 at 8:15 PM UTC
feeling safe in the hands of danger;
breathing against the lips of toxic.
intrigued by the mysterious stranger;
her heart, he effortlessly unlocks it.
"this is how i'll die today,"
she proclaims at the touch of his hand.
"he may have killed me
but i'll love him forever and always,"
says the foolish girl who loved the conman.
Sep 15, 2016
Sep 15, 2016 at 1:08 PM UTC
Glitterati Gangsters gaze
with commanding stares
and broken plates glass blown and open gates
There she sits eyes
all holding
all knowing
synchronicities shatter the scene
Sparkling
each blink initiates a flood of flaming diamonds
that lash out like hot irons
Eyes like this entice and take
Each blink unlocks a new mystery
as she grinds resistance in her teeth
Igniting my lust
Sparkling
each blink creates a dawning sun
Her gaze inflames ten thousand ways
She wields sparkle
like madmen spray sarin
With sparkling abandon
Jun 19, 2012
Jun 19, 2012 at 8:11 AM UTC
HouseKeeping
I want the Key
Not just the key
The master key
Unlock every door and more
Of course I act like I wouldn't care
Who had it or where
But secretly I want the key
And all the doors it unlocks
And all the rooms that entail
And the prowess of the detail
Nothing stops me
Nowhere
Cause I have the key
I unlock the doors
I don't wait for anyone anymore
Hush now don't say a word
Someone could be listening
Can I trust you'll listen later
Or will you name my crime
The dime you'll pass
To try and save your own ***
I understand I do
You do what you have to for you
So now that you know I won't deny
I've never been to keen to lie
I admit my crime
I give my wrists
To pay for all my wits
I don't regret at all
As the door closes and I fall
Apr 18, 2012
Apr 18, 2012 at 2:29 PM UTC
pen to page unlocks
heartache and rage
spilling ugly truth
lofty eyes turn away
claiming blindness
whispers empty chatter
tattoos crazy, outcast
the heart does shatter
standing cold, outside
looking in with desire
longing to belong
never finding place
time to get away
escaping to shadows
solace found in alone
fitting broken better
paper shreds falling
torn words scatter
needing retreat
tossing out the key
Feb 1, 2014
Feb 1, 2014 at 6:26 PM UTC
watched grains dance playfully
affixed to lengthy golden stalks
the wind sways them gracefully
in-between a hidden world unlocks –
pink-footed mice run
well-trodden paths
the warm summer sun
never granting them baths –
shiny black crickets chirp in the night
while grasshoppers eat through the day
an occasional rabbit scurries with fright
and ant colonies seemingly play –
a dust covered floor
‘neath a ceiling of blue
in the middle, a ruffed hawk soars
striking fear in the heart of a shrew –
nobody suspects the vastness of life
when passing by in their car
the joys of birth, hunger and strife
within a wheat field under the stars –
May 9, 2015
May 9, 2015 at 11:31 AM UTC
Panda's are beautiful when they sneeze which goes "squeak", Aloft her days so innocent amd meek.
Panda's are beautiful when they're fierce without end, Finding new pathways making "No Exit" signs bend.
A Panda knows it's beauty by the rush of the leaves and the wind behind it's ear, Even though it's cold at times there's always a Tiger near. But one Tiger watches each year, And sees every tear, Without hesitation he draws near.
And time passes and leaves fall, Seemlessly with no worries at all. And footsteps cross, change, end but retrace to join on adventures again. Oh the meaning of something so small, Night comes and covers them all.
And again the wind blows across her ear,
But this time making her warm, Cause he growls for her and pours his Tigerish words along the wind in hopes that they might reach something dear.
The rustle in the midnight when no wind blows, As silence becomes them something is found. Something small, the Tiger picks up, but bigger than her heart. It's the key that unlocks everything, It was laying on the ground, Nothing is left un opened as the wind through her heart shows.
She loves him and he has always returned it. Though rain may force it's meaning to change, It only defines deeper the warmth of the wind...
Panda's are beautiful when they sing the wrong notes, The right ones, the flat ones or completely different song. They'll reach his heart deeply as they rustle along!
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 3:07 AM UTC
All I ask is an antidote allowing all adults around the atmospher an appointment about arguing.
Because brother basic bodies are bound to believe bragging & bribing basically being broad brings about the best. But be
Cautious, cause carpets can't carry couches alone, concrete creeps. Causing careless catholic christians to create children.
Don't **** the deranged, dedicate the distaste to the drugs. drinking, and dumb deeds that did it.
Even Eminem explains enternal emotions excellently.
For fear feeds frusttration, though frustration can find fun in fornitcation. Foul. Focus on friends and family.
Getting grouchy gonorrhea grants graves too gorgeous gilrs. Game over.
However, having ****** hardly helps handsome happy hands.
Indicating interesting intakes, involving inception in indecive individuals.
Just joking, jealousy just justifies Jose Cuervo.
Kinddling kindness kidnaps king kong's kingdom.
Learn like lovers, loathing little, liking largely, letting laughs live loudly.
Maning mold mountains out of mud, make missery monogamous with merry.
Never neglect the notion of nice.
Optimism overcomes others opinions.
Personally, persisting perfection probably puts pessimistic patterns in people's personalities.
Quietly questioning their quality.
Rest assured reading random reactions really is redundant.
Searching someones soul secretely sends self salvation.
Take turns, tell truths, talk, these things take time, they are talents to be treasured.
Understanding ultimatums unlocks unlimited unison.
May 5, 2011
May 5, 2011 at 1:50 AM UTC
Being male, I wander
Mom dares not wonder
What kind of monsters she birthed
She brought her own equipment
I was aggressive but shy
Her womb is the most magnificent
Temple I’ve ever visited
There is nowhere else I want to be
Sister insisted
I stiffened then gave in
Children tease, squeal, scamper
Adults know unspeakable reality
Dizziness of first love
Mayhem, ******
Solemn whisper of infinity
After an uncertain age,
No one wants you anymore
Old women bond
Confer their anger
Old men tread alone
She knew from moment he laid eyes on her, she had him. She wore no make-up, anemic complexion, chin and jawline slightly broken out with red spots, cobalt blue irises, aquiline nose, hair dyed dark, fuzz-balled scarf, light blue fluffy sweater, big buttons, canvas shoulder bag, skinny jeans, leather boots, little boney black dog with ashen appointments. Instantly he fell in love. He confessed, “Your Chinese Crested pup stole my heart.”
In *********** position, neither lover sees other’s face. The top sees backside. The bottom sees what? He didn’t know.
She unlocks the door. He enters room. She tells him what to do, making demands. He follows her orders. She questions, “Why do we dance to these tunes?” He answers, “I want to smell your smells, **** drink your darkest juices.” She articulates, “Stay,” then kisses him goodbye. She wakes wearing his ring, around her neck. They are each other’s slaves. Ceiling leaks, floor creaks, light beams through window as they waltz arm in arm.
She demands, “I want roast rack of lamb, or thinly sliced Serrano ham on buttered toast for dinner. And then I want to go home alone. I need some down time, away from you. I don’t belong to you, ********* Deep in financial debt, he hands the waiter his debit card.
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 9:45 PM UTC
Dear Mr. Harlon Rivers,
When I was young,
I wrote like a young man,
With fervor and righteousness,
But heartfelt was not eloquent,
only self-satisfying.
Now that I am an old, old man,
My mind does the best it can,
Simple lyrics born in the poverty
Of a mind in an angular decline.
But never did I command the
Troops of this language that
You have under your command,
At this, your peaking, your apogee.
Your master key unlocks all
And set our souls soaring,
But yet we cannot reach you,
For you orbit at the point farthest
above our modest reach!
Your Admirer and Devotee,
_________________________
Please sign your name below if you agree.
You know how.
Aug 20, 2013
Aug 20, 2013 at 3:56 PM UTC
"Get out!"
He yells; orders
"Get out of the car!"
I sit.
"NOW!"
I look around
sorry faces gawk at me
they should be sorry
letting me fend for myself
walking into the desert battlefield with me
then stealing my bags and running away
with sorry snickers
sorry
**** well should be.
"I'M SERIOUS! GET OUT NOW! OR I'LL PULL YOU OUT!"
I gaze out the window
barren deserts,
mossy, sandy mountains,
endless stretches of hard, dead highway
The lock unlocks,
my belongings gather,
my shoes go on,
the handle moves,
the door opens,
my foot ventures to the sandy ground
the door closes
the engine starts
the car moves away
Sorry hands wave at me
my body is still
My face holds steady; a deathly glare of dementia
The car disappears
Realization slaps me dead in the face with its stone hard fingers.
Did that really just happen?
Am I truly all alone?
I look around.
NO people.
NO cars.
Just an endless stretch of highway
Epiphany strokes me with fire warm palms.
I'm alone!
I'm alone!
Sweet freedom!
Sweet, sticky, horrid freedom!
I hurl
I cough and spit wheeze
I wipe my mouth
the saccharine taste of bile still fresh.
I thirst.
I grab my camel back and take a small, deliberate swig.
I put on my backpack and stalk away from the speck of dust car.
I grimace.
I rummage through my never-ending pockets.
I count out five dollars and seventy five cents worth of change.
I grunt.
I hike up the dusty trail.
All ahead of me is sand and dust, sickness and deluging concepts of freedom.
I march on.
I feel the earth echo beneath me as each grain of sand separates.
With each trudging movement my feet slip backward.
With nowhere left to go and nothing left to do
I walk on
with my smile of freedom and my baggage of
Desertion
Sep 4, 2012
Sep 4, 2012 at 4:12 PM UTC
A Kiss Is Not a Kiss
A kiss is not just a kiss
…A kiss can be the key
That unlocks
Love
Life
And countless of other
Limitless
Possibilities
A kiss is not just a kiss
…A kiss can be the cure
For loneliness
Unworthiness
It can be
Confidence
For the unsure
A kiss is not just a kiss
…A kiss can be
Recognition
That you deserve love
That you deserve life
It gives you
Permission
So until you find someone
That will show you
Love
And
Affection
...Look in the mirror
And blow a kiss
To your own
Beautiful
Deserving
Reflection
Jan 6, 2013
Jan 6, 2013 at 12:31 AM UTC
megacreative poetry crew personified by poetic devices (we the best exploring poetry industry) Words that doesn't sound strange to any ear, words that can be called one poem heals all.
Listen to these words made from punchlines and their cousins figure of speeches immaturity fall.
Blessed are the ones listening to the poem written by the hands that got the touch of the situation.
Megacreative Poetry Crew (Personified by poetic devices) Rocking back n fourth whining side to side into the bigger picture of literature as big as the important use of rhymes in a poem brews and cooks magic.
The magic that is the ear bud to your ears.
The magic that is infused with words that are born from soothing figure of speeches that's their mothers.
We heal with metaphors.
When the pain comes again it won't be like before.
The wise doesn't just spit but before that you got to be sure.
It's sad how they don't want to learn wisdom but when you do you are labelled as the biggest flop.
One's life is not like an influenza, you can't always have chest pains and cough.
As it will move you it doesn't hurt to dream of being on a cover page of Forbes.
Ofcourse, morden men doesn't shove wives with chores.
With words, the mind and soul resasitation.
Holding the mic to melt the written punchlines on the blessed pages, you got to love such situation.
Wisdom shows up just as we throw words on the white surface with red lines like a sangoma throwing bones on a mat created through tradition.
For us write words that unlocks wisdom to your mind that's as entertaining as theatre.
Poetry is alive in us.
Water it, ignoring such soothing words into your soul it will be as peace destroying as a witch.
Just as we play around the pages with a pen its the first stage to one's life changing, but as we spit words Personified by poetic devices Rocking back n fourth , whining side to side one is healed. Megacreative Poetry Crew (personified by poetic devices)
Nov 29, 2018
Nov 29, 2018 at 11:45 PM UTC
There will come a day,
probably a Tuesday,
you'll be hoeing and
yanking yellow weeds
by the handful, the
sun in the center of
the sky; Or you'll
be climbing through
your lover's window
while her husband
unlocks the front door,
thinking to yourself,
"Jesus, we didn't
even do anything
today. Just gave
her her insulin shot,"
and your heart
no longer pumps
so much as begs,
begs for silence,
but that's funny,
isn't it? because there
isn't any sound,
only the perceived
dissonance of a
scattered mind;
But maybe, if you're
lucky, it'll be at night,
the two of you in bed,
and she'll timidly ask
if you're hungry,
and you'll say what you
always say to that question:
yes, yes I am, and she'll
ask if you want a sandwich,
and you'll say, "I'll get it."
"You're too sweet."
"It's not a problem."
After spreading the mustard,
there'll be a pain in your chest,
mild at first, just at first, but by the
time you get halfway down the
hall you'll drop the plate
of sandwiches on the floor
and ***** in the toilet,
and you'll probably know
then what's happening;
But what did you ever do
to earn that kind of quiet,
relatively quiet, ending?
You've got a few things in mind,
but you've got a few more bad that
negate any kudos any kind
of god would award, so
let's be honest. That's what
you want, right?
Death will wake you up,
probably around 6 because
you've never been a morning
person, and when you wake
it won't be from a feeling, like
a physiological manifestation,
no, no that'd give you time
to remember Mom in the
hospital when she called
you by the wrong name.
No, Death will come in
the form of a headache,
and if your wife was
there she'd already be up,
and she'd say something
like: "Poor baby," and
get the Tylenol out of
the cabinet to the left
of the sink for you,
but she's not there, is she?
No, she's living with her
sister right now while
you "figure yourself
out" and your
kids, two boys and a girl,
all grown with families
of their own, think you've
been selfish, but what was the
word you countered with?
"Necessary." Yes, it's necessary,
you'll think as you pop three pills
in and run your mouth under the
facet, and you'll collapse, pills
rolling across the floor, stopping
under the cabinets where no one
will ever find them. Your vision
will burn white; it won't fade to black
like you thought, and your head, Jesus,
your head sounds like tools in a dryer,
but you know there is no sound, and
this is it, this is honestly it, you alone
on the floor in nothing but your
grey boxer shorts, the ones riddled
with holes that your wife told you to throw out,
and a fragmented halo of Tylenol around you.
Your wife. Your wife. Your wife. Your wife.
You'll say her name, you'll say "Eve,"
and your mouth will close itself, and your
fist will unclench itself, and you know what?
That'll be it, to borrow a phrase. Nobody
will find you for three days, and even then,
when they do, they'll wish they never had.
Mar 20, 2014
Mar 20, 2014 at 12:38 PM UTC