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Delia Darling Sep 2018
As I stand here, outside my work building
stealing a smoke break
I wonder about God and the universe
and how much happier it makes me feel
to believe in other things

That the sun was a running man
chasing the stars in that endless black
run man
run fast
run free
but freedom only gets you
slipping and sliding in circular leaps
around our earth, almost like
a clumsy mouse in a stationary wheel
and these sneaky stars
always one step ahead at sunrise
or at his heels in sunset

My mom’s a Catholic woman
she won’t believe in the running man
her stars are not stars, no
her stars are rosaries in purses and
priest’s words
taught words
holy words
but holy words are also
human words, are they not?
It never made sense to me
that a person could live their whole life
repenting it

But then again,
my dad used to have me work in our yard,
picking the weeds outside
and he let me treasure them in a vase
he never called them weeds,
they were always
dandy-flowers
wishing flowers
wildflowers
but wild only gets you
believing in the sun and
keeping shrubs in vases
All of which suit me, because

In the lonely nights of endless black,
I have the company of my own stars
and when holy words of weeds fall back
I remember that—
wild humans are only wildflowers
Just some random thoughts induced by an insignificant smoke break
KCibot Jun 24
1st verse:

I know what it's like
To be completely
Incomplete

But I don't completely
Know what it's like
To be with me

But I know it's hard
And you do it well

Yeah I know it's hard
And you do it well

Chorus:

And I can't stop
The tears
From rolling
Down
Your face

But I can
Catch
Them all
Inside
Our Teardrop
Vase

And when the
Tears have
Finally
Stopped

We won't
Have to
Pull out
The mop

We'll just
Go to
Our special place
And see the flowers
In our
Teardrop
Vase

Our
Tear
Drop
Vase

2nd verse (her):

I know that it's harder
Than its ever been
before

I knew it when I saw
You lying curled up
On the floor

And though it's hard
What I've learned

Yeah though it's hard
What I've learned

Chorus
1st verse and 2nd verse
Old song of mine
Feeling relevant
...
Mindy Gledhill
Kaavya Jul 2018
i’ll say it again. this is the only
time i write with music. listen now and i’ll spin
the wheel again, an ocean is no excuse for a tipped balance. trace
origins back to சாதம், வீடு, பறவை. tip-toe to reach the top half of the
stove, where the stories and the music are, but hand on head, not quite there yet. in the meantime, i hope my hands become as fire-glazed as yours one day. listen now and i’ll tell you how to live a life in compromises. here, come help me with my சாறி, no, i don’t have flowers for your hair, because there are are two different languages
in this house. inhale savory vowels and lives rolled into the sun, exhale தயிர் without salt, a theoretical childhood, heart with
half  the guilt. listen now for something i told my அம்மா:
travel eight thousand miles by foot and open one eye,
make a phone call and taste dew- glittering நெய்
தோசை. listen now for a final time. when
there are not enough unfurled petals of
this world, look up and find the
பௌர்ணமி in a hidden
corner of your heart.
blink once to skip time
zones, twice to remember the
promise of a thousand locusts and monsoon rain.
Glossary of தமிழ்/tamil words (in order of appearance)
சாதம்/saadham: cooked rice
வீடு/veedu: house
பறவை/paravai: bird
சாறி/saree: traditional clothing
தயிர்/thayir: yogurt, curd
அம்மா/amma: mom, mother
நெய் தோசை/ney dosai: rice pancake with ghee
பௌர்ணமி/pournami: full moon
ghivashel Jun 3
I was once your heart’s centerpiece,
petaled in alluring scarlet,
your very darling little starlet,
skin the color of ivory,
with lips like blooming roses,
my love for you evergreen,
encased in a body like a vase.

I braid flowers into my hair,
Spray the room with gardenia perfume,
Clothe myself in red silk,
I cinch my waist,
try to recreate myself,
Try to become a bouquet.
in the body of a vase.

But you don’t care.
To all these things you’ve become immune.
And I wilt,
efforts gone to waste.
My sweet infidel,
you leave and isolate,
run away from me in all haste.

I’ve cut the heads of the roses.
Bended the stems until they were broken.
Shredded the petals until they were tatters.
Let myself bleed scarlet red,
pricked by your thorned bed.

The vase breaks and shatters.
from my upcoming book, "Echoes in an Empty Home." Out soon. © ghivashel.
birds are made of trees
where do they hide from me
whispering wishes of insecurity
casting around like a clown
becoming somebody
holding
false dreams
no witness
I need jeans
that have some pockets
deep enough to stuff
my wallet
full of envy and greed
two hundred dollars in the hole
knowledge from believing I can finally leave
sunkissed absence marking my feet
sore and tender
shoes of soul
legs shaking
arms quaking
mind racing
bruised breast
disguised wrists
deep from the core
sliced and discarded
nothing more
sore spine
open flesh
juicy and ripe
no milk in sight
feelings are lies
logic
bones
fingertips
telephone polls
and spiderwebs
splinters in my eyes
where is all of this going
who is it meant for
explore me
if you please
forced jaw
broke open
dry tongue
memories
do you miss me
scattered thoughts all in a blob
esridersi Feb 14
dead roses
thorn-pierced
to violets,
like
our hate,
in
a watered glass
grave.
zumee Jul 2018
My mouth
is a loaded gun
pointed straight
at your porcelain head
to shoot flowering words
into that beautiful,
empty thought-vase
I saw a trigger warning on hp and got #triggered into writing something.
Rox Oct 2018
Diacridic
He lays
While the leaves sit underneath
the brilliance of sincerities tree,

and thinking to you
were all the things done by.

As it were
Discriptless
Pages left turned and inkless
What's left behind inside
the minds of an intertwining summer
a conclusion predesignated.

I saw to you,
just as I waved hello to goodnight’s moon.
As they touched along the surfaces
fleeting into the skin
A welcomed wound.

And didn’t you know,
That the pictures I stole
Of every point of you
Were etching onto sheets of heaven
into the reflections of the mirrors
that sit before your bedside.

While it rests
with mixed spirits,
the roses that I bore

Passing through glowing bodies
are the images you started to dream with me
while the silences burrow

A judgement left only partially bridged.
Melded with the manifestation of adoptions quest

And as the calls ring in secluce,
I still feel that this alley is ghostless
Lest this vase breathe the life
of unwilted flowers

where the flip sides meet
on the evenings tides
joined by charmed indifferences

in company with the character
of an old flame,
only tangible with
lights which lay ahead.

medleyed in to what's to be.

Thank you.
ymmiJ Mar 20
Have you heard about the lady
Who carried a beautiful vase
It had a whole at the bottom
Spilling water at her pace
The men thought it funny
And fell about the place

Now why would this lady
Carry such vase,
For surely she is crazy
And that we cannot face
She poured out what she had
Then turned to face their gaze
Head held high
She marched on by
To repeat the same tired chase
For all the shopping cart folk who just need some hope!
Filomena Nov 2018
I must efface
the heron vase
so it will never be replaced.
it might mean something, or not
idk figure it out
Composed while at work.
Behold my Praise, Lively-Lady, Behold!
This is a Fact I can always ensure
For if my Ego pretends to be cold
I deserve to be in Prison verily.
I'm sorry for such Lame Words, dearest Belle
The Artist here has a Duty to Live
For if the Master confiscates my Pen
How else should my English Rose Concerns give?
I knew you only through the Tweets you speak
That for me is enough to wear this Faith
For within your Vase sprouts a Promised Seed
Which flows Sweet Mustard to poison the Wraith.
If Questions you ask, that will add to One
And in your Friendship let your Will be done.
#nikitaross
Drowning In ****
2016-06-15

I cannot let the **** win,
Wipe the smile from this old chin,
When I drown in ****’s frown,
My world is just plain upside down.
So much beauty there to see,
Nature, art, poetry,
Stars, moon, astronomy,
A bedtime prayer on tiny knees,
A stranger’s bless you when I sneeze.
Relics from an artist past,
Pyramids, lovely vase, wide Mountain path,
Days of life with loving wife,
Fruitful work beating strife.
So many blessings for you or me,
Fish that swim in open seas.
Cloudy sky, birds that fly,
Ice cream and apple pie,
A nurse’s care when I die.
Nature, flowers, birds and bees,
Fall colors in every tree.
Faith in friends, a warming bath,
A mother’s love, a cooing dove.
So many clips of **** news,
People lost, children bruised,
Fills my heart with aching pain,
Need to find beauty again.


B. T. Whittaker

Wrote this because nothing but horror seems to flood the news, coming up from the U.S. Some days I lose faith and cry for balance. Terror in neon right on the doorsteps. Repeated over and over on Canadian politics for bad decisions, bigotry, and hate.
Drowning in ****.
I couldn't resist reposting this. Not sure things are better for sure
Lyn-Purcell Aug 2018
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
After days of long studies comes the
days of rest. My violet dreams were
slumber-soft filled with lucent lilies
of curling flames born of ever colour
known and unknown. And I stood
in awe of them as my fears fall back
and cower in the shades of my mind.

~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
I muse at how quickly my body
relaxed. Due to my marjoram'd
pillows and sheets of pure silk
and eiderdown? Or due to the
sips of the lavender tea in my in
my teacup decorated with a
butterfly motif?

~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
I remember the sips in fours as
I blew the steam from my cup;
The first sip balmed my lips.
The second soothed my throat.
The third lulled my thoughts.
The fourth stilled my soul.

~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
Though the tea, the pillow and
sheets were had a hand in my nightly
rest, the real answer is on my brow -
for it was when the night's cool air
blew, and where you placed your
sweet Morphean kiss.

~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
With a smile, I wake.
Sat on my golden summer throne
located in my marble gazebo; a
jewel in my private garden. With
thin caryatid pillars, draped in
fine doric chitons encircling me.
Their sculpted limbs hold up the
frieze carved with acanthus
that has a stained glass top of
peacocks and stargazers.

~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
The sheer curtains billow when
the eastern winds blow. By me, a
gold side table with a mirrored top
supported by three Greek key legs.
A pewter quill pen with a steel nib
and violet feather rests by its clay
inkpot; both beside a silver sinuous
nouveau vase and a small stack of
poetry books of black leather and
gilt.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
Part one of my Jasmine Pearls free verse!
(Been having issues with it so I decided to break it down
and make it a collection! ^-^)
A poem dedicated to 'Jasmine Pearl' tea. Inspired y Queen Kim's wonderful 'Golden Hour' and 'Dream Child' poems. I'm very particular about herbal teas, but Jasmine is one of the many few that never fails to relax me when needed. I'm glad I met a fellow Jasmine tea lover in Queen Kim! ^-^
It was rather challenging but I overcame it! Haven't written something
like this since my university days, but I did it!
I really hope you enjoy reading it as I enjoyed writing it!
Anyone else a tea enthusiast?
Do let me know what you think!
Queen Lyn ***
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
Natalie Jan 2018
love comes in various forms;

It can be found in the smile that spreads across your face at the thought of him,

It can be seen in the vibrant red roses that show beautifully in a vase,

It can be made between people after years..or minutes of knowing each other

It can make you feel like you’re walking on air,

or being shoved to the ground.

it can be seen between a man and a woman,

or by people of the same ***.

love comes is various forms,

and it cannot be ignored.
Tommy Randell Dec 2014
Just as I placed flowers into an empty vase this day
I remember folding that flapping bird many years ago
And with the same care

It is hands and how they move objects through space
How briefly they transpose boundaries across time and distance
And locally how they bring the here into the now

Our hands are driven of course by motivated need
The willingness to be diverted for a while
When perhaps they would better serve by just not being hands

When you walk upon the hands they become feet
When you talk with your hunger you become greed
When you love with loneliness you become origami

These chrysanthemums will not live long in fresh air
Just as dreams of far off moments will not become flesh again ever
But for a day or longer may they lift my spirits

Flapping into the still air beyond my window looking always on the past.
Benji James Sep 2018
Memories bombard my eyes
All the wrongs caused in past times
Failures on parade
Wrong choices made
Too late
(Can't change them)
Why do I stop and reminisce
When all these things
Leave me feeling like this?

What has this life become?
When you're all alone
Crying in a parking lot...

Shots left me with a wounded heart
Just like a broken vase
Put together again
It's not the same
Thoughts of death plague my mind
Runs through my head too much of the time
Try to fix it with a rhyme, a line
Tried praying for a sign
All I see is empty skies
And this is why
I'd like to know

What has this life become?
When you're all alone
Crying in a parking lot...

Silhouettes dancing through these streets
Dark shadow stalking me
The man in the mirror
That I see
Is not the best version of me
I know it
Not trying to hide it
I'm an open book
Read each line
And you'll get a small glimpse
into my life
Through silver screens
You'll see all these feelings eating at me
Tell me

What has this life become?
When you're all alone
Crying in a parking lot...

©2018 Written By Benji James
I wanted to keep this as simple as I could
Had a bit of a tear up in the car in a parking lot
And thought it sounded cool for a set of lyrics. :)
P.s. May end up adding more lines later.
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