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A Sad Alex Jul 2018
I will write you the most romantic verses tonight
For you deserve nothing less my love
Than verses to make your heart soar
Than verses than make you want me more.

I will say “You carry my heart in yours”
“You stole it like a thief in the night”
“But I don´t want it back, to you it now belongs”
“It is yours, my sweet, as am I”

I can write the sweetest verses tonight
For they remind me of you my love
When I see you, I smile from side to side
The clouds go away, the sun shines bright in the sky.

I can say “You are a beacon of light”
“You are the reason I go to sleep every night”
“You are everything to me my dear”
“I love you, please, don´t ever leave my side”

I could write you the most sensual verses tonight
For it´s something I can´t help my love
The sway of your figure, that look in your eye
It sends my senses into overdrive.

I could say “Tonight no one else exists but you”
“The night is only yours and mine”
“Your lips clamor my kiss, your hips my hands”
“As our breaths mingles, our bodies melt into one”

I want to write so many things my dear
Fill pages with silly love poems
What I don´t to ever write is “Goodbye”
And I want to tell you always
“I love you… I love you so much…”
Seanathon Mar 2017
I feel so tired
I can barely breathe
My chest is concave
Like the narrow dell
Soaking up the rain
And pulling in the leaves

And though I’m not hollow
I am not whole
And though I’m weary
It is not my soul
Which cries aloud
Unto the the trees

Except for your sound
The sound that is
Of when you sing
And walk beneath
This canvas of leaves
Free as your feet

But the soles of my shoes
And the lids of my eyes
Are now heavy
As my head it lulls
And wants to roll
Back to the ground

So my pillow now
Is underneath
The hooded wood
And as the world
Slowly closes round
It’s you I see

Within the leaves
Beneath the trees
Looking up. Looking down. At you. At me.
Carmen Jane Mar 12
Luscious scent, her scarf carried,
That she left behind,
On purpose.

Away she took her gaze,
That lasted a second,
On purpose.

Pearly smile, she kindly flashed,
As biding goodbye,
On purpose.

The tab was picked up by her
For that homeless man,
On purpose.

Prayers she hummed in her daily runs,
For all menkind,
On purpose.

Verses she danced, in her mind,
While whispering rhymes,
By accident.

Softly she touched with her silky hands,
Yours, on the bus,
Also, by accident.
Knit Personality Jul 2018
Root of all thirsting,
    My greatest desire,
A single drop bursting
    Can put out a fire.
A single drop wholly
    Divorced from the brine,
A single drop holy,
    The liquid divine.

        Find what you love,
            And let it **** you.
        Water, I love you.
            **** me, will you?

Raindrop or dewdrop
    I want on my tongue.
For the old drop and new drop
    These verses are sung.
The new drop and old drop
    Of water I crave,
The hot drop and cold drop,
    From cradle to grave.

        Find what you love,
            And let it **** you.
        Water, I love you.
            **** me, will you?

Drown me in oceans,
    In crystalline seas,
In H2O potions
    Of perfect degrees.
Drown me in teardrops
    Divorced from the brine,
In flawlessly clear drops
    Of the liquid divine.

        Find what you love,
            And let it **** you.
        Water, I love you.
            **** me, will you?

#
Poetemkin May 2018
When I before the LORD will stand
and fall o'erpowered by glory grand
I know that, yet unworthy, I'll go free

My sin deserves a judgement fierce
my soul with pangs of torment pierce
in death and hell for all eternity

I know my guilt; I am ashamed
'twas by my hand God's Christ was maimed
I am the one led Him to Calvary

I built His cross, I drove the nails
by my spear was His side impaled
and my mouth mocked and jeered His agony

I live my life, day in, day out
my liberty, my freedom flout
as if I am my own authority

Angér and malice, vengeance too
bittérness, lust, to name a few
are fruits that I bear — Ah! too frequently

But on a cross, atonement made
the Son of God in stone tomb laid
then raised again in mighty victory

I am not worthy LORD to share
the triumph, nor to be an heir
of majesty; but say Thou "Come to me?"

Thou art exalted on the throne
all-glorious, lifted up alone
all falling, bowing to Thy sov'reignty

What credit dare I claim to own?
what merit have I ever shown
that Thou wouldst come to bleed and die for me?

O! Praise the Lamb Who paid the debt!
the ransom met, the sinner set
in place of blood-washed, snow-white purity

O! Praise the man who in my stead
was beaten, smitten, slaughtered dead!
This miracle: that God would die for me!

Thou art The Life, The Truth, The Way
Thou art the Everlasting Day
Thou art the Son of blesséd Trinity

Thou art Creator of the world
Thou art expressed though Thy Son: Word
Thou art the Father in the Trinity

Thou art our Comfort, and the Breath
of Life that comes at our sin's death
Thou Holy Spirit — third in Trinity

We cry "Holy, holy, holy!
only Thou art LORD Almighty
Thou Father, Son, and Spirit; Trinity!"


O! LORD my God show my Thy face!
Encompass me with Thy great grace!
"Behold, my child, there is a place by me"

O God I long to hear Thy voice!
I aim to make of Thee my choice!
"Seek my face is my message unto thee"

I did not know — could not foresee —
that by His death I'd be set free
that through His wounds my path to heaven be

He knew the pain, He knew the loss
He knew that shame came with the cross
yet bore the sin His Father would not see

What will it take keep me true
to Thee, the One Who bore me through
in love took on Thee my just penalty?

What can I say? Where can I go?
Which poor souls can I make to know
the gospel of Thy great act of mercý?

I could have been Thy servant sent
unto the world, if I but went
when Thy call came to me with clarity

I cried that I would surely go
if where Your call was I did know
but in Thy Word Thou saidst to all "go ye"

I claimed I'll spend and will be spent
affirmed to serve whate'er it meant —
if only I had spoken truthfully

When I for Thy pure presence cry
I still yet by my life belie
that this request is made in honesty

I walk the race; I beat the air
I wallow deep in my despair
I live in sham of Christianity

Discontent, self-satisfied
I ought to be contrariwise
and grant to myself base ignominy

Without I am not seen profane
in heart I have with many lain
they — innocent — are ravaged lustfully

My eyes my master, I, the slave
feign to resist, then comes the cave-
in to that thing from which I ought to flee

In grief I curse my wicked heart
I hide, afraid to seek new start
ashamed of my great sinful misery

I strive to make the outside clean
within the bones of dead men lean
on white-washed walls of stone-cold vanity

Depravéd I keep under lid
those sins to which men's eyes are hid
confessing not, to liberated be

Just yesterday, lift' up in pride
of holiness (but my heart lied)
I thought was in me; my great piety

The fool! I, ignoble soul
my mind under fleshlý control
why do I not surrender now to Thee?

Surrender true? Surrender not?
Surrenders of the past forgot:
surrender now with freshened fervency

Jehovah — Thou the Holy God
original, uniquely odd
the awesome fullness of all Deity

My God Thou must by Thy hand draw
me to Thy side and I in awe
must simply yield and fall in faith on Thee

My God, the Master, Lord of Peace
My King, the source of all increase
The Faithful One, and my security

The Great and Mighty Holy One
Who sent to us His only Son
The One with Whom I will forever be

In my dark past, a world of shame
Where I — unworthy — wore Thy name
Thou in Thy mercy drew me unto Thee

But still within my wicked heart
Lay sins from which I would not part
The lusts which I have clung to desperately

Thy peace I cannot ever know
When still the seeds of sin I sow
When I yet practice flesh-fruit husbandry

I know Thy Word doth fully show
For Thee to come my sin must go
Thou wilt not stomach my coregency

My body's temple, my heart's throne
But one may have it; one may own
And only I can ever take the knee

Thy sovereignty will bow to none
At our world's end we'll bow as one
I must submit — so why not willingly?
Samuel Lombardo Dec 2018
Heart torn?
Capture it!
Seal It!
Stop!

Free yourself!
Feel free!
Tear free!
Freedom!

Grace is Love
Have mercy!
Fountain of Life
Breathe of Life

Hope is Secure
Security finds;
Love finds;
Heart is Love
The functions  and emotions of love are within your heart!
Seanathon Sep 1
We love the night
Because she holds no secret stars
Or fears no moonlit falling out
Open Skies - An honest series
September Roses Aug 2018
The satin gown of hope a myth
      
   The heroes fallen                                      
                                    to the abyss

The bloom of death, no longer risen
Our souls trapped in endless prison

        Existence the master of all
        masked curses
    
              A song of tragedy with endless
              verses

   So if dying breath comes anyway
                  What's it matter
                 How soon the day

All suns set
Some plan no dawn
They care not for those who mourn

           I wish myself
      The blood to stop
     To soon not hold
   A single drop

So I promise you my heart for free
       If you swear
   You'll rip it out of me
why doesn't hello poetry like metaphorical Shakespearean poetry? its so pretty?
annh Sep 8
This morning I awoke with a cluster of words resting in the palm of my hand, my fingers tracing their gentle form like the decades of a rosary. On the tip of my tongue a song, a story, a fable of experience, existence, and eternity lay dozing.

There I floated between my inner and outer worlds, an exquisite confluence of wakeful consciousness and drowsy carelessness, until daybreak shook the last of sleep from my tousled dreams and my verses disintegrated like dust into the ether. It was at that moment, when the cool breeze through the open window intervened and the thrum of traffic in the distance drew me out from beyond the covers, that I lost my poem.

I know it will return: as droplets of rain on window glass, or as threads of loose cotton on a frayed cushion cover, in the rhythm of a lazy Sunday afternoon, or in the sigh of the ocean’s flow. All of these are mesmerising in their effect, some intangibly soulful, others enticingly tactile. All are enough to quiet the chatter of the quotidian mind and allow the delicate operations of the creative imagination to reign.

Only then, will I attempt to commit my words to paper...and you shall read them here.

Where do all the lost words go? Do they know their way home? Do they come with contact details attached? If not, does that mean they get confused and end up inside someone else’s head? Did I post your poem my mistake? Did you post mine?
Carmen Jane Mar 14
In warm grey matter, your masterpiece reigns,
Killer creations, pours deep in your veins...
If you stumble in sad heartbreaks, once more,
You  tell stories from which will spring folklore!

When planets align, unbeknownst to you,
Profound words, from your tongue drips,
Verses and titles are dancing on dew,
Rhymes are  trembling, on tips of your lips.
And listen
You know what?
What you are to me?

You live inside
My world
Far beyond
With heavenly grace
In all shades and hues
And flow naturally
Tracing a way
As the verses
Birthing life

Thanks for being
Namaste
If i have not said?
Genre: Experimental
Theme: Sculpting the thought
Hunter Green Sep 2018
In time I feel something new
The peace of life, life renewed
I see a glow of light it sees me and brings me sight
I am guided by natures call
oceans roar or rain’s fall
I fear separation from this feeling
I fear the cage of a forced life
Give me a hope a feeling that I can hang onto,
a great awakening so I can do what I want to,
No, so I can do what you want to.
Peace is greater than fear and yet I find the greatest peace mixed with the latter.
Oh, all of my creativity,
Why does it seem to give me anonymity?
Nylee May 18
Back then in the time
an another lifetime
Everyone was poet
Writing deeper meanings
with every line
Everything they wrote
all inked with gold
Letters and pages
Better at stages
all still strikes the chord
Time has not been that lost
.
Celebration gone,

Wrapped packages jobs finished.

Spending overdone.



Pretty paper wrap,

So quickly removed prepares,

Pretty paper scrap.



UK Boxing day mode,

Present boxes packaging,

Collect and dispose.



Christmas perfected.

Feasts  consumed and gifts exchanged,

Nice times  collected.
(just after Christmas Haiku)
Gabriel Bonney Sep 2018
I write some things,
          and it seems so worthless
I say something,
       and it feels so wordless
  Maybe that's the purpose
Memories formless,
              deep thought verses
       Thinking comes to surface
     Rhyming to    plead something
                     Writing but I
               say nothing    I have
   not forgot            You're all I   got
Just trying to                           all stop
                       make the doubts
            So be  fore    you
                              go        --
      ­               don't walk away
   Eventually I will  have
                            l       ines       to
         offer      y  o u     But  you
    must stay --  be here         for
           what I       ' m
   go                           ing           thr
              oughSta_y.  by   my
s   I. de             &
             give*     Me   ~ timeYou
         mustKn     ow  that
                   my brain
may be    _   sick   . .   .   but I'll
                              be okay  .
But be concerned

8.31.18
ryn Nov 2014
I've stared...
Longingly forever into you
You'd stare back but you never really knew
Hands of hours, minutes and seconds I've shook
All the time I've carelessly took

I've witnessed...
That etched on each one, that amazing smile
A crutch forged of sunrays that had carried me many a mile
It's all that I have to know of you
In this endless chase I've sought to pursue

I've envisioned...
Different ways you'd wear your crown
Various trimmings on lavish gowns
Smitten by the way you sport your paint
The nectarous song sung in your gait ever so faint

I've imagined...
The addictive rise and fall of your every breath
Bringing me back to life after every death
Pulses of sweet nothings that never did ebb
Ensnaring my heart with your silk spun web

I've believed...
You are the queen of my future tale untold
I've felt it so real like verses written in bold
But I've awakened from slumber into terrifying reality
Pains me to realise that you're nothing but
imaginary*...
annh Sep 24
Outta whack,
Outta sync,
Wanna write,
Can't think.

Words dance,
Outta time,
Mismatched,
Bad rhyme.

Lines smash,
Commas fight,
Vowels heave,
Rhythm's *****.

Verses clatter,
Phrases crunch,
****** muse's
Gonta lunch.

Gotta write,
Gotta pen,
Words'll come,
Dunno when.

Day's boshed,
Outta sight,
Gonna bed,
Good night!
‘Nonsense wakes up the brain cells. ...If you can see things out of whack, then you can see how things can be in whack.’
- Dr Suess
Yuki Feb 13
I deprive my heart
of blood for I write
these verses with it
in the hope it would
merge with yours
the moment you see
my heart is meaningless
if you spurn my love.
Twalib Mushi Jul 2018
You are a beautiful song
Beauty enough to turn me on
Forever you make me strong
With your flawless melodic tone.

You are my favorite song
I keep in my heart and singing
To this hard life as stone
We better live before we're gone.

You are my cradlesong
Soothing me as I lie down.

You are that metallic song
With fine drawing body of verses
I dare to keep you long
With those tenacious, beguiling chorus.

You are my song
I constantly reiterating
Only glancing at you
I don't need playlist on you.
Kevin J Taylor Jun 2017
A poet's breast within me beats
Beats heart and something I call soul that leaps
Charges, races, racing, finds its feet
Drags me, joyful, joy-filled, from my seat!

Elevating common prose
For pleasures sake, each poet knows,
Gains by use of tools as those
He would at length I’m sure disclose

If payment were perhaps an ear
Just for a moment lent to hear
Keenly offered verse— or beer,
Loved by poets too, I fear.

Most often those who are unwise
Negate the poet’s enterprise
Out of their need to criticize
(Perhaps within their misery lies)

Quite certain they must find a fault
Regardless of the somersaults
Some poets do to try and halt
Those who, in the name of help, assault.

Unless you’ve written words as these—  
Verses made and meant to please
With just a little work to tease
Xenia* coaxed from a’s and z’s

Your day lacks all that razzmatazz—as
Zest for verse—and all that jazz.
.

*Xenia—gifts given to a guest or stranger.
This is an Abecedarian. First letter of each line follows the alphabet. Fun to do.

.
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle and in paperback. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry by common means.)
Zia Jul 3
before you came it was hell
with you i'd hoped it'd go well
but it didn't last, the spell
all you've left behind is a shell
on it i will no longer dwell
consider this as my farewell
Befrilled Godfather, why tune Yours to mine
These Rightful Verses your Country observes
I, an Eastern Bun's Lord in Mind consign
Put my Pun in-place for their own Reserves
Now this, a Muse if your Clock does witness
Would burn me at stake or hang me condemned
All because such Organs defy Fitness
And thought the ****** I will reprehend
I grow tired of this evident Trough
Whilst you once scribbled Trademarks with your Quill
How, my Heart-Nosed Configure such enough
Yet wish to join you in your White Pipes, still.
Your Epitaph stays; I dare not complete
Just press these Roses your Approval, meet.
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
Nat Lipstadt Jan 2017
Yom Kippur this year was celebrated on Oct. 12th 2016.
Leonard Cohen passed away on November 7, 2016.


~~~

faint knocking at the door to the Tower of Song

the ministering angels, hearing a rhythmic, lyrical rapping,
sigh, thinking the atonement day,
the holiday/holy days, are supposedly over,
the human balancing act, the rush to judgement period,
all tallies totaled, the busy sale season for souls,
at last completed, each fate inscribed & sealed,
in the book of life^

but, always one,
the itinerant straggler, the last reluctant sinner, a judgment resister,
flaunting an expired coupon, trumpeting demands for a recount,
waving it, claiming it, the bearer, entitled to a mercy discount and
an extra 30 days

"who shall we say is calling?"

the Angels are stunned to hear,
a familiar raspy, growling, almost indescribable,
yet, stammeringly, beautiful voice enchanting,
equally asking and answering,  how both,
with a strident humility, "a man in search of answers"

this voice, instantaneous recognizable,
the asking superfluous,
all beating wings now, all in vast excitement,
this psalmist, long awaited, one of His best,
a chosen one, a courtly singer in the Temple of his people,
blessed with the curse of seeing and believing,
the comprehension of beauty of the human superior interior,
never being quiet or quite satisfied,
in capturing, its multifarious variations,
in every language spoken

this is the man who took ten years
to compose just
one song,
one poem,
one word,
Hallelujah,
whose faith was strong,
but still needed proofs,
whose every breath of oxygen inhalation,
brought more questions,
every exhalation, only releasing partial answers,
and yet, still, yes, yes! finding hidden verses inside

a simple, everlasting
hallelujah

the hubbub subsides, the man sings~speaks:
how came I here,
was I one, who by fire?
that fire afeared,  that my finality was spirit consumer?

one voice, answers,
in one voice, the swaying back-up singers answer,
not by fire, not by water, not by stoning or
even drowning
in tea that came from all the way from China

when sing we Angels, the Judgement Day poem,
we alone, on high and above,
we, keepers of the books and records of everyone,
are permitted this to query:

Who by Sufficiency?

you, the sidekick of the creator,
special commissioned by him, anointed to live a life of research,
record in word and song the mysteries of musical gene strings,
that intertwine the skin cells of man and woman,
man and his fellow us-human,
your soul commandeered, ordered, delve deeper,
into the consolable chasm tween divine and mortals,
all those who are poorly constructed
in his image

he, who has earned his place, his best rest,
his works adjudged sufficient,
he, who best answered
this judging,
this calling out,
calling in
incantation,

Who by Sufficiency?

now forward on, write only of answers,
wade in the troubled waters no more,
no more passports, or borders to cross,
no more measuring the days,
the last road trip finale
finished & feted,
fate meted

no more changing thy name, changeling priest,^^
sing songs of solution, salvation,
for the questioning hours of confusion,
the urgency of revolution,
no longer need a hallelujah resolution


                                                    ­| | |
Who By Fire                             Who By Fire, Who By Water:^
(lyrics by Leonard Cohen)     (A Yom Kippur Hebrew Prayer)

who by fire                             How many shall die and      

who by water,                                how many shall born,
Who in the sunshine,                 Who shall live      
who in the night time,                   who shall die,                      
Who by high                                Who at the measure of days,
who by common trial,                    and who before,
Who in your merry                            
                                                          Who by fire
month of May,                                 and who by water
Who by very                                 Who by sword,
slow decay,                                       and who by wild beasts,
And who shall I                      Who by hunger,
say is calling?                              and who by thirst,

And who in her,                           Who by earthquake
lonely slip,                                         and who by plague
who by barbiturate,                      Who by strangling,
Who in these                                    and who by stoning
realms of love,                               Who shall have rest,

who by,                                             and who shall go wandering,
something blunt,                            Who will be tranquil,
And who by avalanche,                  and who shall be harassed,
who by powder,                            Who shall be at ease,
Who for his greed,                           and who shall be afflicted,
who for his hunger,                      Who shall become rich,
And who shall I,                             and who shall become poor,
say is calling?                                Who will be raised high,
                                                         ­     and who will be brought low
And who by brave assent,                  
who by accident,
Who in solitude,
who in this mirror,
Who by,
his lady's command,
who by his own hand,
Who in mortal chains,
who in power,
And who shall I,
say is calling?




^From the liturgy of Rosh Hasanah, the Jewish New Year and Yom Kippur, the  Day of Atonement, there is this truly stunning prayer (https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Unetanneh_Tokef) in the Jewish liturgy. The Book of Life contents the fate of every sinner. From the first day of the new year, until ten days later, on Yom Kippur, depending on whether the sinner repents or not, his fate is sealed.
Yom Kippur this year was celebrated on Oct. 12th 2016.

Leonard Cohen passed away on November 7, 2016.

^^"A Kohens ancestors were priests in the Temple of Jerusalem. A single such priest was known as a Kohen, and the hereditary caste descending from these priests is collectively known as the Kohanim.[2] As multiple languages were acquired through the Jewish diaspora, the surname acquired many variations." Today, with no temple, the limited role of the Kohanim is to bless the Jewish people on the high holy days with a  special prayer with abeloved tune,  instantly evocative (see wikipedia.org/wiki/Priestly_Blessing) The Kohanim are still revered, honored, and always called up first to the Sabbath reading of the weekly portion of the Old Testament

A thank you to Bex for proofing and encouragement.
Part I of a trilogy
For a  more detailed analysis of the roots of the song, "Who By Fire," and its origins, see:
_____________________________________________
http://www.leonardcohen-prologues.com/who_by_fire.htm

He worked on the song Hallelujah, arguably his most famous composition, for ten years.
lifeonLSD Sep 2018
Every once in a while I see you sitting on a branche

The beautiful nightingale in its form

Always singing exquisitly beautiful songs

Why the mind never stops seeking

To which frequency it belongs



With absolute stillness there is able to find

The music that plays, is made to hide

Verses that cannot put into words

What the galaxies describe



With a universal language

If one listens, can unwind

The wool of what is spun

Structured and wired

In the most delicate way

From the beginning to every gentle laced humn



Now fly away again; with all of the harmony lifting notes you sung



My love, for I will follow the thread

As far as there is no more

Untill I can feel the wind move between the feathers

And the beauty of true love sounds embraces my hearts warmth
visits from the nightingale
remington carter Oct 2016
cold skin; feet underwater, turned
inward and i fall forward. cold feet, cold
feet and blue skin, straight lines and
blurry vision, clear skin
red water

(inertia is a property of
matter;

why did i fall towards you?)

i think i saw god today, i saw god today and
his eyes stuck to me the way the telephone lines
stick to the sky, i gouged them out
and hung the pieces to dry
on heaven’s door, his blood
was all over me, i wish the
look in his eyes was as
warm as his veins, i asked for
forgiveness, you promised me
forgiveness but your pulse counted
my sins—

i thought believing in you was all i had
to do but there’s a whole book about you.
verses after verses, my mother killed
me because i burned the pages, and now
there is only the cover left with the
seams undone

heaven was a bit cold anyway
okkk woow this is a hard one. ill be ****** if anyone actually makes it to the bottom
Tommy Randell Aug 2017
I want to speak in couplets for a day
Shaping beforehand what I have to say

Not to utter words without rehearsal
Blindly squirting thoughts into dispersal

It seems old fashioned to your ears no doubt
Like bedtime books you used to read out loud

Rupert the Bear perhaps or Dr Seuss?
Too contrived, too quaint, of very little use?

But think a moment, take your time to hear
What magic couplets make inside the ear

I'm starting with a Facebook Rhyming Day
Hoping at least my Friends will play the game

Some I'm sure will even match my verses
Some I'm sure will even catch my urges

Death to prose and its simplifications
Extermination Extermination

A lexis of war upon the Nation
Decasyllabic Versification

Tommy Randell 02nd August 2017
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