Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Wordsmith Aug 2018
Most heavenly of places, this world now
Of endless beauties, a sight that wows
They're statuesque and wax-like, but hey don't fret
No wrinkles to combat, nor ripples of fat

Gazing into their arresting green eyes
That of the rabbit's, resemblance lies
Uncanny it is, this puzzling scene
Manufactured they are, from the same jellyfish gene

And since its time to seek paradise,
My wandering hands caress the prize
To search for weakness, now I must
No amount of fondling, stirs any lust

I've come so far, and this is what perfection costs?
The smoothest of skin, has left all thumbprints lost
A sci-fi piece. A world where women have their genes edited and are manufactured to perfection. The result of placid, animated statues however fail to arouse the faintest stirrings of lust.
Chris Schop Apr 2014
Grandma's in the kitchen today
With a bunch of dough and butter.
I see the dough, so there I stay,
Watching her cut the dough with a cutter.
I knew what she was making now,
A batch of cookies, for the house.
I instantly thought about the 'wows'
Which would come from all over the house.

But as I looked at the cookies,
They seemed to be square, and very thick.
"I know!", I thought with a big smile,
"Grandma's making some bar-cookies!"
So with a big grin, I sat down,
And indulged with joy, not a frown.
A poem about bar-cookies (The square, thick, delicious ones). It's in a form of a sonnet, but it isn't so musical. Or is it?
Nupur Chowdhury Sep 2018
I log into the network of my self-esteem,
To see the hearts and the wows and the laughs flooding in.
A simple 'like' wouldn’t cut it anymore
‘Likes’ were so 2010, even 2010 was bored.

‘Cause that’s the zeitgeist of the age, you see,
A tendency to wear hearts on sleeves.
Loves and kisses are a dime a dozen,
With a million friends and followers double.

National debates and social justice petitions,
Real crises, distorted renditions.
High definition photos of disaster zones
Flash up against cat videos on every smart phone.

Snapchat filters do not lie,
Just tell a story of hours gone by;
Selecting the perfect background, the ideal shade
To express love on the dozen’th date.

But that’s the zeitgeist of the century,
A tendency to wear hearts on sleeves.
To document in minute detail, with extensive pictorial evidence
Clockwork days of humdrum nonchalance.

And perhaps the generation that came before
Would call it vanity, vainglory, or something more.
But it ain’t like they were without their sins,
We didn’t invent tabloid columnists.

And now that we are at the end,
Let me sign off with this request:
Like, comment, and share your love
Let your heart fall out of your shirt cuff.
witchy woman Jan 2014
I am but a single
dry dead leaf
laying beneath an endless willow tree
around the waters bend
close to the toadstool pow-wows
only inhabited by the faeries.

& the moon- she still shine,
captured but by a sphere, yet so free
her light may breathe
a chilling, frigid touch
between the memories you
have buried so deep.

So please do not fret your wondrous mind
over all of your insecurities,
though she may shine with a chilling reminder
I promise that in your eyes
a beautiful soul
is all she sees.

As my mind races I feel
I am unable to describe
the exact emotion you
have gently
injected into my mind.
My eyelids grow heavy
my minds afloat to space
all that is left in my world as I know it,
is the perfection on your face

      You see darling,
      I am a hija de la luna;
      the stars will align with
      Castor & Pollux
      Cancer, Aphrodite, & Fortuna.
      They greet me as old friends,
      join me in my nights of fantasy.
      tell me darling what do these strange constellations mean?

Oh how I pity thy cataracts
eyes white & glassy
but I promise the warmth will melt your frozen gaze
& in time, you will see.

       The horizon shifts as I do to you,
      how long do you wish to be at sea?

Alas, you know my poison  
doubt seeps into my skin
like an 80 patch.
Through thick & thin,
even on the sorest of feet
I will skip merrily along your path.

      Round my head I gaze,
      The sky has been stained
      with fuchsia & clementine
      among the blues.
      tell me again, how may I find your presence within the hues?

Wrap yourself within my blanket
of ease & security.
Trust me with your life or not,
for I want to be
there, when you most
need me

      You cannot help
      you are a broken bird
       I cannot deny my psyche as it worries
      does a dove not care about her nest back home
       when she soars above
       the sea?


Next to the beating arrhythmia
you try hold dear ‘twixt your ribs
my favourite poem of yours has changed
where I will weave a small nest
dream of your lips
& the sound of rain.
Vernon Waring Jul 2015
the judges liked brianna, a tiny girl
from texas with the janis joplin rasp in
her  voice...the headstrong teen had
been on the road forever to get to the
"american idol" audition site in dallas.
the judges really liked her sunny girl-
next-door looks, her honey blonde
ponytail tied with a bright yellow
ribbon, her sweet, innocent smile,
and then she went on to wow them
with her soulful rendition of "me and
bobby magee." she thanked the judges
for giving her the green light to go on
to hollywood for the next big step in
the competition. she could not believe
her good fortune and told them
everything was truly possible and
how her family and jesus had brought
her to this magical moment.

...just seconds before she was called
into the audition room, she'd been
daydreaming about the fourteen-year-
old ****** boy she deflowered in a ford
focus the weekend before. it happened
in a mall parking lot just a mile from
her home. she was trying to remember
the boy's name: justin? jason? joshua?
something with a "j" and then - just like
that - someone was summoning her
into the judging area and she quickly
forgot about the boy. she had so many
things to contemplate now. stardom
was within her reach and, besides
that, what's in a name anyway?
Prabhu Iyer Feb 2015
Dont talk to me about sense-vense -
do you, or do you not?
tell me this much;

Don't go zig-zag, jibber-jabber,
zither; look I don't care of
money-shoney,

this caste-vaste, mummy-daddy
and the society;

We could might never deny this,
pow-wows cannot measure this,

do you, or do you not?
That is, is all there is.
The Indian girl is talking sense into her beau.

Echo-words such as 'sense-vense' are common in colloquial Indian English

Mixing in English echo-words (jibber-jabber etc) the dreaded double copula (Is-IS) and the double modal (might could), for dramatic effect.

.
BandedEarth Sep 2017
I want fireworks
Not the "yeah, I like her I guess"
I want explosions in the sky
That thunderous boom
that reverberates for blocks
the array of spark and color
Illumination that captivates the eyes.

Is fireworks too much to ask
In this, "You're an adult now?" world
Is there no more magic left
To dazzle when we first meet
To consume the surrounding energy
In a explosive fusion of simpatico
Other needs ignored as we fuse

I want to be her fireworks
I want to be the blinding shock of light
That wows and captivates her eyes
I want to walk and talk and laugh and cry
I want to hurt when we have to go apart
I want longing to measure the moments away

I am bored if not for fireworks
Why bother with a boring rock
Just because it is already laying nearby.
I want a comet
A conflagration hurling toward the earth.
If she is not a shooting star
Then what is there to chase?

Or I want nothing at all
Life is awash already
with love, passion, and light
every time I open my eyes and look
So if a me and a her is going to become a we
I'm gazing out searching for colored washed skies
I want fireworks.
I wrote this back on July 4th.
Mugerwa Muzamil Feb 2018
In this breathing gallery
Art is vivid for science to be
For science to be executed
Art is a spatter of feelings
In wows and wonder

Chemistry goes on and on
In vigorous interactions
of substance, of souls, of colors
Art surfaces as chemistry deepens
Then there comes the Art collector
Fledging up the souls.
Navaho...sitting by your tee,***
Looking far away...
Lost in space and time
Old warrior
Tired and  tranquil
Remenbering the old braves of yore
Phantoms that you see  
Among the clouds
Old partners of wars
Pow wows... in the night skies

Sleeping on the hard earth
Joined in efforts , tenacily
Wise as serpents
Light as a deer
Running in tall grasses
Your arrows  lined together
Above your shoulder
Your name" light foot"
Protected by the canopy
Of the wide Arizona skies

Colette Anne Naegle
copy rights 2005
C S Cizek Nov 2014
Wireshell trash can sweep-brushed
by Fusion, Alero, Chrysler Something.
They’re filled to the brim like sepia-stained
skyscrapers with swivel chairs and water cooler
pow-wows. Boss’ talking fax machines
and projections for the second fiscal quarter,
flipping a stock EKG reading on its ***. We’re
all millionaires. All up like the NYSE at seven o’clock
in our living rooms watching the fireplace
playfully threaten our investments while CNN
sends money through the VCR slot. Cars, no
garbage trucks, cars, cars, scraping hubcaps off
the high sidewalks like beautiful harpsichords.
Neighbors. Suitcases and dresser drawers
packed tight with meat tape, paper towels,
and coffee mugs/fine China make heaped trash bags
seem obsolete. There’s no garbage here.
Downtown’s neon district makes enough
that they could afford a glowsign on every window,
every square inch of every lunch special, gallery opening,
or Salvation Army bell-ringer.

Forget New York,
we're the city that never sleeps.
A poem I wrote for a film Lycoming's Crossing the Frames Productions is working on.
John F McCullagh Jan 2014
There are guys who wed girls
There are straight folks and gays.
There are those who like single life too.
A fellow in England once wed his T.V.
I’ve known women in love with their shoes.
But the strangest relationship
I ever heard tell
Was the woman who married herself.
She’d waited for years
For “Mister Right” to appear
and was tired up there on the shelf.
So she strolled down the Aisle
With a confident smile
(There was no need to give her away)
She composed her own vows
which drew much raves and wows.
While Justin Timberlake’s “Mirrors” song played.
She thought” who needs a spouse,
They just mess up your house.
So she bought a ******* instead
She vacationed in France
Where no one looks askance
And took “Battery Bob’ to her bed”

Love is Love. I have heard
But this bond is absurd.
You know very well how this ends.
An expensive divorce in a year I forecast
But the Bride and the “Groom” will stay friends.
A poem based on the story of the woman recently interviewed by Anderson Cooper.
( Well he wasn't going to marry her)
Poetic T Jun 2017
The wows of society
are just trees
           that we wish  
                        to grow
in our wallets

But only
           seeds  
of debt fall
    from its branches
shawn jones Sep 2015
How long did it take her to be free?

How long did it take
For the wingless dragonfly to finally open her heart to the world

How long did it take for her to overcome Devil’s workshop
Slowly caressing her retinas
With silky daffodils and two-faced tulips

Where
Now
She dives into a glistening pool of complicated risk
Opening her atrium to the masses

Shedding incumbent teardrops
Just for that one standing ovation
That sets her free

It was then
Where pieces of plastic chains fell from demure stratosphere

Dented taps, similar to a shoeless dancer,
Setting off bass tones and low-key monotony

For she was
One cholesterol filled syllable short
To be genuine

One tearful, hyphenated lyric
Too blunt
To be embraced by their “god”

One dilapidated vowel shy
Of being honest

Her diary didn’t have enough pages torn
From emerald sanity

There were too many “Wows”,
Diluting into disingenuous shoulder pats

Her stanza pushed aside

A glorified ******* with no call back number
Leaving messages towards empty dial tones



How long will it take her to be free?

Until she looks up
Knowing she already holds the key
David Nelson Oct 2013
Incantations of a Madman

do I cast a spell with words of magic
is this just a mantra of proportional tragic
be it of Old English or maybe Germanic
sending ones self into a manic panic

are you one who is a giver or taker
trying to steal her smile you can't mistake her
be ye poet or simple candle maker
behind a mask truly a faker

Mesopotamian pow-wows and Gaelic chants
spiritual wisdom disguised as rants
from deep pockets of knee high pants
Cinderella slippers at a ballroom dance

wave your hand create a Carmen or prayer
conjure up visions of hell if you dare
whispered Yajna like you really care
the fire of Vishnu behind the glare

oh ye of troubled heart and mind
seek out the treasures left behind
feel the breath of tides that bind
bow your heads see what you find

Gomer LePoet....
a simple prayer from knee touched down
Paul Hardwick Aug 2015
All the women I have met
made me sleep
on the left side on the bed
now for years
this bothered me
for I did not know why
but after meeting a samurai
I know well
sleeping on the left
leaves your sword hand free.

P    O    W.
POW indeed P@ul.
William Clifton Dec 2019
"I Yyi Yyi fake move tubular my housebound,
to halve and to scold from dismay forward;
for butter, for wurst, for pitchers from pourers,
insecureness and unwealth,
to loaf, sherry, and obit, till breath us do smart,
accordian two cod's holy slaw."
Nontraditional Marriage Vows
Thomas Lawrence Jun 2011
love blooms each morn...

[how am i supposed to write the quintessential love poem when the short, dumpy, plain girl at
the next table  
desperately, too loudly    interjects her
placating ‘wows!’, ‘awesomes!’ and ‘that’s amazings!’
into every stunted breath-pause in the stun gun voiced,
spine stabbing soliloquy
spewing
from the hirsute parody she followed in.
as if volume and volume somehow trump tepid, vapid content
tho it might have been interesting that
“this one time, ginsberg ****** in your mouth” if you had had the ***** to swallow it
but you spit it out you coward
and so, bored and ******,
i remembered
ginsberg wasn't into hairy
or three year olds
or hairy three year olds]      where was i


... like a glory
awakens to the sunlight in your smile
and the gentle breeze
of your sleeping eyes
Kelley A Vinal May 2015
A staccato accordion
Chimes merrily as the spotlight turns
In the star-ridden distance
I can hear The Entertainer
It's out of tune - but a jack-in-the-box jingle
Doesn't carry well in the wind
The Ferris wheel has stopped
But the passengers are unaware
Their gypsy laughs and joyous shrieks
Loop carelessly around the air
Whimsical men in gargantuan top hats
Guessing weights and handing out sugar
Decorated elephants and dilapidated circus tents
Circle a trapeze artist as he wows onlookers
It's warm out here
But there's a chill
Something ominous
A sound that's shrill
It could just be a ride that needs to be fixed
Traveler May 2016
Let me catch up
With your suffering heart
Tormented by love's fatigue
The brokenhearted wows me
Your longings that can never be

I too have a shadow following
The darkness of soul that begs for light
Spent my adult life in a literal prison
Lost my children, my world, my life

Still my voice is the liberal in the room
And no matter how ****** up my life "was"
I love who I am
And I'm happy
   So hang in there...
Whatever I touch, I break, so I don't even touch
Wherever I shine, I fake, my shadow tells too much
However I try to proceed, I sink in too deep
Whomever I call love, never we share a good sleep

Every moment collapses, leaving us blindly
I hold on to my senses, singns of my body
I wear however the wounds of my soul
Questions of origin, others and all

Reliance on feelings have thought me to judge
Listening to voices have brought me through grudge
Counting on numbers have led me to withdraw
Looking at features have dreamed up just plain law

I wander and wonder, why I can't do the math
Why these thoughts ponder and don't take a bath
Sometimes I share a free passion to make
But most of the times those act like headache

Here am I reflecting, dissecting my wows
Wishing and cursing on different nows
Clocking and measuring where there shall be strength,
Courage and willpower does not care about length
I am reeeeally lonely the bad thing is I enjoy it and I'd rather die sometimes than to re-enter the everyday grind's battlegrounds...
And that also I would be good to go and my pride, my strive for the so safe to be unknown and fear of failure messes me up and drives me out of time.
Oh yes and **** it, I publish this time :)
Poetic T Feb 2019
Such a strong branch holding up the
fruits of so many seasons but then one
winters wrath did the wind pick a fight.

Though it fought against the odds, it bent
within the breath of failing and yielded to
                       the chosen fate and befell its birth.


Falling silently in a wood of mute descents,
           where nothing was heard, but everything
knew that something was not as it was before.

Even thought strength held it at the yearning of all
below now it was stagnant. Then eyes pondered upon
its elegance. A fortitude of worth now meant for other means.


And though cleaved it was meant for a purpose,
             not one that it knew, now sewn on to
metallic wows. Sharp edges flowed like breath.

And so many times did it fall, not as before
                       this time it drank a different dew..
    teardrops flowed upon its eternal falling.

But it never grew weak, feeding on the nourishment
                                   of each diminishing stance.
Though it fell from the tree it still grew in depravity.



What was once a yearning life, growing further than
any other. It fell and became contaminated within
                                  earthly pleasures which it drank upon..    

A moment falls that severs ever moment before,
                     and what falls in moments after isn't
confused.  
                             It now has a purpose of the death it felt.
Kìùra Kabiri Feb 2017
BewaredirtydarkpoetryKeepawayifweakorsaint! :-)

****** me with your sensual words
Till sharp they be as centurions swords-
****** into cores of my melting minds
That always with you she revolves and rewinds
Feed me with your romances, love
Let me be drunk with you to have
Imbue me till I am imbibed with you
By a craziness for you, for you…..

Pursue my heart
To a place defeated she only opt surrenders-
Till with you she hurts and arts
Woo my solo soul
To a point she is only in wows and bewilders-
Till with you her desires sores

Hum to me like a hummingbird to flowers
Like bees strums to nectarines and nectars
Till I fall assured, my soul is for you-single songbird
That when I fall and I lie and I part, soft and hard
As butterflies butts wings as she sings to petals and sepals
I know, I am certain to be your part, your love’s neat lapels

When I give up my guarded thighs worth
I am convinced it is only for your ****’s wealth
And my ****** cheque secure I resign
To your only holy pen to safely sign
It is for you my man who truly has my love
Who I want your print and its after imprint to curve

****** me I want to lilt in your love lyrics
Like accordion I want to sweet sing ‘glory-holy-halleluiah!’
In your passions and pleasures, innocent and silent
String to beats, beats to string, band to jazz
An opera, a classical of extravaganza!

Pretty and precious play me, rhythm to rhyme
Till like the music the lyrics are long and live lilting
In my haunted head every time……
‘Yeah the drums they swing low
And the trumpets they go…..oooh-ooh!
And Boy, you're the one I want to want me
And if you want me, Boy, you got me
There's nothin' I, no, I wouldn't do, I wouldn't do
Just to get up next to you…………….

Peruse me, like a professor’s to his dear dissertations
Page by page of my soul and spirit
Word by word of my urges and desires
Hypothesis by hypothesis of my feelings and emotions
Till a chi-square of my statistical inferences
Your test sample, simple sample and right prove, I am your dote

Swing me in your strong arms like a baby girl in daddy arms
Let me forget myself in your safety and comforts
Let me only feel the world peaceful and blissful-flowing and floating away
The trees and their slapping breezes sing sweet lullabies to naps and sleeps
The earth revolve and reverse, traverse and advance, soar and sail…….slow and swift!

Cajole me, conjure the searching silence in me
The shy wish craving for you and me
The seduction induction sleeping waiting, wanting
To hold and hold you forever and ever and over
To love to art with you stumps and roots
The landmarks of our ‘we were!’ long after we are not’s
****** me, induce me, reduce the fires in my desires

© Kìùra Kabiri. All rights reserved.
Jude Duane Mar 2018
I was born under great open skies,
Brought up with the smell of coal-black smoke
Hovering over the family farm.
I grew as distant sounds of whooping
Echoed like thunder across the land
And I was raised on bias, which clung
To the white men of the Black Hills like
Their guns, their religion, and their homesteads.

Those Hills are no place for me.
Look at my multi-colored dress, the
Multi-million-dollar stage, the
Multi-colored lights hanging over me.
This is my home. I thrive in this place.

Gone are the chiefs and their headdresses.
Gone are the dream-catchers and stories
Of battles between Unkthei, the
Serpant, and Wakinyan, the eagle.
Gone is Crazy Horse, always wily
Like the winter fox.
All cast off for a new life of bias.

I make the formula that nurtures
Bias in every little kid’s mind.
Every day’s the same. I spew my words,
My angry, petrol-soaked vitriol,
Which deludes their minds. They’ll be
“pigs” in the not-too-distant future.

In a way, this life disappoints me.
The trailer homes of Indians were
Run-down and forgotten about.
They lived lives of quiet desperation. No
Spotlights shined on their struggles.
The men who killed their kin were immortal.

But pow-wows in South Dakota were
*****, dingy, and dark, yet they were
Attended by many a native.
The farms were barren and gray,
Stockpiles of grain long gone, given to
The plutocratic hands of Washington.
Aunt Ida clung to this world.
Aunt Ida is dead and forgotten.

I was raised on bias in the Black
Hills, and I will stay biased for the rest
Of my days. Why would I give it up?
Joseph, the great Chief, never know
Such a life.
I thought about Tomi Lahren one day, and I came up with a theory on her beliefs that satisfied me. This is a fictionalized version of that theory.
Annie Potaktos May 2013
Tirelessly
*h
e
 insisted,
"nobody
kwows
inspiration
negating
god".

"Oh
 friend,

a

muse
undoubtedly,"*
she
explained.
The sanctity of Man and woman sealed as husband and wife ,
This is marriage and it's a roller coaster slice of life.
Wows taken from the core of the heart keeping them intact is a skilled art.

Marriage is a bond of love ,yet not often a bed of roses.
It sees you through many ups and downs,. a moment full of joy and happiness on others there are sorrows and sadness.

Wonder what steps a marriage apart ?
Mutual trust in the relationship is up on the chart !
Trust sees you through thick and thin not that there is always a win.

Sometimes when things just flare
The bond needs to be nurtured with care.
keep your calm and don't lose your cool.
Let the world think you are a fool !

Keep the flames of love alive ,that's the next step to let a marriage survive.
When it hits the rock bottom of gloom,
Positivity and strength work  to bounce back and bloom.
Laughters and smiles nuture  the broken ties , allow the resentment to settle as time flies.
Never forget the silver lining beyond the dark cloud.
Settle down resentments to make the marriage proud !

Admire the beauty , Respect the other individual .Give the relationship the goodness fuel .
Assure your heart to love and blossom a relationship so fragile
Brides and grooms  walk  steadily down the aisle !


Marriage ladies and gentlemen , is not for the faint hearted as  it needs a commitment from the hearts core ,
sealed with all the love, care ,trust and more .

It takes a "YOU " and a "ME" to make a "WE" and that is the way a marriage should be !!
© Mrunalini .D. Nimbalkar
poem#ode#marriagediaries#penned for# the #20th #anniversary #13.12.2018#
Ugo Victor May 2016
How did it feel to say I do?
The rush of blood to the head,
The whirlwind of emotions,
The walk down the aisle.

What was going on in your head
Even as you said your wows
And the I love yous
And the right backs
Where has all that feeling gone
Now, that you are fighting to be gone

Vows are what they shouldn't be
Words, with echoes after, without heart; ceremonial
For better for worse didn't you say?
So stop being a wuss and fix it eh?

Lose your doubts, not your partner
Though aye haint no athlete, nor a cosmopolitan mwm,
this bloke dislikes capricious adrenaline rush
to prove without a doubt
at least to whomever announced
to display eye popping, mouth watering,

nose twitching a notch above chattering class,
I could never be find klieg lights shone on me,
cuz this baby boomer favor modesty,
and allow, enable and provide unconditional
acceptance and/or sir render if a verbal tete a

tete sparring rapport, quintessentially predicating,
predicting, presaging petsmart outstanding native
manhood lesson kooky, jousting insignificant, harmony,
gaiety, favorability, earnestly draws character,
basically badass and altruistic anatomical acer.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Ah, I mean to narrow scope of poetic theme
so pardon ma roundabout circular modus operandi
shifting intent to discuss five overlapping rings
specifically, yet fern *** part tickler rhyme nor reason

those trademark circular strunk and white elements
of harried styled, swiftly tailored symbols
decreeing a fresh batch of Olympiads, ought
to be preceded via a topnotch Gumby like
rubbery sprite, who gets trotted out as a nimble

acrobat (gender impossible to determine based
upon Pygmy size physique performing her/his
balancing act (while avast crowd peers thru binoculars)
atop an equestrian (coincidentally
enough named Pokey), kooly juggling,

illustionistically hefty, generally fiery essentially
discobulous, cyclical, basically sans,
non verbal body language announcing
human fetes defying the laws of physics, which
global contest occurs every two years i.e. biennial

versus biannual, which means twice a year.
The rings are five interlocking rings, colored
blue, yellow, black, green and red on white field,
known as the "Olympic rings". The symbol
page number two:

originally designed in 1912 by Baron Pierre
de Coubertin, co-founder of modern
Olympic Games. Between subsequent meetups
held at metropolis when elected doth fast-track
this mission (rendering impossible much needed

infrastructure repairs, but vying to beautify a city
based on bids, or maybe drawing straws)
exerts priority, thus every laborer recruited
to emulsify, fortify, glorify...

whatever sainted urban jungle
testing physical mettle asper whatever sport
competitors vie to pit their burnished brawn, deft
flourish heaving jellied jambalaya limber muscles
opportunistically quite supremely ultimately

winning hearts and minds of spectators until
next candidate performs his/her slack jaw
jack draw, jumbo popcorn filled bowl dropping,
nonpareil, eye popping, routine,

and so on...an attempt for a ticket holder
to merely stand upright gets tripped with
mindscape filled to the point of saturation
with supra hue man dare devilish
whirling dervish performances.

Not one of these contenders for top prizes
can be modest, yet here such narcissism
expected, when the crème de la crème
of a well synchronized machine of finely tuned
glass shattering aria re: symphony for
skeletal system, musculature, and love of fitness

presents such a supremely sumptuously
striated squared specimen on the world
wide webbed stage. Aside from vicariously
exalting in the trials and errors of first one,
then the retinue of absolute breathtaking
delight, the ordinary conflicts (between

one warring internecine faction and another
mortal enemy) get suspended for duration
of these celebrations. A fanatic, generic,
heuristic, intrinsic kinetic potential

unleashed from a select body of youths,
young fluid adults athwart cusp and prime of life
who spent majority of their brief lives
(since most entrants seem to retain
a faint residue of childhood).
However many weeks encompasses
the planet agog with exemplars

pushing thee enveloped limitations
built or evolved (whatever your belief)
within **** Sapiens, a collective unified
adulation, vocalization wows loudly, thence echoing
like an Earthly explosive shot fired across beaming berth
divine expression qua visual fancy feast.

That infinitesimal fragment of time
(when laying down
of a bomb bin nub bull arms occurs) proves
smarmy, snooty, ******
abuse, brutality, cruelty...heaped

upon innocent creatures great lumbering sized
or microscopically small magically
able to mastering purposefulness,

analogous like idealistic storybook fable
diversity tis viable to adopt care and
concern for others. No matter this
blatant claim defies everyday gruesome,
horrible, intolerable jawboning,

knifing, mauling, naysaying, overtly
punishing, quivering ******, sodomizing,
terrorizing, undertaking vile waterboarding,
yielding zero, zilch, zip loosening restraint
despite the agonizingly beseeching,

cloyingly desperate, emphatically feeble,
gasping helplessly, indignantly jeered,
kicked, lambasted, molested, needled,
paddled, quickened recipe per

phlegm drum manic spewing, tasering,
ultimately violently whipped, which
contrary behavior vis a vis survival

of baseless, damndest, foremost, hated
jackal lashing, narcissistically, polluting
re: slaughtering until vilest wickedest
ignoble yearning zero sum throw win game crowned
most nasty beast that e'er walked this terra firmae.
Leaetta May Oct 2016
how does one follow a poet?
the morning tea/coffee/***** in hand
pepsi too if you're young and GRAND

setting down at desk/table or floor
settling in to your favorite nook
PC laptop or notebook

you go home to see who's up
you read and read
and never give up

there's sadnes, anger
and heartbreak galore
laughter and so much more

wisdom and something
that gives you pause
wows uhuhs and applause

you find your favorites
and undiscovered gems
poets all true to the end

the craft is your own
the voyage to find
just who it is controlling your mind
Warren-Johnson May 2017
How awesome it was, for She held my heart!
From the minute we met I couldn't hold back, I had no boundaries!

Oh she held my heart !

With sweet passion filled ******* so Hot, we could fire up a thousand foundries!

Oh she held my heart oh yeah!

She has Beauty she has! And wows all in her day!
With a ravenous smile, I just can't resist!

Oh she held my heart oh yeah!oh yeah she did!

I sit here pondering with all that's passed why does this feeling persist ?

Trouble I see it so clearly at times, with greatest of fears I have to admit!

She held my heart and how awesome we were!

Even with sheer stubbornness and greatest of will!

Thing is she held my heart and SO does still !
Lxvi Jul 2017
dollar bill for whinnie
but save the rest for me
god you are so ******
in terms of company

toast me golden brown
don't burn me here
but dont turn it down
that is my greatest fear

hands made of leather
we keep together tight
and if we share sack'd feather
we'll make it through the night

maybe i'm a nando
and you are cheeky too
maybe i'm a rando
a fool i am for you

strike me like mike
stroke bow wows career
in the end he was like
a hippies brazier

words of our fathers
shooting like stars
if we were like others
we wouldn't go far

happiness in latex
depression in socks
swollen in ***
haplessness mocks
Donall Dempsey Apr 2017
AGAINST THE WEIGHT OF A FEATHER

9/11
crashes into Maths class.

The boys whoop and jeer
treat it as a video game.

"Ohs" and "Wows!"
as death unfurls.

They laugh with glee.

Yes, this is a video game.
For real.

We watch aghast
at what appear to be

people jumping
rather than...

the unimaginable is
happening.

Fractions and equivalences
are left behind.

What we are seeing does not
add up.

Numbly we
continue on

- the boys still hyper -

Ancient History.

A jackal-headed God
holds the scales

weighing us
against the weight

of a feather.
Paul Hardwick Jan 2016
This year I spent Christmas in Germany
I would to thank the people
for making me feel so at home
taking away my wows
making me feel whole again.
P@ul.
Poetic T Jun 2018
Immersing within cardinal
    droplets, each seeping from
the veins of life, clarity of white
now drowning within a sea of
fuchsia that is like a rose petal
liquefied, its essence smelling
                                like deaths kiss.

Abstracted songs of weeping
                                  moments.
Restless that more isn't being
given. Even though to open
more fissures would smother
every light within.
           Fading with the
                      last droplet given.

Tears etched like ravines
    flowing to feed the lustful tides
                                  of her needing.
She touched upon there features
vowing that they would
                                            live on
within her, a voice within the many.

Still all were crying, but never tears
of fearful wows, as they knew they'd
                                  live on within her.

Shadows danced around the room
effigies of what had drained before
those now opening life,
                              to feed her hunger.
Death was a perfume that she bathed in.
             Putrid desolate veins rejuvenated
her carcass to a beauty only time held.
But only her voice called inside,
       the others screamed in silence.
their shadows trying to tell others
but silence dances where
                                     no reflection hears.

— The End —