"youthfully" poems
My encounter, although mistakingly enlightening
Leaves me more baffled than before.
Do my words inherit the glow, similar to my daydreaming movements?
As if they were prematurely made, a banner across my silhouette.
Attached before the words can escape my mouth.
I wonder tonight about the necessity of freedom of speech
Curious to understand the rate of which our minds have developed, or been manipulated.
Is it our human defect of guilt the thing that encourages us to open our mouths?
Merely to humor our lowly human selves.
But I fumble
As words escape my lips, and enter your mind,they cannot be translated.
You cannot read my genuine emotion, as the life and purpose is ****** out as they are inscribed across your palm
So I write, and I materialize these things before they are evaporated.
Yes, I am confusing, and I apologize if I am further misunderstood
But, , my friend, I do love you
Purely, true and eternally
Yet I cannot give you what you desire.
Newton was both right and wrong
Love cannot be created nor destroyed
This energy flows continuously, passed from friend to friend
youthfully and innocently as friendship is meant to be
But, what he did not consider was the love of truth and purity
Which in the end is no energy, as they would have us believe
This love is an essence, similar to that formed the blood flowing through our family
Yet has something more
This love I speak honestly of,
Is unselfish
Is no medal of achievement
It bestows upon you the drive to be the highest you
It is the essence for the creation of the one thing that they can never offer
True love, and true love of yourself.
May 10, 2013
May 10, 2013 at 3:00 PM UTC
Where's that girl,
Sweetheart of mine,
Young poetess of Amritsar,
The very same who trusts me,
Yes she loves me for lifelong,
She won't ever forget my love,
I won't forget that to her I belong,
She won't forget it either, or will she?
She won't ever forget, that I am hers,
I won't myself or let her let it slip,
She panics about future a lot,
Yes night-out will be rainy,
This night won't be alone,
Youthfully we will share it,
So close it seems I say,
Was it yesterday?
She will ask me when,
I'll tell her with a smile,
'Back at that time when you were doubtful,'
I'll just be hugging her,
She will blush purple.
Aug 19, 2014
Aug 19, 2014 at 5:55 AM UTC
I would like to formally apologize
for the size of my lungs
because they will never be
as expansive as my love
or as loud as my voice
longs to be as heard
or as tumultuous as my passion
rumbles in need of parallel composition
and I just want to say sorry
that I dream to donate
every cubic inch of air
that my tiny chest can or rather cannot hold and breathe it into you
in attempt to make you whole again instead of the ghostly thin form
you hold above my head nowadays
but today is Sunday
and my hands are dry and cracking
from the Friday on which
I finally admitted to myself
that my lack of air is exactly the reason why you don't search me out
for respiration even when you're
grasping and gasping
out of suffocating solitude
this apology is spelled out in sighs
those breaths you told me to hold in
youthfully long exhales
I promised you I would never pick up a cigarette once you started chain smoking
I'm choking in this secondhand smoke
let me fall through your fingers like ashes
the golden spark has died
put out my flame with your heel
stamp it into your coffin so the world doesnt catch fire
deprive it of oxygen
tell it youre sorry for not wrapping your hands around its neck before now
tell it you're sorry that sometimes I find myself becoming angry at the parchment crumpling between my palms because the FRAILTY OF MY HANDS WONT COMPLY WITH THE HUNGER FOR EXPLANATION AND EXPLOITATION OF MY BRAIN AND MAYBE ITS THAT IMMATURE NEED FOR OXYGEN AGAIN BUT I HEAR MYSELF CRYING OUT FOR RELEASE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT NOT BECAUSE YOURE HOLDING ME AT THIS PRECARIOUS EDGE BUT BECAUSE YOU CHOOSE TO NEVER TIP ME OVER.
(a sharp intake of breath)
(exhale)
I can't breathe.
I think I might be allergic to you.
I think you might be bad for my health.
there are three thousand miles between your sandy shores of ironically ****** air and my rainy lakes of needles. you'd think the contrary.
you lost your ashtray and replaced it with my inhaler.
I would like to formally apologize
for the size of my lungs
because they will never be
as expansive as your love
or as loud as your voice
longs to be as heard
or as tumultuous as your passion
rumbles in need of parallel composition
we are both still learning to breathe
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 5:35 PM UTC
*I float out to sea like driftwood
Other times I find myself windswept
Higher and higher
In autumn gusts of wind
In summertime my beautiful green skin
Is a youthfully verdant hue
I cling to this told old tree
And provide a canopy
Until one day I find myself delicate
And easy to crumble in your hands
For I have withered
When winter comes
I will become invisible
And insignificant underneath
A blanket of sparkling white snow
My life goes unnoticed and I long to be loved
But no one loves a trivial leaf like me
Yet this is my life and I am content
With being who I am
Even though I am forgotten and alone*
~Marian~
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 8:52 PM UTC
*
A tender skin,
soft under my finger tips.
Blue eyes watch my touch,
It override with pleasure.
An elegant face,
within the frame of soft hairs
red painted lips thirsts again
responsive to my gentle kiss.
A half-nude body,
youthfully eager for bursting
every part confirms
to my loving touch.
*
BY
WILLIAMSJI MAVELI
Nov 1, 2013
Nov 1, 2013 at 12:52 AM UTC
twenteesventh.
you write of dismembered leaves,
enhaloed lust(wtf)
pains too sweet because they’re youthfully incomplete,
using incontrovertible idiocies like
dry rain droplets shining like sunlight,
edible goodbye cheerios,
edible didactics, teaching “frosted flakys”
poetic methadone methodology,
poems hats with rhyming lyrics
that taste like that burnt eyelids colored
a blood stained mustard yellow, (yum),
beyond burger veggie based satyrs,
the happy gladness of sadness,
reversible rivers flowing heavenwards,
***** ******* you want an
infernal cataclysm...
really?
dechambered hearts, ventricular mysteries,
brains wearing wooly sport jacket helmets
and other Olsonian beauties,
like I write with succinct passion,
me, who gets eaten alive by buggers saying
“too long,” “too long,” “needed a mid-poem napt”
non-lexical non-commonsensical ecumenical hysterical
chemical verbal reactionaries
and then you wonder why
PEOPLE ******* HATE POETRY?
jes kiddin’ a leetle
Jul 15, 2019
Jul 15, 2019 at 3:48 PM UTC
Can these streets get any darker?
I see these
Men
In their
Cars
Mammoths which move at top speeds still screaming at
Me
The sight makes a person perceive purposely what it means to be alive
Nowadays
Whether walking in these woeful streets
Is worth it at all?
Have you ever told a complete stranger
That you hated them?
I never have
I've thought it
Sure
Why not think something awful every once and a while?
Whose it gonna'
Hurt?
Only yourself youthfully yolk dancing with the egg queen
Who says that one night
You pledged your love and you'd want to be Her
Wife
But in that strife
Altogether the silver spoon reminised and knew that He missed
One of the greatest nights of pleasantries and gifts
Selfish we are these men that ride around in
Multi-colored jackets trying to be like
Jesus
All these envelope licking sons' of *******
Sooner or later the post office is gonna' get stolen
And those ego's
Are on the fast track
To get
Swollen
Yes a'
Very funny thing
Yes a'
Very very funny thing
May 6, 2011
May 6, 2011 at 10:55 PM UTC
Dance,
Peacefully
Open,
Tremendously
Stare,
Daringly
Discover,
Youthfully
Talk,
Powerfully
Say,
Truthfully
Come
Alive,
Leave
Arrived
Aug 1, 2012
Aug 1, 2012 at 7:12 PM UTC
He passes by,
Sigh,
Brown, yellowy hair,
Jigjag outlines like fallen leaves
Adorn his clothes,
In his eyes autumn blue skies shine,
Tussled hair brushes his face from the wind
And he makes me smile.
He passes by,
A smile on his face,
A ruby red stripe on purple bluish cheeks,
Ebony brown hair and pale blue eyes like the winter sun.
He holds his hands to his face,
Breathing the breathe of life into them,
And he makes me warm.
He passes by,
Thistle green eyes and bruising body,
Coiled like a spring day, come undone, sprung.
Like the fresh flowers along the lane
And adorn the hedges.
And he makes me love.
He passes by,
He smiles at me,
I sit there in the summer sun,
All these years I have loved him,
But Time passes on.
Oh Son of Time,
You are so youthfully beautiful,
But how quickly yet gracefully,
You grow old.
Mar 27, 2010
Mar 27, 2010 at 10:49 AM UTC
Read more learn more change the globe
education is more powerful than any weaponary
prove wrong your minds strong
put down the **** put down the drink
open the young mind and think
Dec 8, 2012
Dec 8, 2012 at 7:57 AM UTC
Flavourless
You say you want me
To be the flavour of the month
And lick my ice cream cone.
You say you are a cherry popsicle,
Youthfully frozen in time to please me.
I say, I don‘t need to be
A tasty treat,
Because I am already "I Believe You But My Tommy Gun Don't"
Jul 13, 2013
Jul 13, 2013 at 2:18 AM UTC
If perception truly is everything, then to age in Amerika is a psychological disaster.
Amerika is a youth obsessed country; a capitalistic consumer oriented country. All the power of capitalism goes into (via advertising, etc.) creating and maintaining this youth obsession.
Take women as an example. If you are female in Amerika, you must always look 25. You must be slim, long-haired, sexually alluring, preferably blond and dress youthfully. Even if you are 60.
This goes a long way toward answering the question why so many women who are 40+ are so fat, unhappy, depressed and ****** Simply put, there is no reasonable way for most of them to meet cultural expectations.
Either they let themselves go (fatties abound in the US) or they resort to grotesqueness to measure up (extreme diet and exercise, plastic surgery, etc.)
They can't win so depression and self-loathing abound.
Most mature women have known that horrible moment when a young, attractive man looks right through them. They have become culturally invisible: they are shocked and hurt.
Men suffer from all this too, but not as much. Younger women will sometimes actually see value in an older man. Rarely, but sometimes, so cultural invisibility comes later for men.
Mid-life money, Corvettes and condos only delay the inevitable. The same moment will arrive and so will the hurt and shock.
This is not as simple as all men are pigs or all women are *******
If we know that the perception that we don't exist is created by the capitalist media and advertisers, why do we do we buy into it?
Every age has its beauty. Why not accept it and be how old you are? Be who you are. Forget those impossible perfections. Stop trying to be Barbie and Ken. Be real.
It is difficult but possible. I have seen it.
In France you see lovely older women dressed alluringly (but not like 20-year-olds) who are slim, can run in high heels over wet cobblestones and exude sexuality. You often see them with handsome younger men, who are clearly entranced. Why there and not here?
Maybe it's the champagne or maybe it's just sanity.
mce
Apr 11, 2015
Apr 11, 2015 at 6:55 PM UTC
Seven told me its name
And I laughed out loud
Oh how I was so proud
There was a million things I should've said
Yes and a million things I shouldn't have done
One day I'll see
There ain't ever a thing as won
Were just a floating boat
Across one big fiery sea
With captives which scream "Save me!"
And captains which are grieving
I scratch these keys upon my hands
And I know inside my head
I got no ********* plan
There was a pain in the wind today
Something out there I just couldn't say
There was something in that women's eye
The way she held that sigh inside
I met a master in grey yesterday
He swayed that a' way when he said this that a' way
In robes he left and in robes he was born
He whispered to me "I'm just a gettin' bored"
I took a letter I wrote a couple days ago
And I sent it away as fast I did wrote
It had ideas that splintered like the leaves of a Fall forgotten
And a winter
That had never had a swollen snow a' fallen
Magicians weep with what this age has sneaked
For we are blinded by the buzz of an electronics bed
There was something yesterday,
I wish I could've said
Maybe it was the way her hair fell that way
Or those eyes that say "Don't stay"
Love will soon be the mystery that the crazies
Riff about
A theory that seems blurry and quite burly
Roses which bloom in winter white
And thorns which *****
The mightiest stork
A rebellion within the heart of man that cannot recognize
The size of the prize within these human eyes
Wrong deeds touching guilts weight
Bears a torment that only a man and women
Can converse in torment
A breathe from a master of prose & lyric
Every letter said from the mouth of pin point
Made him believe there was so much beauty in the
Sneeze
Apologize to the man beside you and hope
That he'll reside in your heart
For the rest of all time
An apple tree bloomed
When your heart grew to where you are
Now you stand
Alone and in the sand
With your eyes squinting youthfully onwards
There's got to be something out there
Apr 27, 2011
Apr 27, 2011 at 9:34 PM UTC
It is for her birthday
Drawing eyeliner
Like she is painting her most beautiful dreams
Ruby red on her lips
Vivid as blood that flow trough her veins
Rich as roses
Bold, brave and blooming
Black lace dress on her skin
Her heart is purest pearl
The everlasting jewelry
Deep as ocean that only few could perceive
But today she is clueless
Blowing candles
Counting numbers
Making wishes
Might the burdens be washed away
For the next years to come
She would really dress up and celebrate her self aging
Youthfully, happily, gracefully
Sharing her birthday cake with real laughter on June 6
Jun 7, 2017
Jun 7, 2017 at 2:59 PM UTC
Rambling through dark alleyways
Searching for destruction
Fire and pain engulf my soul
As misery blinds my instruction
Whitewash walls covered with talent
Rise up from every corner
Emptiness fills this path I take
This shadow in which I border
Up ahead is no release
As silence breaks but will not cease
Tears trapped inside that bestow my pain
The whistle heard that remains the same
Wind and air bites all at will
As this body quakes, such reason, so still
A limit be said on what I feel
And yet all at once its not so real
A glare of what I used to be
Fire and destruction, thats all I see
Jul 21, 2010
Jul 21, 2010 at 8:24 PM UTC
#*
Old and naive me
Soon to be a memory
Rebel to relive
🌿🌿
Sensitive to words
Affected and writing more
Yet sensitively
🌿🌿
Unfashionable
Uninhibited words free
To themselves stand true
🌿🌿
Brimming joy in heart
Ageing youthfully living
Compassionately
🌿🌿
*#
Sep 15, 2021
Sep 15, 2021 at 8:02 AM UTC
I'm escaping again to Green Island.
Here the landscape never changes,
The rocks never grow moss,
The mystic river is never stolen.
They are as they were eons ago.
I am the odd man there,
Worn out by time,
The bald patch on the green,
A barrenness on the fertile soil.
Yet here I'm forgiven
For seeking her face,
Youthfully there on the wallpaper.
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 5:33 AM UTC
Fingertips buoyant and dancing
skim across shimmered skin
my breast turn to moving sea
you stand on my beach
youthfully observing
tossing rocks into a stilness
making waves into ripples
my body is full, beautiful, endless
you want to dip into me
want to know me
want to swim.
Someday you will realize
there is no way for you to hold all of me
not at once.
That I am not the body you want.
You will forget me
Turn other bodies into water
No not water but
Bouncing ripples of flesh,
Into waves
Dancing your fingers across their skin with thirst
Forgetting all the ways you have been quenched
Forgetting my body of water for a sea of skin
All that love and i'll turn to rain
I will remain the most beautiful, and endless body
But water wasn't what you were looking for
so sorry you cant hold all of me at once
too expansive to only be a body
to much meaning to just be the sea
yet still to little to go around
still just one
Sep 2, 2018
Sep 2, 2018 at 3:34 PM UTC
The seduction of our Salivary glands began with masses of often overlapping flavors
Tingling leap start ,wide eyed but also an abrupt whoa,terrible to terrific
Oblivious ,willing to try ,why not ,blending in the beginning learning tastes as translators
Breathing in and licking the lips ,wiggling and giggling ,is it? is it? OH the dog.
Sensory sensations occurring regardless of our inhibitions or wants or needs ,occurring around ,mild or profound
Youthfully gullible , playing a new game ,scents & smells starting to form deeper wells
Blush with a rush ,warming into oranges the pinks more profound when arising into the reds ,leaping circling around
Begging for release from the beginning ,but unknown excitement rising edges ,wider wedges ,calmer pastels
Flexing ,fluctuating far out feelings ,far flung excitement all gathered into one instant nervous burst
Staying back,trying to adjust ,mildness is objected to when the rest of the time is only described with bright adjectives
Then we laugh because we have it hidden ,but never quite knowing the blur still an unknown abyss,but always first
Open minded children begin the journey into finding nameless noises,shadowy flavors or tastes moving,directing like detectives
Burning RED, drops of BLUE, Icy WHITE, now fixed in the mind ,time lost in odors ,blinking color palates poised
Wanton wisps centered onto extreme extracts ,visualized often sensationalized into auditory overload
Simple as it has begun ,left with nowhere to run, taking it in stride it can never be put aside ,permanence never destroyed
Excreted excitement now being assessed is a far flung idea ,unless you live it, Raising and rising into an endless plateau .R.C.
May 21, 2016
May 21, 2016 at 8:44 PM UTC
My heart was once a butterfly flying youthfully through the air.
It did not care, it had no scars, it had no burdens, it had no strain.
One day this butterfly became curious, and danced around a black flower.
This flower was tempting, it's name was Love.
Love was poisonous.
Love sickened my butterfly, and it almost perished.
Eventually, the butterfly woke up. It picked itself up, told itself it was fine, and ventured forth, only to be knocked down again.
And again.
And again.
Because this Love was everywhere, and the butterfly no longer knew how to ignore it.
So it built a fort as tall as the sky, and hid behind it for a long time.
One day the flower flew over the wall, and landed beside the butterfly.
The butterfly couldn't quite tell if it was Love or not, but it felt content.
That was the day I met you.
Aug 5, 2014
Aug 5, 2014 at 7:11 PM UTC
Her fighting fear and rumbling rage youthfully flickers
She doesn't know, how the chess pieces lie parallel to the cars
Kindred heart, I do keep some appointed time with myself to learn
Passing the queen in numbers, prudently teaching me about vitriolic teaching
Loathing is strong on this avuncular admirer
A student of knowledge that should've recused her lying papers
Caressing herself in the most apologetic ways and climactic jealousy
I couldn't help forgive her for foraging a game without an aphrodisiac
The thought of mollycoddling makes my charm turn into an effeminate curriculum
You crashed class and charmed your way into our crash course in astronomy
Incendiary was the love at first sight, that story's burnt to putrid parchment now
Drapes, verdant, croquet in the halls of the star-crossed sensual words
"Push it in, slowly."~drew blanks
Jul 28, 2019
Jul 28, 2019 at 6:16 PM UTC
By the time I got to see him
He was an old man grey hair
Thinly combed across his head
Still loquacious, bending over
Stewed apples gathered from
A wind swept garden of falls.
A proud collector of knowledge
Across boundaries and wisdom
Stretching age ‘youthfully ‘at gate,
City centre and poetry recitals
With copies of books for selling.
Love Maryxxx
May 15, 2019
May 15, 2019 at 10:05 AM UTC
Tell me about how how you are a just a tourist everywhere you go.
Let me pick you up from the train station,
and drive you past
balance beam sidewalks
you once walked on
to get home after
you bulldozed the night
out of the sky.
Our lips tango
at every red light.
When they do,
I forget myself.
The light turns green,
I change the song.
I the mouse.
You the cat;
playing youthfully
with the terrified dinner you caught.
Dec 3, 2021
Dec 3, 2021 at 5:17 PM UTC
When the puff adder bites will you cut off its tail? Will you be like all the rest nothing good left, surely you werent born to fail, capsules of medicine as the medicine man draws in, he helps your lovers, desires of others, hes the cure to all your kin, Babylonian carpets of rainbow colors reak, you naked you dumbfounded your bright dress surely wreaks, Tellers, bookmen, warfarers of false gods, you lie around plant your feet to the ground flying in alien pods...Quazors of disaster, beautiful moanings the morning after, have you taken your pill? You ready to be meadly your words silent to **** I youthfully walk lonesomely to earth creatures, all murderers all have animal like features, morphine drips are rivers red, cinnamon musks to elephant tusks the ancients arent yet fed....(listen) by meself
May 9, 2015
May 9, 2015 at 1:04 PM UTC
~o~o~o~
Skin is the one that gets wrinkled,
it deals with the heat and the cold
of one's existence...not the mind,
the heart, or feelings...character
and determination mellow with the
passing years...brain is hidden,
but has always been gray...hair
gets visibly gray with age.
~o~o~o~
Seasons, and life's lessons
help broaden and wizen
narrow minds...a much awaited
solitude, that silent dialogue with
the soul, gives light and sense to
questions...it pays to be in touch.
~o~o~o~
Late summers have come...a face
that once youthfully beamed
with smiles...still smiles,
the grayed crown sparkles under
the sun...making it known that,
lightning still flashes in the mind,
thunder still roars through the veins.
~o~o~o~
Underneath wrinkled skin and gray,
thinning hair, there still breathes
within, a little girl or a boy...a once
young lady, or young man, now
aging men and women...more
introspective and ruminative...but,
it's still you, him, her, me...it's still US!
~o~o~o~
Not much changes, just numbers, gray
hair...lined skin, and plenty of wisdom.
~o~o~o~
sally b
© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
February 6, 2022
Feb 8, 2022
Feb 8, 2022 at 6:10 AM UTC