Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Glass Jul 2018
the incipient
has salvaged the insides of a
censorious pastiche, where moiety details the nightstand
of expectation and sudden camaraderie
simplifying the closure of starvation that “promethean”
is visual ‘orange zest’
a
honeysuckle caramelization where there are two
romantics buried with guilt, and a master chess player that
recalls to be a citrus therapy and every "Sunday paper" is filled
with oceanic opulence discussing religious iconography
and I visualize a yellow moon cactus
obscene changes in a grey prolific office;
an expostulate (rescind) but avoidance is in an empty
peach pit; an exploitation becoming a strange
admiration

- G
Shofi Ahmed Aug 2018
Walk                   Let                            Deep 
       the                     even                           down
         walk                    the                              let even
      on earth                stars feel                    the death  
          with zest!             your presence!           some rests!
Caro Jul 27
Where to even start, I don’t know
Maybe with your wholeness.
With your completeness.

Sometimes maybe it feels that there is too much,
Such a great muchness in you,
It’s not too much.
It’s exactly as much as you are.
And it’s a blessing and a beauty and a bounty
That you will always overflow and you will never run dry.

Just the shine in your eyes could make the whole sea glimmer.
Just the zeal in your laugh could contest with all the lemons in the world in zest
Just the shimmer of your hair!
It could send rockets to the moon.

The point is
That you,
You,
You,
You,
You are the point.
For my sister who I’ve just discovered is maybe my favorite person ever to write about
Jordan Rowan Dec 2015
Get ****** sappy kings
Crying tears over everything
Do we think it makes us good?
As if any queen would,
Lick her lips and shake her hips
To climb up the sappy wood

Cry somewhere I can't hear
I would care but it takes years
For you to stop and for something bad
To even make me feel sad
Split your heart and do it smart
Because there's no walking away from that

I've been buried, as we all have
But that doesn't change the fact
That we face it with zest and strength
While you sit and cry at length
Unless your eyes see loved ones die
Keep that drama queen away from me
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.)
Father. Mine and Yours. Both Oil Lamps at zest
Managed to hone our Characters throughout
Mine the Prime Wisdom; Yours his Water's Best
Both total Great Hearts we can't live without
So why do we Fight? If Reason betrays
And later picks our Spoils scattered by War
And who gets Hurt? Those caught between the Leys
Where supposed Joy must settle by far
Yes I am aware you find it Funny
To exploit your Gift and choose to Ignore
Is that your Model? Where your Harmony
Took some Chopsticks and plucked out those who bore.
Remember him again. And read his Lines
On Words which matter; And Self you define.
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
Hello,  HP Fashion Designers
The latest
Where I find
Brand  new designs
New fashions
Styles
Colour of the soul and rhymes
Amazing lines

The Homepage
The
Classics
Vintages
All Renowned
Designs
Evergreen  styles
One is sure to find

The Front page
The designs that make trends
Latest
Classic
Vintage
Could be any
Liked and Loved
No ends
Followed by many
All In Vogue
Perfect designs
The HP Trends

Love all styles
Trends or not
Certainly, check them all
The HP designs

Creativity a zest
At its best
Never put it to rest

            
Happy World Poetry Day
Wrote this a few days back , only recently got to know that ,
Today 21st March is World Poetry Day .
So sharing it here .
Thank you all , The HP designers, am happy to be one too:))♥️
Kevin J Taylor Nov 2016
A sonnet is a dandy thing all dressed  
In pomp and form and run-on lines and things—  
Enough to make the weary take up wings.
Though this is but my third, I must confess,  
Lifetimes ago I wrote with zing and zest  
And sonnets then were little songs to sing  
To fluttering ******* and nightingales— or slings  
Against misfortune, kings, and other pests.

No poet’s court has ever sat assize
Sans sonnets quick and cleverly contrived.  
Fair queen or country maid, though each its prize—
The sonnet’s virtue rests in parted thighs.
Finer roe has never graced a sturgeon
Nor caveat much mattered to a ******.
.
Caveat is a warning or caution. Assize is a court or can be a judgement. Used here as "sat in judgement." Sans is an English word stolen from the French about 700 years ago. Means "without."
.
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.)
thomezzz Sep 2018
she liked the color yellow because it calmed her
its brightness soothed her soul
and the sight of a yellow flower
always brought her joy
it illuminated her dark days
and stormy weather
it always seemed to try so hard
to be happy
A quality she could relate to

but one day, she met a boy who liked orange
a color she always said she hated
its hue too close to yellow
but too different to be enjoyed
she never wore the color orange
felt as if it drew attention to her
when she was content enough
to be invisible
in the corner of the room

her favorite color was yellow
and his was orange
but she never liked that color
with its harshness and severity
it reminded her
of traffic cones
and reflector vests
of emergencies
and warning signs

But one day, she realized
he reminded her of the color yellow
he soothed her soul
illuminated her dark days
and calmed her storms
he never seemed to try too hard
but always managed to make her smile

she realized yellow and orange
weren't that different after all
and when the two hues came together
her, perpetually the color yellow
him, forever orange
she felt like the only girl in the room

the colors yellow and orange
started to bleed together
and orange came to remind her
of fallen leaves
and clear sunsets
of butterflies
and sprinkled zest

and in time
as she grew to love him
the color orange started to become
just as beautiful as yellow
Ask the Channel to his Promised Heart's Best
And Glad you shared his Spirit with your Song
Closer, then keep your Cherries fresh with Zest
So both can Savour each Flavours for long
How Fair you took his Living Supplement
Where these Vitamins need your Fresh Support
But Remind him; Of Minerals and Nourishment
Are what is Needed for his Best Report
Then the Grandfather whose Wise Hands will tell,
Strike the Gong to when their Wrapped Hands hold fast
But knowing his Flute which charms your Bell,
His Pickfold Numbers win your Lots at last.
Tally him Softly; And he makes you Proud
To harvest Best Fruits whilst singing out loud.
#livwrightyay #benjdaley
With Good Business brewed is Good Business told
Confirmed the New Mentor who taught us well
Such swig a Sterling Medicine behold
But knowing our Skills his Avid Trust spell
Forsought this Blue Trade our Clients rely
Was that our Webbed Gifts can reciprocate
That within those Months our Service apply
To increase the Bank's volume aggregate
Such now our Eagle wears; Tri-Coloured Schemes
Weaved in pleats forth to Genious unique
And if we can prove to maintain those Seams
Will he be Proud of our Learning oblique.
Once that's done, to the Pub he tips his Zest
All the more content our Minds would not guess.
Tip Your hat
And curtsy low
The masses so mandate absolute guile
A handshake, a smile, a proper and refined bow!
To adorn thy head and semble wit
And do your best!
Take pride with etiquette
If not informed
Ye won't last a mile
And differentiation between animals distinguishes you,
Resplendent child
Wash your hair and underclothes with soap
Lest ye resemble sow
And goodness dear
Have I forgotten now?
Always remember to smile!
So I'll take your Winter clothes with zest
I'll scramble on point
No unruly mess
Oh, did i forget your coat?
No, I've got it, relax, care for a smoke?
My apologies, please forgive my latency
It must be warm in here for my blood
In fact...
Boiling over kettle within
Prevent me from committing sin
I do wish to vent
Pick up this pen
And release red wells from his dainty, fragile neck
Or...
The underbelly. It's beknownst to me entrails are thick
Now whatever shall I do with this fresh clutter?
I'll act for free, so cordially!
With my chivalrous lines
But can you, my friend, respond in kind?
After all, it's only common courtesy
It's over now, my fantasy
It dissipates with urgency
And this is my confession
Yes
Imbibed in me from every grueling, tedious lesson
An implication of uniformity
The daydreams borne from the perfunctory
This is for anyone who has ever worked in the retail industry. As politely as you can possibly express it.
ryn Jul 2014
This feeling I have that drags my spirit
And I indulge in its lowly zest out of habit
My feet they move in a trudge like manner
Shoulders hunched inwards non receptive to splendour.

How heavy it is in my heart I weep
For a life been dealt in a single, swift sweep
Cards that has been dealt from aeons past
Oaths recited loudly so that they would last.

Amidst the crowd of mask-faced happiness
Unconvinced, I slipped past unfound lest I be careless.
Discomforted in what on this path may lie
Discontented as such that my heart whines a cry.

Rigidity of routine when sensibility took over
Bruised bad and battered well my heart tumbled after
It felt like it's the end of my dream laden days
Reality sinks in, picks on my heart and there it stays.

I don't want to leave my coveted dreamscape
I don't want to destroy my only means of escape
On the ***** of fantasy, forever I want to stay
But it's crumbling away alarmingly like sun beaten clay.

I deceive my heart into thinking that there's still hope
Truth is I may have come to the end of the rope
Heart wants to hear a faint whisper of reassurance
Mind chides heart, it judgingly delivers it's sentence.

My cries cannot be heard, a wail of futile pleas
Banging on locked doors for which I don't have the keys
So weak this spirit for it has thus been broken
Morsel by morsel, this hapless soul is being eaten.

This burden I'm carrying seem never to have lightened
It is the dark of this period I wish to have brightened
Someone, anyone help...please show me a way
In this god forsaken pit I do not wish to stay.

However there exists yet a slim little chance
Key to courage is somewhere if I could afford a glance
Chances are that I may never even find it
I'll be trapped in a hole in which I can never truly fit.
Steve Page Jul 30
Each day I pray for an ear that will hear
above all the noise clearly His voice.
For while sometimes it's best to be serving with zest,
sometimes it's better to sit for a breather
and wait in his presence and enjoy this true essence
of sitting and being before going and doing.
So while sometimes I'll Martha I know that I'd rather
spend time being Mary, in less of a hurry,
for there at his feet I'll be more complete
and hear his clear voice above all the noise.
Serving at New Day 2019.
#newdaygeneration
.  
Luke 10. 41 & 42
41 “Martha, Martha,” the Lord answered, “you are worried and upset about many things,
42 but few things are needed—or indeed only one. Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her.”
Holly M Aug 2017
always the bridesmaid, never the bride
you have no idea how many times i cried
asking, "why me? why not me?"

well, for starters
i always oversleep
my eating habits are on repeat
i've worn the same clothes, same filth
for three days this week
i don't make an effort because i'm not going out
but no one asks me out because i don't make an effort
i write love poems i never send
i creepily covet people i consider friends
while my heart is stuck on the same old trend

hearts
yours and mine
your heart
pure and prone to breaking bones
my heart
crippled and casually crashing cars
the destruction duo
probably foreshadowing if i'm honest

i never get any rest
purple hues rise to the surface
furthermore, my life lacks any zest
and to top it all off
no matter how hard i've tried
i know i'll probably never be satisfied
so yeah
maybe that is why
Rianna Aug 18
It is moments like this
I am reminded
Just how normal,
It all is.
The ways of the world
And all its fragments,
Drawn from the magic,
Mysteries.

And isn't it beautiful
To be just that?   
Utterly,
Perfectly,
Infallibly,
'normal.'

How beautiful are the leaves
That fly off slender arms,
Of twinkling trees.
How peaceful does the snow lie,
On benign rooftops,
Tranquil nights.
Carnations host the butterflies,
Who scurry around with fragrant zest
A porcelain sea,
licks at the beach.
Where every sparkly clump
Of shingle homes,
The dying sunset
And its saffron roar.

And under the cracks of golden rests,
My haggard,
lonely,
crumpled,
Self.
The whole hills of high mountain are covered with pure whiteness, very shining gazing the eyes…
It is ****.
The pearl-like dandelions, I mean, cunning coming, cunning coming …dance and sing with the wave of whizzing band.
It is ****.
the land so far, remote and inaccessible, mountains are far elegantly standing upright,
I can't see exactly
where
pure whiteness carpets softly the zest…full of ****.
I was there if I exactly remember…
I was sinking in depth…
Walking…
Watching…
Running…
1000 miles around me had been surrounded with
****.
Now I’m here, in the land so far, remote and forlorn,
but I know on the zest…
there is  ****!
**** means snow in Farsi language
Terry O'Leary Feb 2014
NOW

Well, GI Jack is welcome back, he left his legs in 'Nam.
He wakes at night in sweat and fright, then drinks another dram.
He doesn't know quite where to go, so seeks his uncle, Sam.


                           BEFORE

One can't ignore - his ma was poor, and seasons sometimes cruel,
yet Jack was brave and well behaved and surely no one's fool
so joined the ranks that man the tanks, as soon as he left school

He learned to **** our foes at will (ordained a sacred rite)
then packed his bag, unfurled his flag, when sent away to fight.
And yes, the tide was on our side (for, clearly, might makes right)

Through tangled days in jungles' maze, he sought the enemy
behind the trees where, ill at ease, he fought the Yellow sea -
upon the waves of gravelled graves he sailed a killing spree

The ****** dropped and cooked the crops, charred huts along the way
and tanks, with zest, erased the rest, their villages of clay.
(Yes, turret guns are loads of fun with roaring roundelay.)

While on the hunt with other grunts, he burned some babes alive
and wondered why frail things must die, while evil's phantoms thrive -
<When folly ends, he'll make amends if only he'll survive>

With ***** traps (sticks smeared with crap), yes, Charlie fought unfair.
He hid in holes with snakes and voles and snuck up everywhere
and like a mite within the night, caught Jackie unaware

At battle's end, Jack sought his friends - their souls were washed away
and only he and destiny were left in disarray -
with bed and pan, just half a man, the man of yesterday

When Jack awoke beyond the smoke, his frame no longer whole,
he found instead some suture thread neath wraps to hide the hole,
and realized a further prize: a chair on wheels to roll

His head felt light, as well it might, at Victory Day Parade
(across his chest, you've surely guessed, his medals shone, arrayed)
for when he rolled, while others strolled, his boots no longer weighed


                           AFTER

Well, Jack stayed home (no roads to Rome) to start his life anew
receiving dole which took its toll as largess went askew
for sure enough, when times got tough, his uncle, Sam, withdrew

To walk the streets with fine elites (or else some *** who begs)
or find a job (or even rob) requires both your legs.
And those who can't, are viewed askant like those we call the dregs.

For getting by he tried to ply and mine his medals' worth -
a wooden cup, a mangy pup, a smirk when miming mirth,
and best of all, at midnight’s call, beneath a bridge, a ‘berth’

He clutched a sign 'A dime to dine?', if anybody cared,
but soon he found, as time unwound, that victors seldom shared.
And Jackie's pride was slowly fried by vacant eyes that stared


                           ENLIGHTENMENT

He took to drink to break the link with thoughts of what he'd done
and threads of doubt began to flout the yarns Big Brother spun
of freedom's ring and other things, like what it was we'd won

His vague unease arrayed a breeze
with words that chilled the air
and like the fogs above the bogs, they floated through the square
where people sat at tea to chat, and shrieked 'How could he dare?'

Yes, freedom's price is never nice: like storms before the flood
the Daily Rag was on a jag, was looking out for blood,
deemed Jackie's thoughts untamed and fraught, then dragged him through the mud

By hacking clues, they plucked his views like grapes upon the vine.
Big Brother came, blamed Jackie's name for thinking out of line,
shut Jack away from light of day, eclipsing freedom’s shine

The Junto Brass, with eyes of glass, were robed in fine array
to hear the words (though slightly slurred) the witness gasped to say,
while Justice snored (the waterboard awash with Perrier)

Well, Jack was charged with laws enlarged in secret dossiers
within the guise of spreading lies and leading thoughts astray -
The Jury's out... the rabble shout “well someone's gotta pay”

The Judge (who fears the mind’s frontiers) inclined his head to yawn
while making haste through courtroom waste, though slightly pale and wan.
(A voodoo Loon withdraws as soon as Night condemns the Dawn.)


                           ETERNITY

While in his cell, the verdict fell - the sighs of Silence, rife
While in his cell, the verdict fell - the Reaper played a fife
While in his cell, the verdict fell - the price was Jackie's life


                           EPILOGUE

Well Jackie's ghost, unlike the most, still mused upon the praise
for misdeeds done in victories won when cruising in a craze,
and once again upon the sin of thinking, nowadays
where, cunningly, humanity’s served lies, and trust betrays.
Then, reconciled, it simply smiled at fortune's wanton ways.


                           EPITAPH

A mind was caught while thinking thoughts neath Sammy’s prying gaze
and forced to stop by concept cops, else join the castaways.
For now it's law to hold in awe the brave new world's malaise
and cerebrate with programmed pate, adorned with thorned bouquets,
then mimic mimes in troubled times - and no one disobeys.
With freedom’s death, truth holds its breath awaiting better days.
Boi Aug 27
Color because living is desolate without it.
It's as if I can hear color & that's why
my
background is something she'd said.

Color because skies & seas dull without it.
As if I can feel color & that's why
my
conscience is in willful quandary.

Indigo because Emerald is too zest
and she isn't.
My, my;
how bruises could turn out so gentle.
https://66.media.tumblr.com/489cbc978729b8eead9e947b8fc81ab1/tumblr_poqvvuvg7l1rzwhty_540.jp
Next page