What is a word
Without a voice
What is a thought
Without a feeling
I thought I knew
All I needed to
Until I realized
I didn’t know you
The way I want to
The way I dream of
Still here I am
…your next word
it seems a simple thing..
wasn't a Lamborghini, or a condominium...
A first-class trip to Paris, or even a county fair..
and if i were to tell him,
he probably wouldn't understand....
he said I should probably wash it.....
It smells a bit you see,
(and it does)
But it smells...
She looks down at her weary hands.
They ache from the toils of the day.
For every day they lovingly hold many lives,
Gladly being the hand of love,
The hand of kindness,
The hand of patience,
And the hand of sacrifice.
Grateful to to give...
if I ran a tight ship.neatness wise....and this is my metrical reply:ON FIRST LOOKING INTO BOOKER'S BEDROOM***Why...if Al Pacino saw my digs,he'd say out of orderThis plac looks like it was hit directly by a mortarI'm mortar-fied ,but to continue the thoughtIf it were Morse he'd...
With knife sharp words or slamming doors.
For any time I've caused you pain,
By shutting my life off again.
To you, I say I'm sorry for,
All the pain that you endured.
My words were harsh, reactions quick.
To close you off with one mouse click.
It's not your fault...
found a heavy piece of wood
and thought as hard as a caveman could
until at last he understood
to him the role of King belonged
He knew he couldn't hesitate
to split every fellow caveman's pate
till on their knees they would await
King Grom the greatest of the great...
I can't remember now if I took it because I thought it would be a "bunny" class or if it was required for my Early Childhood Education degree. Doesn't matter really. It turned out to be very significant.
The professor looked like a biker gnome: short, stocky, long white hair...
things they said, the THINGS they said!answers I so desperately seekchurn and burn and grind my souloscillating, spinning beyond my mind's controllay me bare, between the beauty and the darkdeeper and deeper and deeper I sinkdissecting and ripping and tearing and screamingmy...
Immoral, Impossible, God only knows
How tenors and basses, sopranos, altos
At service on Sunday are rarely the same
As those who on Thursday to choir practice came.
Unready, unable to sight read the notes
Nor counting, nor blending, they tighten their throats
Both of us
Hard for me.
I loved every
When to let go.
That I won't...
Women who spit... poems read aloud and they were wonderful
The title put me in mind of a really old poem I wrote many years back and i found a version I typed up 27/06/2013 about my childhood self and an odd habit I developed one of many I must confess I called it 'spitting...
and stretch upward.
Plump, golden, lovely in your simplicity.
You imagine that maybe, possibly...
You just might be beautiful.
You just might be important.
You just might be wanted.
But then, without notice...
You’re cut down.
You're absently trampled...
don't mock me with your tone. Don't sift through the mistakes I've made, don't ask me how it goes.
It seems to me you've seen it all, your fortunes well in tow. But you're blind to the most certain fact, there's always room to grow.
and hate, I dreamed a dream of my sweet escape,
My fate on a string,
My heart on a ring,
My head in my hands,
The time through the sands,
The world became cold as I watched you bend and fold the tattered pieces of my life,
With tears in my eyes I realise it was all lies...
When it feels
It may be
Just be an
When it is
It's not an
It is a choice.
There is no
emotions all over some page
Emotion's gonna lead me to an early grave
and all I get is a song
just a sound full of feeling....
but writing down feelings
and the sounds they go to
is one of the only things
I know how to do
the other is knowing just how to miss you
and die deep...
for the lark
He collects from the circle
and takes the walk
He's the fastest
and he has ID.
Soon the circle
will be comfortable
and somewhat blind
and the bottles will empty
and rabbit runs again
Stacked lines on bridge mounts
and graffiti on concrete revetments
Time just passing by with the blues,
Filled with ups and downs and bad news,
What is before us, do we really get to choose?
Through all the pain and darkness we look for clues,
But most of the time we hear just boos,
Is it really all about paying just our dues?
I am constantly wondering what might happen if you knew that my smile isn't shatter proof, that my love is overwhelming, that I am human to my core and that I'm scared of everything. Will you run as soon as you see the ugliness in me? Are you immune to the guiles of my...
When they write
Dis. joint. ed
Random flowery words
Space them like
Like a cluster that is meant to be
They call it poetry
than a person
Facebook...the dream was singing to my art
I decided to write bad poetry
It fitted my mood of the day
Facebook - oh so clever
An open book
Full of secrets
For all to see
Secrets for you and me
Joy in my heart
Pain in my art
Millions of users
on a cold wet winters day
and I remember places
and loved ones faces
they all seem so far away
I don't really care if your reasoning
tells you that I am strange
cause your red neck ways
won't leave you room
to face the tides of change
It's ignorance and hypocrisy
This little ambiguity just flopped out of my head and onto the floor...unfortunately, I picked it up and now I'm inflicting it on you poor, unsuspecting folks.
Let me also add, with the deepest apologies to my favorite poet of all time: Dear Robert, I may borrow your rhyme and...
We went to the supermarket....we needed two things...
Two innocent objects....but later we cringed.
Who would have thought......that two items together.
Would make people laugh....like the touch of a feather.
She had chafed lips.......and we were cooking a feed.
So off to the...
Something happened to my pink umbrella, baby
It was raining down from the sky
I felt ill, and wanted to die
My pink umbrella, baby
The sun was shining, baby
My pink umbrella lost itself
And I wanted to shine
had nothing in particular to say
he forced his stacked lines
and on occasion some rhymes
nothing in several shades of gray
He spoke of an illusive muse
and a starving white sea
things that never were
and things that used to be.
The word wielding ghost
remembers bouncing checks...
or not but it is my first poem. Here goes nothing.
For there I lay in bed dreaming.
Not asleep but merely pondering the life ahead of me.
My thoughts are screaming and will not let me be.
The failures throughout my life racing through my head had me steaming.
and took all my beer
The dishes the CDs,and eight tracks ,I fear
The laptop and flatscreen a mere prolog
To finding you also carried off the dog
You done me wrong you deflated my ego
Was that any way to say,Adios,amigo?
I spent all of thesse days in a semi on the interstate