freedom to my eyes
to touch and hear and see and feel
without fear of fate or compromise
give me this moment to call my own
to give and take to appreciate or ignore
this moment alone is all I ask
and then one moment more.
Both of us
Hard for me.
I loved every
When to let go.
That I won't...
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...
And then sad songs here, there and everywhere
Sad songs pouring from the sky
Like sugar in my manmade tea
How many raindrops, baby
How many sad songs for you and me?
Drink your tea
Drink your water and be happy, happy and free
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.
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...
With patience, I wait till I'm no longer alive.
I have to be patient and live out my days.
God has a purpose, is all people say.
Yes, there are days when my life's full of bliss.
Days that I'm happy, content, and all this.
Days filled with love. I wouldn't wish it away...
Weary and worn out, I don't know where to begin,
The fading sun has left a lonely man with nothing more then a shadow of a grin,
Battered and bruised and often misused,
Forever left in darkness and often abused,
Life has no meaning with nothing to lose,
Time has made its...
Tired of these holes in our backs from carrying these burdens of the past,
Tired of the people who judge what they cannot understand,
Tired of feeling guilty for standing up for myself,
Tired of standing divided,
Tired of the superior attitude of shallow people,
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...
When they write
Dis. joint. ed
Random flowery words
Space them like
Like a cluster that is meant to be
They call it poetry
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...
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...
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...
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
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...
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...
To whom it may concern.
I LOVE your warm and caring heart...
I LOVE the way you rip and tear mine apart...
~I LOVE YOU~
I LOVE your kind and loving gentle words...
I LOVE the way the harsh ones make me hurt...
~I LOVE YOU~
I LOVE all your honesty and truth...
I LOVE the cold...
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...
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...
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
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
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.
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?
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
tried to touch it
I tried to jump around it
I tried to keep it in my art
But it didn't matter
The thought was gone
Gone with the wind
Gone for the day
I really tried to jump
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...
When it feels
It may be
Just be an
When it is
It's not an
It is a choice.
There is no