Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
 Aug 2016
GaryFairy
dancing on the sands of agony
to the saddest song of apathy
standing behind tactical amnesty
with no chance because we lack capacity

we can't advance in fantasy
in rampant mankind's laxity
this land is ****** by strategy
a lack of sanity and demanded voracity

a stance of disbanding amity
we enhance the mass audacity
with plans deteriorating rapidly
we only last for a chance at catastrophe
i worked with the short "a" vowel sound
 Aug 2016
Ma Cherie
"We are 'just a moment'
.....in the history of us."

Cherie Nolan © All Rights Reserved 2016
Came out of nowhere again.
They could not sow anything else but seeds of hatred
Now what will crop up nothing less buds with blood
The next generation is of ****** thirst hounds avid
How can love overcome when nothing remains sacred

Gift of father travels through very many generations
It becomes root cause of all evils in many great nations
It corrupts worthy daughters becomes debacle for sons
When atmosphere becomes sheer dark without beckons

Prayers are destitute slogans are but just sham excuse
Only charity remains in the shape of just utter refuse
It is not possible now to inject life or confidence to infuse
Bruised minds and injured hearts will not be able to diffuse

Time can not wait for stupids to come up to the occasion
Broken donkeys are unable to carry troublesome burden
Life is a reality it is not a dream of a driven and drunken
Real pragmatic people believe in life in action and function

Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow
 Aug 2016
Swanswart
I’ve sewn together a thousand moments
of nothing (butifandorthis) Outis of
sorts and                              ends
                     depressed
         enough to make your head swim
         your wrist spit
         to drown in your own thinking

grasp breath drench and saturate
obsequious regurgitation
prolix asphyxiation
words worlds whirled
LOGOS
spew forth and I choke on
what I can never get out
the
emptiness                within
                                ­                   a
                                                   few
                                          
secondsleftoverste­psout     line
                                            of
             ­                                  curfews ensue
more or less and less is more
of the same (few cures for futures)
                                                  of late
a puddle reflecting and shallow
sole-stomped-n-splattered
I
         Can not help but mis  
s
     the piece( is ) of me that mattered
less than the least of my worries
and the old black boot
            with  a                hole
                    ­                             the one that is always waiting to.
                                                             ­                                             .
                  ­                                                                 ­                       .
                                        ­                                                                 ­  drop.  
                                                                                                             ­                                                                         ­                        I Am 
                                                             ­             still           
                                                           here           
                                       hoping                  
             inre           
   verse              
          
It all fits                                               the tailor-made addendum
but it doesn't                                      the sedentary splendor
change                                                 the worn out agenda


of yet another loop of the clock
fomenting
a grand sutuREDness rending a
torque of tendencies
to ward off the
subversive inertia
of idle thoughts—***—wishes

the edges of that
cloud grapple
with dissolution and
the shaping of my
                                         own                                                 periphery                                            sic
        [i]magination                                           ­                                       

The interior storm
has come and gone
replaced by a wretchedly anxious calm
I then wonder if these
tempests are what is…
or just a fallway of mirrors
I pass through in a tumble
down some hole
feeling it’s too late to know
if I will ever be whole

Alas, another looking glass
I have been
cut up too
to see the half emptiness
of ours
in the hour glass
timetumbling down
the singularity of
How are we?
Relatively bleeding
Speaking of

self
shred-
ding dingbats-in-the-belfry
A  f  r  a  y e d  address of questioning
covered with
s-t-i-t-c-h-e-s
in
this
                                              fourth           ­                             dimension
saves what? 9 lives? No rhyme--no reasoning
with me
                                 …I guess
my wounds are dressed
but only it will tell
                                                            ­                              (What is real?)
                                 (so obviously rhetorical)
it marches on
and it can’t be stopped
but it’s of the essence
and they say it will heal
All wounds
and I say when and how and isn’t now
all I have
to be?
wound up again I see...

And then be left
to the present
tense
out of it,
Up against it.
Who the **** knows?
said the Emperor I
(in third person disguise)
Wearing nothing
(He supposes)
Nothing
But being
                  but...
The scars
Uncovered
for the seeing
Being what scars are
Are they something...
Symbolic?  Systemic? Sympathetic?
That makes seeing is believing
Real for me,
Or, for us all?
Is Being
Beingness
Or is it
Meaningless in a...life…
S
P
A                                            
Not evolving as fast          
As semiotics                      
Or sentient
Robotics
For the rest
Of us
To be
Sure that we are
Individual
Beings at all?

What?
Time’s up?
                         At least for the
                                              Time being…
                                                          ­           Nothing to worry about...
 Aug 2016
Ovi-Odiete
This is for you

To all Poets
The once who scream through painful silence
And the depressed wishing for an angel

The troubled souls, lost in self war
And some others mourning a lost one
Then the endless nights that bring tears to your eyes
To the molested one
Drunk in misery
And the others who is searching for a friend


I see you everyday in your words
I hear your Silence written in Ink
I feel your hearts yearning to be mended
I may not be a friend
Or family
But
I am a poet
So
I relate too
Don't curse yourself
Keep dreaming
Keep moving
Life happens~
But at the end
You will come out In success
Never give up
Look to the sky
Someone
Mightier
Than that
Pain
Watches you
Just keep looking
Keep looking


Ovi Odiete©

May your rough road be smooth
I don't know you, but this is for you
 Aug 2016
Ann M Johnson
Through the eyes of a child,there is wonder and amazement
Through the eyes of a child, ordinary things become extraordinary
  Through the eyes of a child, there is expectant hope and dreams and faith in a good future
Through the eyes of a child, there is innocence and love and caring and sharing
  Through the eyes of a child, there is forgiveness for both big and small mistakes
  Through the eyes of a child, much strength and wisdom can be found when looking at life through the eyes of a child.
This poem is dedicated to my neighbor's granddaughter who is only 4 years old and is currently in the hospital fighting for her life after being shot down at the reservation where she lives at due to a hate crime. Please keep this little girl in your thoughts and prayers.
 Aug 2016
SE Reimer
~

in the seasonal divisions of life,
is one equation most oblique;
the only ’rithmetic i know,
where sum of two in equal parts,
as one and one makes two a whole;
yet even more is this unique,
for ’tis the after-math and struggle,
the dance of life that matters most;
the after-candles, songs and marches,
the after-promises and vows,
after-gifts and floral arches,
after-dancing, cake, and toasts;
when gritty feet meet dusty road,
where those content to sit, jump out,
and those who chose the work, dig in,
here is where the after-math begins.

where spoken word and actions,
the blend of individualities,
smelting of their personalities,
when lovely couple’s faces,
no longer picture-perfect,
where smiles frozen turn to icy stares;
when agreement turns to disagreement,
and enchantment, disenchantment;
when to each the other is,
persona non grata...
a most unwelcome sum;
persona incognito...
hidden truth to everyone;
persona invisibilia...
game of hide and seek;
persona silentium...
"you can’t make me speak!"

yet all of this could just as easily be,
the sum of two,
grateful hearts in equal parts,
the beat of two in rhythm thrum,
march in time upon one drum;
where stumbling toes find eager feet;
back-handed words are gently turned, to
two-hands-to-back, a press,
on tiptoe, a softened kiss;
where hard-pressed, unkind learnings
are equal matched with kind forgivings.

e pluribus unum...
building block for nation,
works beautiful for couples, too!
’tis the only one i know,
defies the odds to work,
defines how two can grow,
turns tear-filled words to fireworks,
makes winning out of winters cold;
turns wincing into cinching,
knots that is, joined and tightly tied,
before two hearts have grown too old;
this then here, the after math,
a two-cords-tied-as-one accord,
blending melody with harmony,
production of a music-making,
ovation-worthy, heartbeat song;
a two-in-one, two-for-one,
two-as-one with rich reward;
sum of love for lifetime lasts,
perfect kind of after-math!

~

*post script.

a wedding this week came and went, but left this minder in its wake, hard beating in this mind as my body woke, begging for words in ink, pleading to be let out.  in marriage, my own is far from perfection, as am i, yet as close to heaven as i have known here on earth. do believe that i know that it cannot be just one; but takes two hearts, two wanting, two hoping, and two forgiving, to make one that lasts!
she is by far the more so in ours.
What she whispers to the deity

in her daily evening prayer
from her lips' quiver
I try to hear

I try to understand
what she asks of her god
with folded hands

is it her own welfare she prays
begs from the deity
well being of her family
wealth and safety

or her prayer is not that small
she asks god for the good of all

I am not sure
but deep within feel
her prayer is pure

through years of asking
but never receiving
she has quit
praying for any specific thing

she prays as a need
as an inseparable thought
whether god heeds her
or not.
 Aug 2016
Nishu Mathur
Red wine 
Dark chocolate 
A warm night 
Love and lust

The moon winks 
The stars hide 
The clouds pink
In crimson blush 

Summer breeze 
Candles flicker 
Flames dance 
All is shed 

You burn me softly 
With your love 
And fire me 
With kisses red

Sheets tangle
In silken passion 
There's you 
And there's me 

More than romance 
Is romance 
'Tis love in rhythm 
And sweet poetry
20th May 2015
A challenge poem
Next page