Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
There the merry hologram glowing blue purple blue
Cactus human cherry on a stool
Beyond the window he would not look
Inside the sky made of wood.

The barber talks to his ferns
The flowers he understood
The living they earn
Sparkling its rough nails of your barber.
The breath and life he will spruce with apple-pie order.
He listens to
Each one story
Always about a time
A time which was cheery.

He looks piercingly to all their prickly
What he touches intently
To turn the time that latches onto your head which started feeling heavy.
Lifted into glee so jolly and carefree.

A man
Or the boys
They finally stand up easily.
Capes dusted
Top hat powdered
Their voice of fears collected as tips
For pricking up his ears.

The door that opens in the end
The swirling light that beckons
Hair became a way to lighten ---
When times get rough and belligerent
Cut it off, rugged and ruffian.

The barber hears him and all
The others like soldiers
They share their laughs
Troubles leaving shoulders
Leaving like a waterfall.
The barber knows everything
The barber knows all.
© Teri Darlene Basallote Yeo
Rhymes are better heard than seen.
I feel like that is what makes poetry...
Still trying to figure out where the truth lies.
Deep Beneath me or up in the sky,
Wherever it lies it must find a way out,
And open to the crowd.
You are looking at me from a distance,
Trying to develop a thought about me,
Believe me you cannot until you come and witness,
The horrors that I have faced ,
The Devil's that I have clinched,
Or possibly the devil that I have become.
I can be the soldier, I can be the warrior ,I can be the game
But wait a minute, I think I have the power to change the game.
We may not together come to an end, but separated we may die as "just" friends.
You have been with me not for a long time,
but I think it is enough to call you mine.
I won't say you are the end to my journey, but you are the companion to the end,
The end has to come and it will come.
If Living with the Legend, I may  climb the sky
And call it an achievement, that will make me climb.
But if I am living with human like me, even a jump in the sky.
It would  not make me, but it will drive me to the farthest end.
I want to be smart enough to be called a human,
But also fool enough to not be a legend.
Going by the basics I am still a kid,
But by the age I'm old enough to be called a teen.
I have began like a kid but would end like a hero one day.
Patrick Austin Oct 2018
There are two types of

people who are passionate...


Those with a love of being intense

& those with an intense love of being.
Personal quote.
Sky Sep 2018
are you
satisfied
with yourself?

are you happy now? now that this,
this has happened?

look what you've done. look.

you've massacred social norms, you've completely demolished every existing standard of how people should behave. you've strangled the life out of Mr. Smith, and everything he believed in, from the very tippity-top of his upper-class Anglo-Saxon Puritan upbringing to the very tippity-tip of his well-oiled
nose.

you've blown our minds.

and you call this, what, art? self-expression? Psh.
*******

why can't you go do something, y'know,
useful (for once)? helpful to society--

become a doctor and save lives,

or become a scientist and find cures, heck,

even become an architect and create ******* roofs to put over people's heads, because,

honey

everyone would love to say what they want, whenever they want, in some abstract, convoluted way and put it smack in a gold frame and hang it up at the MOMA. then get applauded by men in pinstripes and handlebars and dainty damsels in petticoats...

or, shunned...

but walk away from the carnage patting yourself on the back for the mortally unfathomable machinations of your mind.

and we're the ones that don't get it? please.

it's you who doesn't get it--

wake up, man. And live as a functioning part of society,
please.
a scene from a historical drama, perhaps. about an artist. or so he was called.
Faith Sep 2018
Leave your demons behind they grunt with oppression.
If pride was a cloak then you'd wear it well.
Those who see you for who you are don't have eyes,
their souls are primed with smitten sins.
Dancing with the wolves gives you the danger you deserve but you play with the pups.
Lust love lust love
what does it matter you'll get your way oh master of words,
show me those pretty eyes, Mr. Soul play your music.
This is for you God of rock.
Push pull push pull
the threads are unwinding,
whittling your story,
sewing your fate.
Lips of spice drowning in tongue.
Where's your cheek?
Swallow that pill please because you take that medicine well.
Society huh?
what a dream, keep your ideals because this is hell...
Welcome, leave your soul at the Doors.
An acknowledgment to Jim Morrison of the Doors and his works done on earth in physical form.
Olivia Daniels Sep 2018
She lives her life with tears in her eyes.
From day to day, tears in her eyes.

No one can tell—
she hides them so well—
with bangs down,
and a smile on her face.

                   ~              

The general disposition
that showing emotion
makes you weak.

Why should she show them anyways?
When no one can make her feel better
    and no one understands
the pain in her heart that resides there from day to day.

It originates from small things that bug her
                       to things people say—
and the fact that they just don't understand.
                                          No one understands.

It's always the same,
they get defensive
when she tells them the truth
and how she really feels.

but she's so tired of hiding and pretending to be ok
Beings only hide from the truth
Truth never hides
Waves hit the earth nearly the same time the winds do
As above so below
Ancient times with new lines
No shadows can discriminate what’s light in a fulfilled dimension
It’s only overwhelmed by the pure blinding consciousness to dissipate before it even entered and cast
The necessity of distinction has always been in existence......here
finite and limited creations we be within the cube my friend
Lest we seek transcendent wisdom
This will only be and our memories will be lost
Nothing is permanent however
Even if at times it seems otherwise
Experience is the hand that I acknowledge as my support
Being lost is not always so bad, neither is being alone
Getting lost is how we are always found
The original
The indestructible
The evolution of the immortal
**RideTheDragon**
Sitting here wrists scarred
Legs cut, shut away
scared as the noose starts to fray
Who’s coming to help me
No one, I am left on the shelf
Alone, because my feelings are unknown, trying to keep myself to myself, smoking **** to make myself feel free, He is gone, the I **** I have done is wrong
It won’t be long until I return to my blades
I am struggling without my dad
Speak Slowly Sep 2018
I write to you, to you my dear. I write now but I'll read to you soon, I hope you'll hear me then. I need to get it off my chest, words I want to express. I'll tell you three things, to express your worth to me. I hope you keep this close, to free up doubt in anytime of your life. I hope you think of me, when you read these three poems.

To you my dear, I fear that anyone who comes to know you, will discover you're true beauty. Not just looks, not just pretty eyes but a beautiful soul behind that lovely personality. I love how you care so deeply about me, seemingly so when you are troubled yourself.

To you my dear, I adore how kind you are. You see, I find myself smiling every time you do any small good thing around me. I appreciate your deepest qualities and your kindred spirit. Even when I see your inability, I can't help but adore and love you.

To you my love, the enchantment of being with you, are moments I enjoy most. Latent with so much love and chemistry, I cant wait to see where our path goes. I'm so fond of the idea of 'us', I wonder where this river flow will go.

To you
From me SS
-SS
Day 25
Next page