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Max May 2019
Paint it, black.

Now I get the song.
Mood
Diána Bósa May 2019
At night-times like this
I use to put my finger on
the artery of silence
and listen to the cracks
between words and the unspoken,
for the blood drops are its pauses
speaking in the tongue
of slumbering stones,
keep on chanting
a song with a beck:
"live on love, live on love."
Steve Page Apr 2019
Stones and Seeds -
Whatever you hold,
lay them down
and unfold your empty hands
kiran goswami Apr 2019
I met a boy today,
at the end of the road.
A young one, somewhere between 9 or 10.
He looked at me with his eyes on the ground.
"Where can I find Love?" He questioned.

I did not answer him.
Because I could not.
In the library, I go daily
I find books of genres
one such is 'love'.

But the books are not different than 'Horror'.
The 'horror' covers are black,
absorbing everything I tell,
The "love' covers are white,
reflecting everything I hear.

I went back with a dictionary
and a book of all the love letters
that were never written.

I saw him again
at the end of the road.
This time he looked away from me
while looking into my eyes.

I answered him,
because I thought I could.
'In the petals of red roses,
in the knelt proposes,
in the thumbed love letters.
in the woollen sweaters.
in the candlelight dinner
in the lines that win her
in the dark sunsets
in Romeo and Juliet.
in the surprise gifts
in the heartbeat that lifts,
You, can find love.'

I went home proud,
for I knew, he will find love now.

Eternities and forevers later,
I met a man today,
at the beginning of the road.
An old one, somewhere between 90 or 100.
He looked at me with his eyes staring inside mine.

'In the thorns that *****,
in the words that trick,
in the letters never sent
in the people who went
in the handmade food,
in the sceneries you never viewed
in the lost sunrise
in her eyes and lies
in the gift wrappers never thrown,
in the hearts that have become stone.
I, found love', he finally replied.

I went home proud,
for I knew he found love now.
Ken Pepiton Mar 2019
Old paths never cobbled

float stones, over the years.
Through the winter each day I walk
or drive this trail,
I moosh down the mud and deep
down ought or else pushes back and

water takes the waymaker function,

path of least resistance,
coming up.
Hydraulic pluerosis pops a stone into my path.

An old stumbling stone, new position.
Kick'em out the way, see watcha find

Certain con
tained
coils of oughts thought steps as
rungs from
Bethel to where Jesus says the Kingdom
of right use right-e-o-us
righteo.

come hell or high water
A.
Lor' willin', if the creeks don't rise
B.
you trust your kenotic self to flow, least re

sist dance

A. or B. Either opens the gate,

t'm'yaad, eden bydemnation namin' imps.

Clouds of could'ves push-crash

---
dis ap
proven re
proven re
al itynessification.

judge you, I judge me and we judge each
the other,
I am first reader, I and my muse and the manual dexter/sinister
skill with the maigi
tech
(I key far faster than hemingway two finger typed,
if he did, like on tv)

I correct me, I was trying and, by trying doing.
Earlier in life I magined one sneaky lie true
because it came from
Yoda,
wise entity telling Luke,
there is no try only do,

maybe for Alienated Jedi minds, not mine,

mine works if I try to do and do, so trying and doing
is done at once.
Okeh. An earlier exploration was tainted by my wish

to be seen wise in relation to an imaginary
depicted fiction seen as the source
of base level words chock full o'
wisdom... nuts... Yoda was never real.

C'mon, gimme the old American

Try again. Emulate Socrates and Jesus,

sorta comboish,
Old Ben says it worked for him,

Kenosis-like. The thirteenth step in
In Ben's
experiment in thinking as an
American might, in the future,

relative to then.

People still read the
Auto-biography of Ben, right?

A proverbial treasure buried long ago
for you.

---------
Kenosis pluerosis and such, who knew such words held such depths? I love the Global Brain, and your part in it, dear reader.
Ray Dunn Mar 2019
Stop burying yourself.
You’re under so much pressure,
you’re about to become
the stones we
walk
on.
Stress be like that sometime haha
PrernaK Mar 2019
I dip my fingers in me
thinking of your face.
biting my lips,
figuring out your taste.

you seem like a
drop of sweat on my nape,
honey milk on my waist.

One summer
you shall flow
and the flowers
would glow waiting
for the rains.

Do not haze, neither haste.
the world inside me will tremble,
and so will my skin.

for some stones
now know
how a bud blossom
in the cold snow.

©ladywithpen
Sharing a love note!
Paul Butters Mar 2019
You can’t beat that musical beat,
From tinkling triangles
To blaring horns.
A quick ditty
Or grand symphony.

Music can mould mountains,
Oceans and plains.
Make you feel any emotion
Or atmosphere.

When songs and poems marry,
Their offspring are awesome:
“Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy?
Caught in a landslide, no escape from reality…”
Mercury magic.

Those rhythms run like chugging trains.
They fight pitch battles
Within our brains.

Drums keep beating,
Guitars whine.
Ever repeating
All through time.

Chuck Berry with his rock and roll,
Aretha Franklin, Queen of Soul.
Elvis truly was the King,
Want some crooning?
Play some Bing.

Beatles, Queen or Stones,
Who really cares?
Roll over Beethoven
Bach or Lennon
On your dancing squares.

I know that rap can give you the blues,
But there’s so much music
You’ve got plenty to choose.

Musical memories adorn our minds,
Warm associations
Of nostalgic times.

Paul Butters

© PB 4\3\2019. Last stanza added 6\3\19.
Let the band begin to play...
unnamed Feb 2019
Sticks and stones may break my bones
But words can never hurt me


Words can't break my bones
But they sure can

Break my heart
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