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r Apr 2014
Led down from the tower
Head high and hands bound
Blindfold declined against the wall
Black square pinned to his heart
Eyes afire and shining proud
He sang...

He sang of Caruso, Townes Van Zandt
Pavarotti, Bocelli, Mercury,
Carreras, he sang of Antoine,
Of Sinatra, Lennon, Morrison, Redding
He sang and songbirds paused in flight
He sang like them all

He sang a song of himself
Of leaves of grass, of second comings
Of Byron, and Bharti, and Cummings
He sang of Neruda, and Plath, Tagore
Dickinson, Kamala Das and Naidu
Oh, he sang of them all

He sang of art and beauty
Of Mona Lisa and starry nights
Girls in green dresses and pearls
He sang of Van Gogh, of Picasso
Of Rembrandt, da Vinci
He sang of Michelangelo

He sang of sadness, pain
He sang of My Lai, Sand Creek
Of Guernica and Krystallnacht
He cried and sang of Wounded Knee
Of Katyn Forest, Sabra and Shatila
Oh, he wept as he sang

He sang of history and wonders
He sang of Olduvai and pyramids
Machu Picchu, Tikal, and Angkor Wat
He sang of a great wall, the Taj Mahal
Stonehenge, Easter Isle, Mesa Verde
His song took us to them all

He sang of courage
A song of Bunker Hill, Gettysburg
Of the Alamo, Normandy, Stalingrad
Of Lincoln, Guevara and Dr. King
He sang of Bolivar, Bhutto, Ghandi
He shamed us with their song

He sang his song...
As women sighed and peasants cried
He  sang until the rifles fired, he died
Songbirds fell from the sky
Soldiers broke their guns on stones
And marched into the deep blue sea.

r ~ 4/12/14
Raj Arumugam Aug 2013
scouting for talent in the streets
(for the next Michael Jackson or Pavarotti
or anyone who can make me money)
I spotted there in the streets of Melbourne
a bloodhound and a puppy, each with a violin
and each playing –
the puppy a natural, the bloodhound indistinct

I spread out on the floor
the talent contract for a team
and the bloodhound signed with a grin;
but just as the puppy lifted its paw
another dog came running, picked up the puppy
and ran off with the speed of lightning

“****! What’s that about?”
I asked the bloodhound

“Oh,” said the bloodhound sheepishly
*“That’s his mum, my wife – she doesn’t want
him to be a musician like me…
she’d rather he grows up to be a doctor!”
...poem based on an online joke....
Craig Dotti Jan 2010
Part I. When the Saguaro Cactus Blooms

“All mountains everywhere are being worn down by frost, snow and ice.”

“In the brief arctic summer grasses thrive, but too little energy reaches the ground for trees to grow.”

“When Nubian Ibex dual with their horns, the tussles can last up to an hour if the opponents are evenly matched.”

“Rainforest covers only three percent of the Earth, but contains more than half its plants and animals”

“The Shark is faster on a straight course, but can’t turn as sharply as a seal.”

“Throughout much of nature, life is built on decay.”

“Earth’s journey round the sun creates the four seasons, in most places. In the tropics, the sun strikes the earth head- on year round, temperatures barely change.”

“The Great Island of New Guinea harbors forty-two species of birds of paradise, each more bizarre than the last.”  

“As always, where life thrives, trouble follows.”

“Each year a single tree can **** up hundreds of tons of water through the roots, but the trees can’t use all this water so much of it returns to the air as vapor from the leaves on the branches”

“Every year three-million caribou migrate across the frozen Canadian Tundra. Some herds travel over two-thousand miles a year in search of fresh pastures. This is the longest over-land migration of any animal.”

Part II. And Your Bird Can Sing

From my position as being something
Other than what I am now, I saw
the planet Earth which is too impossible to be true.

I saw that land never stands above water.
Water simply allows the tired earth to rest upon its shoulders.

I see places where nothing is alive, save the maggots that feed off themselves,
amongst the cathedral of stalactites and stalagmites and lakes of acid.
No one ever said Hell wouldn’t be beautiful.

I see what was once mountains, now little more than slender, awkward
pillars into the sky. Withered away by an unwavering wind
That blew rigid rock as easy as it might blow
a leaf on the streets of city.

I see that spring even touches the most arctic of locals.
and that you can freeze in a desert that you can fry in.

I see for the first time, the tree as the inverse of itself;
branches into sky, roots into earth.
And I suddenly question paper and hard-wood floors.

And animals,
which we so often chose to deny as our neighbors and brethren.

I met with the Amur Leopard, rare as jewel,
Never before seen,
Destined to lose his home or his fur coat
To the likes of a Russian czarina.

I laugh at the penguin, the sausage of the bird family
and marvel at its audacity to survive
in places its unthreatening, unimpressive body should not.

And in the shark’s eye I saw, as it leaped out of the water
finally engulfing the once allusive seal,
the grace of god, the face of ******
at 1/50th of  the normal speed.

I came across baboons wading through flooded plains
walking upright through the shallow waters,
holding their young above the depths,
predecessors to a two-legged, less noble cousin.

I witnessed nearly every animal fight each other for supremacy,
with the same savagery we do,
but with less discrimination as to who they combat with.

I noticed that countless animals disguise themselves.
Frogs as rocks of exotic hues. Foxes as bushes seemingly on fire.
Bugs as flowers not yet in bloom.
I think I’ll hide myself as a whale
with a harpoon in his side.


I watch male birds of paradise attempt to sing, yell, peck and dance
themselves into a lady bird’s heart;
their Pavarotti, their Don Juanian exploits, their best Baryshnikov
yield them no love, yet my undying admiration is theirs.

I long to be a part of a flock of birds or school of fish,
who seem seamlessly connected by one mind(interwoven by the urge to move)


I see the flower and the fungi bloom, the latter off the former,
in stop-motion photography
I wish to see myself grow in stop-motion.

I swam next to two whales;
a large one whose eyes said to the smaller one,
“I’ll starve for you.”
a small one whose eyes said,
“I will lose my mother when the water is warm.”

I walked with caribou, transient as I am.
Just searching for a place to call home,
both of us knowing that the only stable thing in
life is continuous change.

Part III. Rivers Do Run Dry (See Grand Canyon)

Years later it would be discovered that “HD TV” did not in fact stand for High Definition Television, but rather Hoaxed Depiction Television. Indeed nothing we saw in “HD” was in actually real; rather it was highly doctored images created by the media powers that be. This would explain seemingly implausible animals, landscapes and natural phenomenon seen in the BBC series Planet Earth. Cryptic statements made by the narrator of the documentary (who turned out to not actually be British or a man) such as, “This is the first and last time this spectacle has ever been documented on film.” Ironically, these claims by the narrator are the only truths the entire project has to offer. The images never will be seen again in nature due to the fact that they were fabricated in a Hollywood warehouse.
Em Glass Jul 2020
The sunlight filtered
through feathers splayed
hits different when
the wing is stayed
Anais Vionet Jul 2024
have you ever grappled with despair
not in imagery, symbolism or portrayal.

I mean, have you ever felt the elevator drop
the watery weakness that extenuates breath
a depth of fatigue that makes lying on the floor a burden
an aching pounding in your chest,
the broken-glass dryness in your throat
the gritty ache in your eyes
that makes you want to close them forever?

Struggle no more, leaden limbs,
free the weary weight.
Eyes that struggle, release the light.
The body begs to no more fight.
In a blur of sluggish thought,
I whisper sleep's sweet name.
The will has dropped.
The yearning stopped.
I’ll rest on that distant shore.
.
.
Songs for this:
Nessun Dorma by Sarah Brightman
Caruso (Live at "Pavarotti International" Charity Gala Concert, Modena 1992) by Luciano Pavarotti, Aldo Sisilli
Pie Jesu by Andrew Lloyd Webber, Sarah Brightman & Paul Miles-Kingston
0730.0722
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge: Extenuate: lessen the strength of something
Nat Lipstadt May 2017
~~
The Trial of His Worthiness 2017

for betterdays, explorer of my complaints to the heavens,
and Patty, who asks,
who writes like this...answers from an old man




~~~
the 2017 baptism yesterday, by calendar dictate,
to my park, nature's commune, the poet wills himself to be
forcibly removed from city, greeted in solemn robes of blue/green,
by the triumvirate of bay, animals and flora & trees interlocking,
who stand in judgement of the humans interloping off-islanders
summer internees

to the double entendre dock removed,
so the bay, the Chief Justice, now a bit hard of hearing,
from the thunder and lighting of cymbal and drum crackling of the winter waves clashing, can hear my deposition clearer

the chief prosecutor, the tallest tree, wraps her branches,
around my legs, my feet, my heart, my head, not to restrain,
but to listen to my internals to adjudge the electrocardiogram
veracity of my words, a natural lie detector machine

the animals requested and sequestered to jury service,
large and small, from forest, the beneath-the-deck rabbits,
all learned in the human language, after 5 centuries of
less than social *******

put to me queries only I could answer

why have you returned?

humanity wearing me so, come to nature that knows only natural laws where existence is primary, good and evil are undefined and premeditation of ****** for no purpose of one's own kind is rare

will you write of us as in years as past?

will write of the commingling taffy of your
salt waters and my salt tears,
taking of your oxygen gifts, returning my dioxides,
both of us sharing the munificence of a warm sun goddess,
will plant my irises and kiss your cherry blossom leaves,
will step aside, over the ant mounds, harming nothing living,
for rightful life is not accorded by precedence or size
or your chosen version of a holy book


will you play for us your human music?

contrapuntal canons, adagios of Barber, Adele & Dudamel,
"a song for you"by the master Charles, some by the
poet Cohen, and even of a Rocky Raccoon, and for our kids,
a tale of a Yellow Submarine and the Dr.'s Mississippi Mud,
dash of Joni's pure voice, Eva Cassidy's unreal, none better,
rock to Elvis, Beethoven, Mozart and the Zombies,
**** deer demand Pavarotti (who knew)

all but  a chocolate sauce for a sundae of your own air strings,
waves baying, rabbits madly dashing, and birds texting,
the bellows of trombone honking of the
s-hit and run Canadian geese,
multi colored seagull's violin-like protestation squeaks of
'feed me human,
my survival share of the catch'


the tree limbs released, to now stroke my skin, pat my head,
the ants perform an arabesque, the gossipy fish come to the surface as
his Honor, Justice Bay, pronounces my sentencing term:

come,
stay with us warmed and welcomed,
shaded in our attentive embrace human
and of us
be a witness deposed, testified,
of our true nature

go,
to your unattended, impatiently waiting, Adrionack throne, go,
(once of us, a living tree departed)
observe and record, without distortion and human bias,
as you have so oft in years past,
tho mere eye-blinks to us,
life and death and preservation can coexist in a harmony

perhaps your infant species may learn from nature & beasts,
that bounty well fair shared is what humans call
the worthiness of living
~~~~
5/28/17 11:09
Protestry Jones Jul 2010
If I had a peso for every time I was asked for one
I’d be a rich man.
If I had a peso for every pleading face I’ve seen
I’d have a generous hand.
I’d put a peso in every can or pan
or outstretched hand
or cup or bowl or hat of wool.
I’d give one to the boy with the accordion player
and to the girl selling butterflies on a stick.
I’d give one to the woman squatting on the sidewalk
and to the youth with his baton-twirling trick.
I’d give one to the doll maker and to the basket weaver
and to the blind singer and to the fire-breather.
I’d give one to the old man drumming out non-rhythms
and to his equal, fiddling non-melodies.
I’d give one to the flautist/drummer combo
and to the Pavarotti wannabes.
I’d give one to the woman with few teeth
and to the man with one shoe
To the families sleeping in doorways
I’d give to all those who can’t do.
To every last one and all, big and small
I’d give a peso, or more
Hell, why keep score?
Yes, if I had a peso for every time I was asked for one
I’d give it up,
not because I should,
but because I could.
Well, ha!, at least, I’d like to think I would.
This poem was written after a few months of observing the lives and livelihoods of the Mexican people. Mexico has few, if any, "safety nets" (social security, unemployment, etc.) to help the poor. On the one hand, this results in a vibrant street life, with entertainers on seemingly every corner. On the other hand, it reveals a deep poverty and uneasiness among its people. This was written in April, 2005.
From when I was a little child
I picked up on thought and sound
It isn't always visible but it is still around.
It's the talent and the beauty
The poetry of life
You find it in a sonnet
Or the colours of Monet
In Pavarotti's voice
The world just melts away.
Shakespeare's words? They drip like honey
And illuminate the stage
It sends shivers up the spine
What Wordsworth scribbled on a page.
Jules Verne could tell the future
Da Vinci saw what was to be
Their vision shaped the world we know
Now that is great to me.
Does it have a name?
What Rembrant found within his art?
That secret, silent something
That burns within the heart.
As a child Wolfgang Mozart
Drew everybody's gaze
He serenaded Europe
Wrote music to amaze.
Was Bogart such a legend?
Now, don't speak before you think
Not everyone can breathe life into
A person made of ink.
The passion is alive
It lives inside the soul.
When pen is put to paper
Or the bow goes to the string
When that magic is embodied
We hear the angels sing.
Copyright © 2010
Paul Butters May 2020
Open your legs and show your class.
Haha.
Sing like Elvis,
Freddie, Pavarotti
Or Shirley Bassey.
Belt out Lennon-McCartney tunes
With Beach Boys Harmonies
And Eric’s Slow Hand Guitar.

Be as Magical as Messi,
Supremely Shakespeare with your plays and poems,
Better still. Hopkins and Keats.
Show the genius of Brian Wilson
And Oscar Wilde.
Not forgetting the Table Tennis Kings
Waldner and Ma Long.  

Oh Yes
Be Champion
Be Real Madrid
Or Barca if you prefer.
1970 Brazil
Federer, Navratilova
Or Lewis Hamilton.

Be simply the best,
Like Ali,
Or better still,
Be better than yourself
Day after day.
Just keep improving,
That’s the way.

Let this poem be tagged
“Motivational”
To get you off your backside.
There’s nothing like Achieving
To fill us full of Pride.

Paul Butters

© PB 11\5\2020. Hopkins, Keats and Ali added 14\5.
Sorry to whomever I left out!
Would a voice in heaven
sound beautiful
and inviting
or serious,
constant
and still
maybe sounds of a harp
possibly playing atop
pristine
waters
or Pavarotti singing
up in the mountains
or would it be a moan,
with intention
and focus
maybe just a recording
over loud and annoying  
speakers
with instructions
and a schedule
maybe if I am lucky
I would hear
My father’s voice
telling me how great it is
but sounding nostalgic
and homesick  
a plea for his soft leather chair
wearing his hounds tooth hat
smoking his hand crafted pipe
if death could speak
what issues would it bring up
rehashing troubled times
would this voice
guarantee pearly gates
willing
It beckons me,
conflicted with temptation
when your soul knows
that this is
a voice not
from any place
but from
the best place
where Jesus takes us
to reach
for something
knowing doubts exist
that you would rise
to be with us again

July, 2013  (RIP Dad) In memory of C. Dan Piccolomini
Life changing events like a death can be more difficult to share but easy to write about. Many late nights staying up thinking that you can truly believe in the memory.  It is so vivid that you have to let it be - but it is in the description and disbelief that is so real to me.  A matter of Will.
Sinai May 2014
He walks with pavarotti in his vains and calls his daughter rock and roll.
His charm is the face of the restaurant.

In the kitchen two man are sweating above pastas and antipasti to feed their children tajine at home.

On the terrace there are girls trying not to drop any glasses because of the guy on table 204.

There's a guy behind the bar that was bad in his country, and now feels what is normal.

They speak of the boss as if he's always watching, though he's rarely ever there.

There are 10 different nationalities in there but when the chorus of a certain song plays they all sing that one word.

*Bellisimo.
TOD HOWARD HAWKS Sep 2020
Roy Orbison was no Luciano Pavarotti, but then Luciano Pavarotti was no Roy Orbison. Born in Nowhere, Texas, Orbison had an inauspicious musical beginning. He was shy growing up, but got a guitar at an early age. He drifted around tiny towns as he tentatively began his career and over the following years signed with several different recording companies. He remained extremely self-conscious as he slowly gained some success and wore dark-tinted glasses to allay some degree of his unease on stage. But in the late 1950s and early 60s, Orbison made it big, so big, in fact, that his songs went to the top of the charts in the U.S. as well as Europe and Australia. But by the mid-60s with the musical invasion from the United Kingdom--ironic though it was, he became close friends with the Beatles who admired his talent and songs--and the dramatic culture-change in America, Orbison's career and his popularity waned terribly. It was not until the 80s that Orbison experienced a grand resurgence of popularity, which pleased him so. But he did not have long to enjoy it. He died of a heart attack in 1988 at the age of 52. He was buried in an unmarked grave.

Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks
A graduate of Andover and Columbia College, Columbia University, Tod Howard Hawks has been a poet, an essayist, a novelist, and a human-rights advocate his entire adult life.
andy fardell Jun 2014
When I wake
Breath
Stare out into the dark
I wonder

I wonder what I'll see who I'll meet and what lasting mark will I make today On this earth
Will I paint like Picasso
Will I draw like Leonardo  
Will I sing a song like Pavarotti  

Then I sigh
What is my life print
What is my way
Will I be remembered
Or fade away

Am I a stone for the viewing
Is this my future
A dancing stone
Full of posies
Waiting for the wedding day child  

From a family lost
A faded etch
Seeks my await  
I fear for my life print
I fear for that day

Then I wonder  
That day is not now
My life is not yet complete

My ink is not yet empty
Nor the paper dry
Or the stone yet cut
For I breath in the earth
I look up to the sky
And I sing to the heavens
I'm me
I'm alive
Tom Balch Nov 2016
They carried him in to Vivaldi´s spring
as we sat there so quiet and sombre,
suffering pain that this service would bring
on this freezing cold day in November.

We spoke of his life, sang psalm twenty three
and offered up prayers whilst down on our knees,
fought back the tears that were wanting to flow
in this old grey church with soft candle glow.

Puccini played as they carried him out
to the grave that was dug on that morning,
Pavarotti sang, we followed the route
the effect of our loss was now dawning.

Lowered him into his bed of cold earth,
his darkness eternal, same as our love*.
Robin Carretti May 2018
How come you
dance so_ good
Don't do a Tina Turner
Table dance on me
Whats love got to do
with fads
Never know what you
had_

Fads Like P-op-Sugar
Lads Like Laptop- sister
Austrian lads
Alice-y Mads

A spoon full
of sugar
helps her
meds go
down
Jewels 4 Julie in the
most delightful
way
Dogs named
Andrews those
honey cashews

She pops
crackle Rice
crispies
For her Nephews
Over-sugared curfew
Julia Roberts her
business flew
Perk up (Pretty Women)
Not!! first class?
Money VIP Pass
Cafe hot and
boiling
His temper bad
habits spoiling

You cannot buy
a girl
off with
((Pricetags))
The ending
with no
friends so sad
Beginning

Sugar is your
poison that depends

No, I love you
Valentine cards
No hello and regards
Go Cincinnati
Rock and Roll
Hall of Fane*
Fads **** and Jane
spots her men
Her engraved
hands classical
Vivaldi opera
Pops with Pavarotti
To the love wall
Sweet Sardi
Please  no
Godfather Gotti

The Godmother
tutti fruity

Or Sardinia
Miami Beach
Pop  bikini's
Come together
words Beatles
I want to hold your
_?

Talking heads
Caramelly popcorn
Christmas ghost past
Talking to herself
Will this love
ever last
Like a hard toffee
She could soften
any hallway

Harvard Men
Freshman
Chewing fad
of spearmint
Gum
No etiquette
Men of bourbon
Spicy sweets
Ladies festive
turbans
Hotel tons of sweets
At the Marriott
Sweet Brandy doll
Marionette

Raw or
Angel equal
brown sugar

The finest of crepe
Suzette like a sequel
All fads of sweets and never is it my time to rock my beat Please Pop some sugar my way
Robin Carretti Jun 2018
Does life really have the purpose
Feeling like a slow turtle
The Floridian Fort Myers
The sandy silk the remedy
Seashell Rose thorned
  The happening day I was born
Robin- Joy tiny 5 pounds of gold
Joy to the world 4 ounces
Moms-whole
Birth I was her world
to guide me the incubator
I was named after
"Grandma Rose'
The dictator attention newborn babies
Crying please Arnold the
terminator doesn't terminate
her completely just stop
her from crying

Spiritual bud those rare finds
Someone took my funds
How was it laid out like
a birth flowing
Without anyone seeing
the beauty of it showing

The purpose in life being
moved inside another mind
A samba walk like a girl from
Impanena
Not always about someone's
  the treasure she passed
not to see
What is truly required
being sad to let it be
Or saying it's my pleasure

On your way to hope-land
or finding more time homeland
What a fine host heartland
Friendly sword-like
  medieval-land
The love fever when
the hayfever got to
Raggedy Ann dandelions
and ragweed
Her hot fever planting her seed
It works two ways to be the believer
My temperature rising

Your head is buzzing next song
The Spin city laughing gitty
But God! why are we  really here
Like Tinman Olive oil good
for the heart
That Scarecrow if I only had
a brain I'm over
there and here
How I am scattered straw
everywhere
Row your boat somewhere

Go gently computer streaming
Website world
That less induced stress
She lifts her smile that
black number dress was
A huge success

Her reduced waistline to cope
What is really the purpose of
Valentines Day Ray of hope
Every holiday gets you crazy
no matter if it is some purpose
Or that crucial number
coming to America has a purpose
Being Italian cannoli music
playing Pavarotti

All hell breaks loose he is high up
in the cabin whole lotta shaking
going on
  Rocky Bullwinkle Moose
Westchester eggs caboose
Wilted-wedding is not organized
Deeply touched to be personalized
Also the numbered seating, he left
his heart in your Ivory Starlite plate
What is really the purpose when
people invite you and show up late
You are writing again Amen
Velicity of higher force gravity
true vibe
The family of  my tribe
Another letdown, please
found me
Next season  firmly grounded
Someone will see you in the
magazine did they subscribe?

The foundation of Faith
Please describe
Nothing makes sense
You got a raise
He gave you kick in the pants
This life is a game of stunts
The purpose of life this is my translation I feel I never get a vacation too busy but life will bring me to salvation I always try to put humor in my writing that the only things to keep me going what do we see in our world what it's telling us
cheryl love Jun 2014
Is it music to my ears?
Definitely not as it appears.

Your voice is sitting on the border
The right notes are in the wrong order.

I would love to say your voice could pop a balloon
that would be if you were singing the right tune.

Now I am no expert nor a good disc jockey
but then you are not a singer a Pavarotti.

Your voice croaks when you sing along
everything seems to be coming out wrong.

No do not start singing yet, if you please
I have to stuff my ears with bits of cheese.

I know it would be better if you had a voice
But then wouldn't we all if we had a choice.

Lots of splutterings, clearing the throat
What came out was a perfect, beautiful note.

The voice of an Angel, well ******* down
Now he was wearing an upside down frown.

Sing of sing for me, let it be revealed
Turned out it was a crow singing in the field.

Music to my ears.
watching a TV broadcast
with Luciano Pavarotti
singing an aria
about a unique woman

     dedicating it to Lady Diana
     who is sitting in the first row

     a lovely and appropriate compliment

she died in the Paris car crash
not long thereafter
Robin Carretti Jul 2018
Us-Plus-Kiss-Miss-Toss-Loss-
Boss-Mess-Dress-Bless-Us-
2- Out-Guess- us but never 2 Confess
To take this all in letting words
breathe out
The paintbrush built-in fantasy
hot how it hit

  The stroke of fingers linger the mind
Letting the hard life  leave us behind
Rose blood-Family stem-gem

The rule of thumb
Traveling Jamaica ***
Shes the Cherry plum
But laughing banging his drum
"Of Sin'
On the run Us or them 2-Digest

Is all this really us? Out of context
The (Quest Vernal Falls) that's next
Disguises ((French Masquerade Ball))
Kiss me Kate show Kate plus eight

"Carnal Knowledge' beauty of things
Us or they call out to them just call
(Us) the time is precious but they need

A Yosemite mountain of solitude
All for them but don't leave us
We are the (Us) and Bed and Breakfast
(Us) no fuss and them do they stay?
Us together feminine 2- B pink flamingo
clouding ****** of heavily creamed lust
of birds, their words to always tweet and trust
And him (Artsy Truer blue) out time goes bye bye
Her seeded bread Levy rye
2 of us divineness of me guitar strumming
his words everlasting recite a play
Entering sunnyside their hips both
sideways
(Always Us) the front "Riviera Cannes"
ride
The narrowing **** skirt
seducing some point of view
Hilltop nonstopping our heart views

The emblem signs and codes
of Da Vinci solving whats lost

The  music fits like keynote
The Classical  piece Pavarotti
leadership connection of
romantic hands
How and why is it us
and not them that needs the
workmanship
2 lips kiss that's (Us) we are the
Women*ly-Divine-ship  Niagara
waterfalls but (Us) we remain vividly tall
The Meeting congrats wishing well
Manship

Love for us fire between hearts listen
The hearty bread lips really ripen
(Love Inferno) the
Islands of Sorrentino
and for them, salsa rhythms
All hums into procreation of symbols
Better spirit of love they met there rivals
As we reach the higher forces
I am here one time
But never again that's not my realism
I will always be here to see everyone again
The first creation the Holy Time meets
over again for family and (Us)

The mighty (Us) Kingdom green
grass remarkable time infinite-yum lips
to trust like the (Shabbat Shalom)
So rural riveting a focal point for them
her finger does the talking  

Remembering a time so refreshing
Stunning dressed  for him ravishing
It can disappear  just like them
Us-Striking, Perhaps them- irresistible,
And when will our time be desirable
The Statuesque Robin Risque
What makes words feel good
Like love really should
Sweetness finger cakes
The morning hike climb oral

Great lakes (Us) to be___-    them
Over and over out of line mistakes
The babies digging smiles kids sandcastles
Sensuous muscles on the limb
Tudimine meadows succumb
Cheek to cheek (Us) no time for them
Jupiter jeweled for "Us" and for them,
nerve-shaken the best  cool I tune stir
Those full  happy hours of drinks

Us ((Awaken)) coffee warms both of our hearts
Watersports the Cherub of Valentine of darts


for (Us) or them?
Why do they say blue is depressing
The ocean of sweeter nymphs
Solving Us with words "I love you"
in high legs of depth
Provative Imaginative
Her body of water
Never leaving (Us) behind
The self-esteem boost

To compliment being **** is a
the great thing for (Us)
For them what sets a great impact
Enticing someone else?
Wait what about (Us)
Being drawn to them is it always them?
The ancient times Athena Grecian far away
love the closeness tables set and lightness
Mom and Me perfect Us never the long distance
And Dad makes a smile poem plus at a glance
Like Mom sewing your dress hem spinning me
Like traveling to France I did
Is it (Them) or (Us) you decide
Heres to (Us) no fuss just a voyage and no Boss around. We are on higher Eternity of love ground our time and place mystical focal points. Do we love and honor to trust erotically flow between all of us take the trip with Us or them?
Jon Shierling Jun 2017
Maybe that was the first mistake I made
there at the very beginning.

I wanted all of it, everything I could glean
from whatever life had to offer.

Not only did I want the beauty of Hesse,
Dante, and all the glories of Old Florence,
I wanted someone like me to share it with.

I wanted to wake up in a room in Tangier
to the Muezzin calling the faithful to prayer
and have some unbelievable soul in bed with me
wipe the sleep from her eyes and kiss me.

They say that I'm a drunk and a dreamer
and they may in fact be right about that,
but they'll never know the absolute glory
that comes from pouring your bleeding guts
out onto paper at two in the morning with
Pavarotti blaring as loud as you can make him.

I'm almost thirty and I've almost given up,
almost accepted that the finer things in life
will only ever be a dream, a fleeting glimpse
into an improbable future that may cost too much.

And then I meet people like her, Artists and Lovers
that cut me in ways I didn't think I could be anymore.
I'll be doing alot of drugs with them, maybe have some
truly Protestant shaming *** with them, trying to
reach out across that ****** abyss and touch their soul.

But I'll never wake up in Tangier with them.
I'll fall asleep listening to Netflix and wondering
who gave her the scars I can feel pumping through her heart.
It'll probably fade away relatively quickly too,
that one real moment when the walls fell.

No matter, I always knew deep in my heart of hearts
that people like me don't get happy endings or to
live our dreams out unless we die for them.
We go our own way, suffering to be who we are,
creating beauty in ****** rooms with screaming
children that reek of cat **** and regrets.

But if it ever gets too much to bear, there's
always truly running, truly giving up on
having it all, walking the **** away
and being insane and drunk in Tangier alone.
meetles Mar 2015
There is no singing bird
No note from Pavarotti
That could affect my heart
The way your voice runs through me
No brilliance in heaven's skies
Could make me forget
The tenderness of your kiss
For you my love
Your are my breath
And the ground on which I stand
My sunrise
My sunset
My birth and
My death...
Leydis Jan 2018
Soy canela y soy sazón
mas no soy Dalila amor,
no me tengas miedo Sanson,
usa tu pluma como bruta fuerza
que ahí esta tu destreza,
destroza mis miedos en prosa,
hazme roció en tu boca.

No me invites y cierres la puerta,
que tempranito hay que mojar la tierra,
con la luna amaneciendo arraigamos los deseos,
fertilicemos las pasiones
devorando los granos de la cosecha,
en una pasión desmedida,
con furia se deslizan entre tintas de mil colores que relatan nuestros versos en uno que otro beso,
versando sobre el amor, al sol veremos saliendo,
amamantándonos los miedos
en la cuna de lo prohibido,
que suele ser el mismo elixir de la vida.

No tengas miedo niño travieso,
que en mis brazos hay fuego,
en mis caderas hay un túnel
con agua fresca que absuelve
cada pecado que cometas.

No tengas miedo niño travieso,
escucharemos a Piero,
un poco de Pavarotti
y con las Granadas de Placido Domingo culminaremos la noche,
con toda la espuma que provocó en tu cuerpo.

LeydisProse
1/16/2018
https://m.facebook.com/LeydisProse/
itsall iwrite Sep 2018
saving beautiful ryan living in orwell state CCTV 02.09.18

disgusting absolutely
belongs in the gutter
needs to be in confinement solitary
in mouth melted butter.
not your first porky
probably won't be your last
below the belt is very naughty
what production company will want to cast.
poor ryan is in trauma
this whole experience is grotty
certainly no nessun dorma
no ear beauty like pavarotti.
change to ryans persona
this experience needs to compensate
CBB fans be the owner
ryan winning must infiltrate.
said my peace
will poetry readers congratulate
could this end the orwell lease
ryans blessed to be living in a surveillance state.
Robert Gretczko Apr 2021
a cascade of Pavarotti high cs
the turbulence of ocean tsunamis

a casual duck quack, quack
the clacking of a nine-ball rack

a boot dropped with a thud
the splat when falling in the mud

the morning doves coo coo coo
a diamond rings ooh ooh ooh

a sudden unexpected insult
the response and inevitable tumult

the joy in a finely aged wine
a smile from whom you choose to dine

food just dropped on your pants
the casting of an unapproving glance

a lofting climb of a high flying kite
the tug you make with all your might

the hostas now dead under the snow
will surely soon blossom, that you know

your children's tinkling joy and laughter
will be your symphony in the hereafter
Velvel Ben David Apr 2020
There is a heart
beating in my chest
singing louder than Pavarotti
soaring with the high notes
There is a heart
beating in my chest
young as the day I was born
I see my young face smiling
a glow of childlike innocence
The child within my soul
lives on in every heartbeat
waiting for me to open the cage
let him free once more
There is a heart
beating in my chest
ready to set the world alight
I hope to meet him again
One day

— The End —