Poetry / Poems

It’s more than butterflies in the pits of my belly
I may have a bat
hurling around in there.

I am MORE than in love with you.

I am the moth dancing around the fire,
scalding myself repetitively as I enjoy every flicker of flame .

It isn’t rational that you have the force of a jet plane,
taking me high enough that it feels like we might reach the moon,
but always
with the potential to thunder to the floor,
shatter me into pieces of mercury,
separating and rushing in different directions
Until I’m torn up,
like sheets of unwanted poetry.

I don’t no who I am anymore.

You frighten me.
Your latent has me on the brink of dread,
If only I was sane enough to stay away,
Instead I’m the girl from the psychiatric ward who
doesn’t know how to take care of herself.
They say insanity is doing the same thing repeatedly
expecting a different result,
and here I am again.

I’ve been telling myself that you don’t matter,
when really you are as essential to me as breathing,
without the air you bring
I would deflate,
I hope this time you haven’t brought me back to life
Just to enjoy killing me all over again.
 
Already here...
for M

When we meet again I won't be disappointed.

rousing with you're arms around me
Will be flesh, and bone,
heart and soul…
setting together like jelly, a mass of solid,
waiting to be pulped,
consumed,
till I am left alone
vomiting up rainbows,
Just like before,
maybe this time without the tears.

I want to get laid
I tell you this often
Its not that I'm deprived of sex
Just you…

I get migraines, I feel pain
like my brain is rotting in my head, it will
become a corpse and the rest of me will live on
like some kind of android.
I've besieged myself in memories so often
its using up my thoughts
until I run out and I can't think anymore.

I'm leaking
left-over words.
They slope down reddened cheeks,
splatter ignorant over yet another
unwanted poem.

I am perpetually writing.
like a thing possessed, re-wording history
like I might somehow reform my shattered heart,
Weld it back together,
so I may choose to hand it back,

It doesn't matter anymore
I'm already here…

Water Baloon
For R


When you tell me that you love me,
I won't believe you.

My fingers will toy frantic with buttons,
hair or anything else I can find to fidget and distract me
from the uncomfortable urge to climb inside your head.

I won't look you in the eye
because my belly is distorting into stiff knots
like every drop of blood
is being ringed out
my guts are black charcoal,
dried out with the heat.

My need for reassurance is
insistently squirming,
twitching like a diseased rabbit,
tripping over half formed words,
that I am too afraid to speak.

I had almost learned not to love you
until you took those words from my mouth
and spat them back in my face.

I keep searching you're eyes
Like I might find some blackness that will validate
my nightmares of you stamping on my stomach.
It's in my guts I feel it the most, the hellish agony of love
My heart like a water balloon
spilling graceless all over us,

I'm breathing in you're air and its killing me.
 
My poems dont compare to the ones ive read on here but I shouldnt be comparing. Beautiful writing on here. You guys are talented! Here are two of mine. I am going to share with you some of my slightly happier poems. I only have a handful. Most of my poems are dark and sad.

A fluttering of wings
in every drum beat.
you are blue. lips sharing
kisses with pinks and greens
and the jam-master bunnies
on their LSD beats, keep
jammin their burning man
be-bop like a blitzkrieg
of rose-petal red
and glittering gold,
rock-tronic reggaeton

Spinning in circles.
I am in love.
with the synesthesic
dance of colors, that drip
off me in teardrops.
In reds and golds
and pinks and greens
of blue kisses and
funkalicious drum-beat wings.
---------------

Once I felt like I was a part of something.
Standing among the girls and boys
with their glow-in-the-dark eyes
Filled with both youth and lust.
Breathing fire like it was oxygen
Dancing like gods and goddesses
They made everything they touched beautiful.
I knew not of their hopes or sorrows
They were not dancing for me.
Still, for once, I did not feel so alone.

There was something about the eyes.
Was it the mermaid-blue currents
that seemed to swirl inside them?
That were both peacful and terrifying.

Did he know, how dangerous they were?
Did he use them to seduce the girls with empty ones?
I know what it's like, he said I used to be like you;
lost, frightened and alone.

I didnt dare look him in the eyes then,
fearing that they were his secret weapon
Reminding myself that I am not like the other girls
I knew his secrets and I believed them.
 
dragons remain hidden
in the snap dragons

honey in the honeysuckle
the sun in the sunflower

the white chickens in the
white chickens

the allusions in the
illusions

allen ginsberg
is lost in the grocery store

he's still an angel
dreaming

america! america is lost in
america!

david byrne, living, is lost
in democracy

beside the white
leonard cohen
hallelujah

the map is lost in the territory
the territory is lost on the map

euell gibbons
is swallowing e. e. cummings

whole is the night
holy is the birthday

any day is a birth day --
to begin anew

and so to live

Brilliant, River. This is yours, yes?
 
[Poem] Soft Touches

Soft moments,
Soft wonder,
Soft pressing at your mind.

Do you ever wonder if I'm real,
Ever think of if I'm yours?

Soft whispers,
Soft answers,
Soft knocking at your heart.

Do you still believe in my love,
Like I believe in yours?

Soft motions,
Soft touches,
Soft tickles of the hand.

Do you feel my understanding,
In the stroking that I lay?

Soft kisses,
Soft touches,
Softness stay with me.

Do the thing that come to you,
Natural or vain.

Soft echos,
Soft touchs,
Soft moments you recall.

Do you still recall that second,
That joy the way I do?
 
Wow Erosa, this is beautiful. I really like the structure of the poem, and it reads really nicely. I of course can relate to its content as well, that wondering if someone else is cherishing that moment you hold so dear, or if they will remember it later. Beautiful. thanks for sharing!
 
for my lady love

To my lovely,

I know her face and smile
I know her voice and laughter
But now I want to know more
To feel her body in rapture

To touch her lips with mine
Imagining they taste sweeter than wine
Thinking of touching her soft skin
Not knowing for sure where to begin

For now, thoughts run wild
As I listen to her talking sweetly
Would the passion be hot or mild?
Imagining her touch completely

Is the now the time to act?
Would that be to forward? to open?
I try to guess how she'd react To a kiss, or maybe some gropin'
I'll think on this for now And wait to see what comes
Wondering mostly of how And her cute little 'bum!
 
for my Master dripping with BDSM themes/thoughts so might not be to everyones liking


his eyes start a fire
his touch is the flame
when he moves closer
my body calls his name

more then his touch,
his punshment she needs
happy to give in to him
whenever he would please

on her knees before him
is her one true place
bowing to his whim to see
the smile upon his face

long it has been since he
has punished her enough
she longs to feel the pain
to feel him being rough

the spark is in his eyes
iniviting her inside
only thrills he brings her
as she kneels low at his side

to be his once again would
make her feel complete
bringing her such joy
down besdie his feet

low she sits though they
both know that she need only say
one word to let him know
it is time to stop this play

just as she knows one word
from him and it all begins
her falling to her knees
she is very disciplined

him taking all he wishes
wherever, whatever and however
she is only to please him
denying him never

her body longs to feel him
marking her as his alone
bending her, breaking her
taking her for his very own

to him she will submit
his every whim she does fill
happy to please him however
at mercy to his very will

to her it brings only pleasure
no matter the marks he makes
bringing her such orgasmic bliss
willingly givign all he takes

time after time, she takes her place
ready to be everything he desires
trying to meet each request and demand
wanting to be the one he requires

bowing down low before him
is where she spends her time
loving every second with him
for her it is purely sublime
 
Bet you can guess where I wrote this one. Love that there are writers here. I dig that stuff! This might give my identity away to one on the boards but it's cool, he knows who I am.

Tell the Captain, We're Going Down May 4th, 2009

The rain had eeked it's way through the cracks of the ceiling
on the 5:18 MTA bus.
A drop of rain performed a half-gainer onto my forehead.
A wake up call sent to me by the weather spirit.
It reminded me of those anti-drug commercials from the 90's;

"This is your brain on drugs"

Except the reverberating chorus echoing through my skull
and through the dreary bus
as the sky sobbed the remainder of winter
down the rounded roof, through the insulation
along the ridges of the ceiling,
falling at a water torturers rhythm
first to the crown of my head,
then in slow motion, as I stared cross-eyed
at where I though the source of my discomfort was erupting..

"This is your brain on denial"

I looked at the four young mothers holding small children,
having just exited the rain,
the recovering drunk, who hasn't actually recovered,
who slams a pint of spirits every night to "sleep."
I saw them smiling and cooing at the babies.
But, the worried distant gaze that peered through the children in their parents arms, told a different story.
It was as if the sky was falling
and pulling
the weight of today's flying pig flu and looming economic collapse
onto this dreary road ship
that had just sprung a leak.
 
This is kind of one of my older works.
Mostly I went through this depressive stage after my grandfather died and mostly at this point in my life is when I started going through a metamorphism into who I am today.

DRY BLOOD
Crimson rain pours down on souls.
The life is taken without question.
Where does that leave us?
We will walk through the valley of death
and party as the flames of hell licks our feet.
Crimson sorrow places a kiss on the cold cheek of death.
Hand in hand they slowly dance to the sound of screaming hatred.
The floor is covered in vengful blood.
As the song ends, the true fear is seen as sorrow dances the game of love.
 
Invictus
by William Ernest Henley

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.
 
Like a Volcano

Like a Volcano

Internal gurgling of emotions bubble from within…
Bursting out and frothing forth from the smallest sting,
Like a volcano
Hotter than fire, burning the hearts of those we know and love
Oozing into the cracks of their empty places
Like a volcano
Complacency, settles and cools within, hardening
Causing festering and pain. Weakness is really what it is
Like a volcano
We become, layers upon layers of hard molten rock
Hiding, covering, protecting and locking the place
That love and forgiveness reside
Like a volcano
And so the cycle goes…
Why must it be, that we hurt those we love the most?
 
This is one of my favorites, by a poet and professor who taught me a lot about inspiration.


To Dorothy
by Marvin Bell

You are not beautiful, exactly.
You are beautiful, inexactly.
You let a weed grow by the mulberry
And a mulberry grow by the house.
So close, in the personal quiet
Of a windy night, it brushes the wall
And sweeps away the day till we sleep.

A child said it, and it seemed true:
"Things that are lost are all equal."
But it isn't true. If I lost you,
The air wouldn't move, nor the tree grow.
Someone would pull the weed, my flower.
The quiet wouldn't be yours. If I lost you,
I'd have to ask the grass to let me sleep.
 
The Fire Dance

The Fire Dance
by: Idealist

By surprise I was taken into his world.
He is open and loving and wearing no cover.
I have waited to see him.
There is no one like him.
He wants me to dance the fire dance with him.
An inner divine orchestra starts playing the music.
The dance has begun, I am swept away by it.
Fear approaches but fails to grip me.
Because the movement is gentle and the love is larger.
It's a Divine experience and I'm grateful to have it.
As I go within to understand the meaning,
A moment of Timelessness is what I am given.
This Now Moment encompasses past, present and future.
As I dance in the fire with him, I know I have found it.
 
the travelled heart

i found a set of three little books
by a poet named James Stephen Cathcart

titled the travelled heart

i would like to share one or two of the poems with you
as it touched me so


and anyone who loves with a passion will know its meaning

please enjoy


I miss you
Now that you
Are gone from my side.

You are my companion:
This i cannot hide.
You are my friend,
My Love,
Everything I've dreamed of.
We seem to see the world
through the same eyes:
but ,as I write ,
As the words unfurl
before my eyes,
I realize the selfishness
of my love....

If i care about you,
it is because i want you to care about me.
if I try to understand you and know you,
it is because I want you to understand me
And know me ....

If I am interested
In all the little things about you,
every action,
every little part of your person
It is only because
I want you to take a close look at me,
To know me as i really am
And then, hopefully , accept what I am.

You see, I have to be me:
And I want you to be you.

If I love you with all my soul,
It is because I want to be loved that deeply.
If my touch is gentle ,
My words soft,
It is because I want these in return.
If I am your friend
and want to know your joys and sorrows,
The ups and downs of life,
It is only because I want
to share my joys and sorrows.
If I am happy just to hear your voice
or to hear of your dreams and plans,
It is because I want to tell of my dreams and plans.


If I am selfish and want these,
It is only because
I want you to be selfish
And take these from me.

----------------------


We were lovers once.
But time has changed all that.
I know you won't ask me why.

We don't speak to each other,

Remember.

 
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Wow spodder! What a treasure you have found! I can very much appreciate and connect with this... save for the ending... thank you for sharing with us!
 
Joycean poem

At That Hour
by James Joyce

At that hour when all things have repose,
O lonely watcher of the skies,
Do you hear the night wind and the sighs
Of harps playing unto Love to unclose
The pale gates of sunrise?

When all things repose, do you alone
Awake to hear the sweet harps play
To Love before him on his way,
And the night wind answering in antiphon
Till night is overgone?

Play on, invisible harps, unto Love,
Whose way in heaven is aglow
At that hour when soft lights come and go,
Soft sweet music in the air above
And in the earth below.
 
Love

by Czeslaw Milosz

Love means to learn to look at yourself
The way one looks at distant things
For you are only one thing among many.
And whoever sees that way heals his heart,
Without knowing it, from various ills—
A bird and a tree say to him: Friend.

Then he wants to use himself and things
So that they stand in the glow of ripeness.
It doesn’t matter whether he knows what he serves:
Who serves best doesn’t always understand.

LOVE this one! Started reading Milosz after I saw the movie Under the Tuscan Sun.
 
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