You are sewn to the bones
of every dress I wear
I have tailored you
to my heart
And so it is
And so it was
And so shall ever be
We celebrate a freedom
It seems shall never be
Free from what
Free for who
free to decide
who decides
the confines that we flee
we trash the house
we steal the car
go on a little spree
forgetting
there’s a price to pay
for freedom
isn’t free
I swore an oath
To keep this country free
But draw the line
when yours attempts
to take mine
from me
Dark is the night
with shadows and bleached bones
of leafless trees
Limbs frozen in time
A sculpted beauty
shroud below her thighs
Dark is the night
and so many trees
buried near the corpse flowers
Has he ever watched them bloom
or were his eyes transfixed on the shovel
Dark is the night
yet the moon shows its phases
always a sentinel of fate
never able to help the inculpable
as the black clouds devour
Dark is the night
let us remain awake and calm
knowing that our pain is a bridge to saviour
strife is an opportunity, a lesson of indulgence
reminder that peace is with the patient
hope is with the grateful
Love will dress you in silk robes and tend to your wounds with cooled aloe
Forgiveness will curl itself where your head and palms meet the earth
make way for the quiet to return
And so,
Life goes on …
Not in the way we want, but how it sees fit
Time doesn’t stop -
Just because you plead,
It doesn't care if you scream so hard you bleed,
It’s selfish, in how it ignores,
It floats by, it doesn’t pause,
It exists only for a continuum
If only ‘too late’ didn’t exist,
For the sole purpose to punish,
What once was, will be your undoing
Time has always been an enemy,
Haunting every memory
Stuck in a past unable to visit,
Like a ghost with unfinished business
No one knows what you feel,
And that is what makes the pain even more real -
It exists only as a shadow - like a conscience,
Only heard by those who feel it,
A reminder of everything we missed
Illusions trip over his glance,
its magnetic whisper—
murky man from the moon,
serenading stars.
Below our reckless journey
in speeding cars, blind and wild,
our laughter attacking midnight.
Oh, my wind-swept hair!
Aren't we dapper again,
moving with legs that couldn't embarrass us?
The grains of darkness drizzle silently
like rainbow shades melting on skyline clouds.
The silk of onyx spreads with untamed night
as moonbeams weave for us sequestered dreams,
draped with sequins we breathe amorous air.
Fresco of star-crowned sky we want to be,
framed in ardent glint of our youthful love,
night seems new enough for us to be young.
Let's dance in long, wistful loving glances.
Underneath the spell of seductive night,
On a canvas of spellbinding romance.
With cravings and thirst for flickering limbs.
Gentle, poetic touch, ardent embrace,
A soft kiss, a symphony of desire.
Nurturing intimacy and closeness
As the clear night is young, and so are we.
The night is young and so, my dear, are we.
(All right, that’s a cliché but that’s just me)
Let’s have a wild night and paint the town red.
(Oh dear, that’s another cliché I’ve said)
We’ll tour all the bars, drink whiskey galore,
Then to a night club and take to the floor.
But, of course, we won’t be doing those things.
We’ll just sit here while the nightingale sings.
I lied at the start, if the truth be told.
The night might be young, but we’re far too old.
The night is young, and so are we
Starry skies, calling you and me
Moonlight drapes a gentle, shy glow
Time stands still for whispers to flow
Your heart I hear, a happy hum
The night is young, and so are we
With mine it beats a pair of drums
In your ears I sing like a bee
Warmth of feathers rises and boils
Across the soft, salmon-smooth soil
The night is young, and so are we
Let us swim to our dreams at sea
Oh! To heaven I rise with you
Into the parting night of blue
Yet still with you I hate to flee
The night is young, and so are we
The night is young and so are we, well back
then we were, young love
hell bent to make our marks upon the world,
sadly we grew up
and grew into godforsaken rigid
rules of impressing
bosses and each other, now I just ask
can we please go back?
All seems peaceful on a normal day, cheerfulness is no disarray;
friendly neighbors greet us with a warm good morning,
we wave and smile back, wishing them well and speed away:
slow was the life of yesterday, many happy tunes to sing!
The only person in the house is Emma sewing a dress for Jenny,
she had promised it for her birthday, two locked lips on her part....
secrets are kept to oneself, it's surprises that excite and delight;
a Colbert dress that matches her eyes can make her look pretty!
Why is the house quite, the hushing wind brushes her silver hair;
granny is crocheting a blanket for her couch, the other her chair,
" Everything gets old including me, " It's her resounding lament,
" Winter comes for all, it's a sad season so ghostly and so silent! "
It’s times like these the stars feel far,
And every lamp burns cold and thin—
The world is loud, the winds unkind,
And shadows press against my skin.
I do not know the road ahead,
Nor what the morning sky will show,
The songs I loved have lost their tune,
And even time forgets to flow.
But in the hush between two breaths,
Your fingers curve and reach for mine—
A warmth that needs no reason why,
A silence deeper than a sign.
I do not ask for all to mend,
Nor hope that fate will make me wise,
I only need this fleeting thread—
Your touch beneath the troubled skies.
And in your hand, the world is kind.
Don’t know what was wrong with Aunt Jenina
Though her face bore a dull green patina
Her pancakes sure tasted good
Like buttermilk pancakes should
We rued the day she switched to farina
Poetry is the one place
where people can speak
their original human mind.
- Allen Ginsberg.
..........................
You can get lost sometimes
in the mind's obsessions,
its need for order, to gather in
what spills out
from the ruptured sides of certainty,
the comfortable surrounds
of routine -
and so you write poetry.
Then there are those moments
when all descends into panic,
when you lose control
and the world spirals inward,
winding itself up into an ever
tightening catastrophe -
and so you write poetry.
And when something
in this world or beyond
wants to speak and finds
in you an ear in which
to whisper and you
are gifted a tiny spark
of the sublime -
you write poetry.
And even when the cogs
and levers of your life click
into place and run like clockwork,
and yet leave a fear
that the ticking sound
you hear is the countdown
to a final detonation -
you write poetry.
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Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.