Best Comparable Poems
Do come, my love, for I insist!
Within the darkest crevices of time, we fight, we cry, I die
As vision gives us knowledge, we descend farther into the grime
Curiouser and curiouser, we fall in dark crevices of time
Molded by imagination’s ink, the tentacles stretch outward
Singed from top to bottom, see the glorious coals sparkle
Yes, even before their completion into diamonds never comparable,
It is the very time in between the transformation that enchants the very soul
For in this time, I see the very worst of you,
How it shines without shame, aching to be tempered,
Crushing to prevail over its creators,
The tentacles squirming in hollow defense,
Ink spreading in the dark blue waters of deepest sorrow and agony
How your beak ever pecks upon its prey,
Dashingly exquisite, its sharpness—petulant in its purpose
And I say to you, as you destroy—come, for I shall not back away
When the weapons you hold fall upon my budding flesh
Growing despite the damages you have made
Come, my love, come!
See how my wounds have me, exalt me, trust me…
Into a reality I deeply fall, forcing you upon your knees
For how I know, through your destructing ways,
That together I will always make us be
Come, my love, for I die,
Heavy in the ecstasy of grief,
See how the fairy trees dance upon woes and lift hearts like plucked flowers
How demons with tempting eyes move as squealing moths crawl toward our fires
Wishing the burn of the coals, yet never touching such change
How the light floods through and through, to every dark corner and fissure
Licking the bonding surfaces with perfumed oils crackling
The black tentacles scatter outwards, forming a wall around the growing blaze
My eyes close—from those very eyes you came
Descending to ascend, my love you crave
Trusting the time I have tamed in last feat,
You rise into the everlasting restoration of our name
Note: Norwegians are proud of many things, but above all, they are endlessly proud of Sissel Kyrkjebø, the Voice of Norway! International singer.
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I live in a deserted chapel,
Buffeted and corroded by harsh winds,
And yet to me it is a godsend haven
Away from hazards of fellow men.
Dry from incessant downpours
But cold and damp and forlorn,
I rest in a forsaken sheltered corner,
As my thoughts linger on you.
For I can never forget you
Though you prefer me no more.
Instinctively I rise from my sad corner
Hobble towards the broken altar,
There I light a candle small
In loving memory of you.
Its feeble light shines wanly
A lonely shadow it throws
Down to the depth of my isolated soul,
A little faint flame of hope.
Soon a turbulent wind violently
Blows its way across the plain.
Like a horde of evil demons
Sweeping all that's in its way,
The candlelight is snuffed off
At least for this desolate night.
Is love so fickle that
It can be stifled so quickly?
Is love so petty and trivial
That it's comparable to a candle wick?
But such a light can be renewed,
The wax ignites into life once more.
So let the gusty winds blow
For I know deep within me,
My love will never be stifled
That I should lose all hope.
let me pause
slow down a minute
and look inward
to adjust my lens
there’s more to life than
operating in react mode
let me pause to ask
the real question
the why is so much more
revealing than the what
let me break the cycle
and if need be, like a rookie
put training wheels back on my bike
refuse to live on automatic pilot
I’m more than the sum of my parts
similar to the iceberg with
most of me under my surface
always more to me that meets the eye
I am more than an organism
with likes and dislikes
more than a machine
with on and off switches
I’m comparable to
a complex equalizer
filtering and remastering
random captured signals
I’m the maestro of my life
creator of my realm
master of my domain
I am simply more
I am so much more
all for asking the real question
the why is always so much more
revealing than the what
Read on air by invitation ~ June 2, 2021 'WORDS & MUSIC'
AP: 1st place 2021
Submitted on June 3, 2021 for contest ALL YOURS (JUN 5) sponsored by BRIAN STRAND - RANKED 1ST
You suppress sexual feelings
you've hidden deep within your heart.
And yet, you dream of fantasies
where lust plays an integral part.
Lust and love tend to commingle,
often blending in silhouette.
And though they're opposing shadows,
only one's: immune to regret.
Though both can fill hearts with desire;
lust is not love: it has no twin.
And yet lust mimics love so well
that you can't be sure: which will win.
When smoldering embers ignite,
you indulge in sexual thoughts.
And if it's sex you're pining for,
lust is likely calling the shots.
Love imbues legitimacy
to emotions aroused by lust.
And though they seem comparable,
only love is tethered to trust.
Was strolling down on Lover's Lane
With you lingering next to me.
Aphasiacs told me your name,
My love forever: Irony.
Your eyes of polished solar hue,
Comparable to no degree...
And I would venerate them too
My love, if I could only see.
You love the seasons with acclaim,
Adore the sight of all the trees.
But then of course, it starts to rain
An acid that erodes the leaves.
But I confirm my love will last;
You may possess me endlessly.
My passion, never will it pass
Away, or go missing from me.
Despite my greatest efforts though,
There is one thing I cannot change.
It is your name, my deer, my doe.
The irony of love, so strange.
My love for you has now been slain.
As I was strolling down I slowed,
The sign that once said "Lover’s Lane",
Actually reads "Memory Road".
...love is comparable to a waterfall.
Forever running; never a drought.
Love is true, pure, and natural:
Up-springing life, over and over:
Filled to the brim of the bank,
Everlastingly at it.
Love continuously flows
From one temple to another:
Heart to heart.
Love is...
Before I start I just want to say that I will always love you Baby..
I am letting you go, so go you are free
Free to learn that you were meant for me,
The pain and misery of our history,
Shall never flee from inside of me,
I deserve better than this,
You know I do,
But all I've ever wanted
Was what I deserve,
To come from you,
Dating is preparing,
Preparing to give all,
I gave you everything,
A mistake that led to our downfall,
I did it anyway,
Because I want you forever,
But you are my first relationship,
And I didn't know any better,
If only you knew exactly how I feel,
You would not be so upset,
That I need time for my heart to heal,
You've done me wrong so many times,
Which are comparable to murder,
But as relationship crimes,
I know we both never wanted this,
We sprinted off the start,
Racing towards infinite bliss,
Only to run out of breath,
And slowly move apart,
And lose eachother in innocent mist.
So when you come back,
You will be yourself once more,
Not who you are now,
But that innocent girl from before,
And since you have a tolerance to,
The greatest part of me given to you,
I will be come an even better man,
So when I learn how to give again,
I will be ready to take your hand...
By Janetta's Grandson.
A poem on a downhill relationship of me and my first relationship. I was getting
treated
badly because I became obsessive after a hard time in my life and she took
advantage of
it. So I postponed our future and let her go so she can see what she is doing
and go back
to the girl she used to be, in the meantime I'm going to focus on getting back on
my feet
again.
Still breathing lilacs in a lustrous trance. (Ink Empress)
Solitary flower loosely clustered kissed by the morning sun
you are the flower of the hour comparable next to none
Dreamtime beauty with a hint of lavender and subtle pink
you stand out among the others like an Empress made of Ink
Your mystic whisper is a murmur to my ear that says I'm here
you are a revelation, God's special jewel, a bright lit chandelier
Still breathing lilacs in a lustrous trance you give yourself away
as you wave your beauty around I can only whisper, " Stay"
To the lilac bush that thrives on the Holy Land that I adore,
I say "live and breathe for me" and let me hear you roar !
Her Round Light
Why do lovers write
of moon,
of sun,
of stars?
Or fireflies
kept in jars?
Is a woman comparable
with light?
Can she,
will she
Illuminate
the night?
Can grace,
can beauty,
be combined with might?
The answer friend
I say is yes.
With mind,
with fingers
I caress.
I want her more,
never less.
Hand to heart
forever pressed.
Yes my love for her
I enthusiastically confess.
The colours of planets
combined with her scent.
Her light like a halo
roundly bent.
The sea,
the sun,
the moon
and stars,
are all witnesses
that grace is heaven sent.
Not a single person is happy on earth
Still we praise God for his bountiful love and worth
If God were all powerful as everyone affirms
Why doesn't he end all our problems and confirms
So many die of hunger, so many unwell
Every one suffering, for many life is a hell
If he were a true father, he should find this unbearable
With true love his actions are no way comparable
Scriptures state we suffer for our sins
Because God gave us free will we sin
When we sin he watches without stopping us
Either he lacks power or doesn't care about us
God is heartless and merciless of all
Every sin we do punishment does befall
Sinners he will never acquit
No one can sin and get away with it
What I feel I am telling you
God is as helpless as me and you
If not helpless at least moody for sure
Not all you ask you will get I am sure
I feel God is neither bad nor good
He is a mere spectator doing what he should
He is doing it all maybe for livelihood
His role is definitely misunderstood
23.03.2021
Submitted to :
Contest Name : It only seems that way
Sponsor : Kai Michael Neumann
Once, a girl in my tip-top prime was I,
not much sleep needed after a lullaby-
contoured figure with toned legs and buns,
gym at 6am just to show off my guns.
Now morns are as rough as a sty in my eye.
Rising early can be so unbearable,
but back then it wasn’t so terrible-
I’d leap with a pep in my step with a tune
in my head awaiting my nap at noon.
Now that alarm I hear is not comparable!
“OUCH! IT HURTS!” that buzzing sound.
The unrelenting noise does astound
me when I try my best to get up early morn,
eyes water and my forlorn body worn.
No time for laundry when your bed bound.
In the summer I awake at almost one,
demanding nights, so much to get done!
I used to be able to sleep much less,
now darkness in the morn does cause stress-
I can’t stand rising earlier than the sun!
for contest COLLABORATION sponsored by Line Gauthier
August 10, 2019
For those who qualify for this costly trip,
permits will be given for travel to the moon.
Friends, family, or lovers may apply as a unit
for this one and only “out-of-the-world” experience
lasting no more than one week.
Since the moon has already been colonized
by the greatest of our world’s minds,
moon vacations are comparable to
educational fun field trips where folks
will view mankind’s unique adjustment to moon life.
To qualify, people must pass a test
involving simulation of space travel.
Both adults and children must also pass a test
determining their ability to cope with the experience.
Those with criminal records need not apply.
Having qualified, my husband and I enter daily
free lotteries within our designated small region.
With a chance of one out of a thousand each day,
we figure we will get our trip before we die.
We can’t wait to view earth from the moon!
There was a time in the beginning
When everytime that I saw you
I pined
I yearned
Every breath I took, I took for you
Then we hit what I would call
The frustration stage of marriage.
Please don't think that I don't love you,
And please don't get me wrong
If we make it through this rough patch
It will make us both very strong
We hit stage three
Which is just basic confusion
Which way do I go
Which way do I turn
Do I stay and guess what is going to happen;
Or do I turn around and run away?
At stage four, we have now become way too routine,
Everything we do,
Everywhere we go.
I can now tell you when, where and for how long,
The same types of movies,
The same restaurants around town,
Week after week after week.
There has to be something that we can do;
To break this aweful streak.
At stage five, it becomes personal,
Almost comparable with the five stages of death.
You would then call this stage acceptance,
Which is why I will keep my word and make my stance.
My mistress muse
With the simple daily routine there mingles some fire,
a sensuous voluptuous sort of a desire.
A temptress of untouchable allure is in my mind,
a voluptuous sensuous sort of kind.
She teases me with smiling allure and gives me that look,
I feel mostly very gobbledygook.
I should find some comparable understanding,
but she is in a pleasing way very commanding.
Compelling my imagination very much,
with this promising dreaming touch.
Never losing her gesture and pose,
especially when the moon is in full repose.
My cogitation about her is an endless amaze,
she seem to take this as loving appraise.
Often she seduces me just before sleep,
taken those frantic motion deep into my dream to reap.
the voice of my muse is very critical,
take whatever she says biblical.
Sometimes I cannot take my troubled mind, here or there,
finding the only refuge with her, I swear.
Inured sometimes by this delicate beautiful fantasy,
that I wonder about my insanity.
Some hours more deeply then other hours before,
other times, I have to socialize to see her no more.
The shrink told me it’s a schizophrenic marriage,
and the psychic said it is a divine message.
But I give my intuition some gratitude,
then it gives my writing far more altitude.
Yes, I miss the healing touch of a female caressing,
it comes with more, then just that blessing.
O loving muse existence, you loosing eye lure,
the love in the dream maker maze is another wondering shore.
Comparable to the lonely ache, fading, when a tear stings my eye.
Grasping the silence, the way glittering stars meet the night.
Stirring the flames of reconciliation with laughter and excitement.
Rejoicing in the soothing way a heart reflects generosity.
Bringing life to the echo, washing away the past with cool raindrops.
Playing the music that flows through the soul, erasing the darkness.
Sounds of peace mastering the grace that breathes in the quiet.
Blessings of light awakening the moments when sun warms the spirit.
Whispers and sighs, tracing lips the way a lingering kiss bids its muse.
Poetry flows, like rivers of love, when the spirit just knows exact words.