Best Obscure Poems
simply blither
simply obscure
obscure lingo
obscure form
form of creation
form the phrase
phrase the question
phrase for the play
play on your knees
play in the yards
yards of meter
yards of counted
counted on your fingers
counted on your toes
toes of glory
toes which dance
dance in lines
dance in time
time to form questions
time to answer
answer the phone
answer the call
call OUT
call them IN
in deed
in need
need to have structure
need to find place
place on the page
place on the stage
stage play
stage coach
coach the team
coach ride
ride the car
ride the boss
boss the writer
boss the poet
poet with style
poet who lingers
lingers on their own pain
lingers on their own voice
voice uncontrolled
voice over stated
stated a need
stated verbose
verbose Narcissists
verbose polemic
polemics
Narcissists
The obscure little poetess
Leans forward in front of her screen
Her fingers fly over the keys
As she writes up her little dreams
Each tiny key that she presses
With her butterfly touches, light
Brings to life her deepest feelings
On her computer screen so bright
She pauses for just a moment
And gazes at her pink flowers
She wonders if her words will bring
Those needed refreshing showers
She looks inside her little heart
And searches with all of her might
Trying to find the hidden words
That will make her rhyme just right
She’s lost in her own perfect world
Filled with such beauty and delight
A change from her hideous world
That is filled with demons of night
Sometimes on these same little keys
A lonely tear or two will fall
But she quickly wipes them away
As she hears her fantasies call
In this place filled with desire
She can be a princess or queen
With someone who just adores her
Who makes love to her every dream
She creates the most perfect place
Where love never dies or betrays
Where all is just goodness and light
For the sun never sets for days
She hides in this make believe land
From the cruel truths of her life
It’s where serenity abides
For there’s no horror, nor any strife
In her sweet little reverie
In her enchanted world of rhyme
She’s once more who she used to be
A blooming woman in her prime.
This is a repost of one of my earlier writes. Yes, I think I've come a long way! :)
it takes time but we are aware as thinking creatures
that eventually work their way through the benefits
of a scientific probability this and statistical that age
ads and news casts saying buy computer inventions
digital obstruction of natures analogue scale of truth
stan sand
F-elt
R-apture's
E-normous
D-elight
E-agerly
R-emains
I-n
C-heer's
K-een
J-oy
A-s
M-irthful
E-motion
S-imply
B-rings
R-emarkable
A-nd
D-ivine
L-aughter
E-asing
Y-our
M-ind
O-nce
O-bscure
R-ain
E-vaporates
Topic: Birthday of Poet Frederick James Bradley Moore II (July 07)
Form: Vertical Monocrostic
Oh, you’re cool. Deck.
With your battered copy of Naked Lunch
tucked away in your thrift-store
-satchel, it’s definitely a satchel-
that holds your cigarettes,
the ones you bummed last Wednesday,
and the extra scarf you keep with you
at all times
just in case your neck gets cold,
which it seems to often,
even though its brother is always
wrapped loosely around your neck.
That iPod in your hand
with the huge headphones
-for better acoustics-
is playing that band you like,
the one with the synth player
who can also play both
the didgeridoo and keytar
at the same time,
but I don’t think that’s the reason
that they only have five fans
or that that’s why you like them.
It’s okay,
I won’t tell your friends that
you pay your rent with a trust fund.
-Isn’t that ironic?-
I’ll keep your secret
the way you keep quoting Kerouac,
who you only know of
because of high school English class.
And no,
I won’t tell them either
that you hate the taste of coffee,
and miss eating bacon,
and actually think that tattoo
of a Palahniuk quote
-“Your heart is my piñata”-
translated into Finnish
is not as clever as it was
the first time you tried cocaine.
But don’t worry.
I won’t call you a hipster.
That way you don’t have to
pretend to hate it.
Guilty
Temptation so heavenly it's secret I hide
Between linens, other obscure places, I always lie
My heart refuses to relinquish control My pride
To hell I know I'll ride because of the secret I hide inside
I blame myself not having the willpower I’m saying goodbye
My heart yearns for fulfillment with laughter wishing not to cry
I love you, but I harming myself by keeping the lie
I will make my tears dry never letting chocolate touch my lips g r a t i f i e d
3/17/2016
Poetry Contest :It's Time To 'Fess Up -
Sponsored by: Lin Lane
Sometimes I sit on my loneliness
In a place full of quietness
and Listen as my heartbeat
to the rythm of time
And dream that one of the days
A voice trapped in my inside
Will come out as loud as thunder
To make a sudden impact
To be admired by the whole world
And free me from this
Prison of obscurity
I sit there and wonder
If really the talent I possess
Is the right weapon
To hunt for this desired success
And start to feel my confidence
Repelled by demoralizing thoughts
And feel myself a tiny star
tiny enough not to be seen
Yet I do not stop dreaming
Of one day being freed
from this prison of obscurity
The cash and carry of love
Which summer doth requisite
When will thou birth me a dove?
Soon autumn will bid for hunt- 5
To gratify winter’s drudge
Oh! Far is the sight of spring
None can pacify better
For season flies without wings
And quick does it charm scald beauty
Of whose time shall be pleaded? 10
As vaguely summer doth leave
Crow beckons with a caw
The womb that is long barren
Whom for eon is not loved
And in earth’s hate it joy is lost 15
Quick drains life off it victim
Searching for signs
Of my beloved obscure.
What could I be DREAMING OF.
A mended heart.
A painless heart.
My beloved EMERGE from
The shadows.
My heart is pained also.
Our love as one.
Our love has won.
Announce to the world
This love BEGAN
It is three am, and I wonder where you are, and why I am without you.........
Tick, tock...tick, tock...tick, tock...tick, tock...tick, tock...tick, tock...tick, tock.....
Each clock clamorously claims victory ~
Fleeting
Victory...
The sound of tires on a wet, dark highway is amplified, and I wonder how
Many of those travelers comprehend their destination and how many will
Arrive
Home
Safely...
Reality thrives not on rainbows.
It is winter, and I need to breathe ~ yes~ a scrupulous black and white.......
Austere borders...ice and rock...a conscience of the finest caliber................
Forty-seven years and my
Act
Remains
Imperfect;
Then, theatre, for me, has always been a spectator sport; although truth
Is on my side, I remain brutally beaten...
Why am I without you?
My pretty white crochet curtains surround the bleak, for your mystery makes
Me weary, and why does April taunt me so...
You reside in a stone hut, and I am a sleepwalking virgin.
gray clouds in ether
elicit voyage to soul
sparkling shine again
8-11-2016
The obscure little poetess
Leans forward in front of her screen
Her fingers fly over the keys
As she writes up her little dreams
Each tiny key that she presses
With her butterfly touches light
Brings to life her deepest feelings
On her computer screen so bright
She pauses for just a moment
And gazes at her pink flowers
She wonders if her words will bring
Those needed refreshing showers
She looks inside her little heart
And searches with all of her might
Trying to find the hidden words
That will make her lines come out right
She’s lost in her own perfect world
Filled with such beauty and delight
A change from her hideous world
That is filled with demons of night
Sometimes on these same little keys
A lonely tear or two will fall
But she quickly wipes them away
As she hears her fantasies call
In this place filled with desire
She can be a princess or queen
With someone who just adores her
Who makes love to her every dream
She creates the most perfect place
Where love never dies or betrays
Where all is just goodness and light
For the sun never sets for days
She hides in this make believe land
From the cruel truths of her life
It’s where serenity abides
For there’s no horror, no, nor strife
In her sweet little reverie
In her enchanted world of rhyme
She’s once more who she used to be
A woman blooming in her prime.
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Literature is herself a clown.
Without this coming first,
no great art is made
except glooms of ***** authors
peddling like traders of a trade.
The second needed
is the dying of the tedious
sigh,
the writer must drown in happiness
and be filled in joy.
What covers will stay
and what empties will become
an empty road stand,
no beauty or use per say.
And last,the writer needs to master
the ideas of the whirling clock,
the deep jokes in ordinary lines,
and the skills of hung
heads,swinging apart their blood;
executed for what is done,
the writer executes the book
and the book,the image stays.
assiduous ambiguous analogy
2/20/2018
Poetry Contest: A Three Word Poem
Sponsored by: Bobby May
I Climbed rocks winged with words,
and paint beauties on my path,
invade palaces unhindered,
bearing arms welling from this frame.
I draw the sword from the scabbard,
piercing dictators with a dagger,
I cut their cables by this craft,
and watched their fickle frame subdued.
I soar like eagle in my thoughts,
coruscating gleams attending,
I see nature's beauty and hear voices,
I roam in firce shades in search of jewels,
The pulse of fear or grim assails,
Yet capapie and undaunted.
I see men entrapped in a race,
oh! that they might see the filth,
and time, how short to pen,
these vague and obscure moments.
Yet, poetry catches but a few.