Best On Paper Poems
Note : This poem is inspired by the artwork and we chose to focus on it from a mental health perspective and how inner demons can play a significant role in relationships as well as considering siren myth and legend.
I am the eclipsed dawn,
swathed in searing blooms,
hemorrhaging the heat of restless smoke
into perfumed thorns
and sighing thistles ~
whilst aching to be loved
beyond the damage I cast,
like the queen of darkness,
dancing with demons.
Let your exhaustion cascade into me,
all being healed between this madness and rest.
Incessant pull caresses insistent longing;
collapse and captivation fuse to desire.
Flesh and energy intoxicate these bodies
in the time before hunger evaporates.
Death charges on
as you follow me into the stillness.
And what if the first spark of stars
hardened our night into a kingdom
of ice and frost,
of hurt and hollowness ~
would we not remain infatuated lovers,
pouring poison into
the grass that breathes
in chronic colors of this doomed devotion?
Without surrender, we sing in silence,
yet our swooned hearts remain drowsy from swirling strings,
twisting and turning on a surface seared severely by the sun.
What better way to fill the air with the fragrance of our thirst?
Let us fade into the dim fog
as we cosmically flourish ~
a forest of lustrous chaos, unseen, unbound.
Hold me in a cluster of all your stars,
the delicate ones you’ve laminated and fear might scar.
I’ll cradle them in the softest scarves ~
but even roses carry thorns all the way down their stems.
Here i sit on the loveseat
Which is my writing place
Slash and the computer
I sit in stillness and ponder
Which seems like long hours
Wondering what poetry form
I will create next yet
No idea comes to mind
So I sleep on it all night
The Ghost writer speaks
She gives me a title
On paper i write
By my night table
Then I sleep again
Pondering my thoughts
So with the pen and paper
The pen wrote these words
A poem created
Ready for submit
On the coumputer
Seasons have more reasons
to celebrate an innovative artist
who speaks in colorful dialects—
when abstract silence kicks in
and suffocates the petals dried
and left as bookmarks
within pages of the past.
I see the opalescent rays burst through
the ashen skies the day
the ink of your soul did flow
in fluorescent hues
across the faceless canvas of life.
You knew the synonymous metaphors
to calm rivers of raging riddles.
Your spirit is like
a supernova colliding in the night,
shining forth with lyrical light.
Words fail to glamorize how
you beautify my world.
You paint with brushstrokes of sincerity,
illuminating the void of vulnerability,
effortlessly curating compassion
with pristine pigments of empathy.
Today and always, I celebrate
the tulip stars that shimmer,
aligning constellations in favor,
to guide you to a poetic sphere
where thoughts splattered
in charcoal and gray
would flicker hope and peace
upon your aesthetic aura,
as time and space cannot steal
the lioness psyche which glows
like periwinkle confetti.
I thank the Universe for your
ethereal existence.
You turn the gloominess of midnights
into rainbow-rinsed radiance,
awakening the sleeping sun
to ascend and unravel
acrylic beams of blissfulness.
throws herself on paper
reveals heart to strangers
throws herself on paper
identity unrevealed
throws herself on paper
fearless, bold, sensual
throws herself on paper
poet persona unknown to others
unbelievable to those who know her.
I have a propensity to write my feelings on paper.
My voice is silent orally.
My feelings locked down
When they are not oozing out of my eyes and cheeks.
I like to think they are put away safely in a
Velvet lined jewel-encrusted crypt, but they are not.
So I let them out onto a blank page with blue lines
And a pink stripe running down the side to show
Me where to start and stop which makes me laugh.
For I am always writing around the corners of a page
Over and under all the lines. I have a propensity to do that too.
I have an inkling that my feelings will be safer on
Paper, than down deep in that velvet crypt, for
Releasing them releases me.
And they don’t stay down long anyway,
Oozing out of my eyes and cheeks
Even when I am silent.
urgh! bleh! School is not
any fun whatsoever.
Homework calls to me.
Hoping everyday there will be a vicissitude in your thinking.
Irritation and repose.
Waiting.
For a text, a call, reticence.
White space on paper.
Empty.
I drank your wine.
I reveled in your game.
Laid nude and bent over your couch while you created rudiment on the floor beside my foot.
Vessel.
Held my breath, eyes shut while you finished yourself.
Watched you cook steak on the grill.
Men get hungry or sleep, you were hungry and I have told you;
I don’t eat red meat.
You tell me to retire myself from cooking because our duties are equalized though our genders are not.
I ate the steak.
Copious house, sizeable paycheck, exiguous man.
Microbic consort.
Missed appointments.
“You should have reminded me….” you say
But I know anything important is worth remembering or writing down.
I am sullen.
In life I am compensated to remind men of various appointments.
“Could you jot this down…….remind me on this date….”
Though it’s not my berth, my disposition to succor puts me in this bearing, and in my own dash, I don’t find gravity to prompt a man that we have a reservation once every few weeks outside his couch.
I won't ask again for what I demand in whole; time, allotment, an epoch.
Time spent unbent over leather couches in precarious manners, minds soused with wine.
I am letting you go.
I am detestable, inconsequential.
You are pulchritudinous and astute.
White space on paper.
Someone is waiting to write me a poem.
On Paper
Marching through time
Losing track of it all
How fast time flies
When you’re feeling good
Having fun without a care
Now all of your concern is real
Running scared of situations in your life
And your feelings
You don’t know what to do with yourself
You are never alone
The chance to sit
And think your thoughts on paper
Before you lose your mind
Or the idea inside your head
I have got to get it out,
Get it down on paper for myself
Here I go again,
Fighting to find the time
Ignoring certain situations
In order to rhyme these words
Stories, bits and pieces of my life
I have locked away
Saved for a rainy day
When you can’t find the feeling
And you are looking on paper for solutions
It was only ink on paper, but I couldn't let it go,
It was many years of mem'ries as I read and cried alone,
Only words upon the paper, only marks upon the page,
How it all would end was really hard to gauge.
I read ev'ry letter slowly from a girl so long ago,
And emotions welled inside me for I wanted her to know,
That my love was strong as ever since the day we first had met,
If it's reached the top, I haven't seen it yet.
She used words of great endearment, many words so very sweet,
And the way that I was feeling made my world seem so complete,
She was once a far off stranger who was showing me her love,
But I see her now as blessings from above.
Many years are in the pages, many mem'ries sad and good,
But I cherish each and ev'ry, for it ended as it should,
Now she lives right here beside me, so her presence I won't miss,
And we seal each precious moment with a kiss.
You squeal on clarinet
I scratch on violin
Difference between us
Is paper thin?
In Plato’s cave
I crave your flesh
Your shadow is all
Desire can save.
You squeal you say
To me music play
I scratch all day
To you I pray
These words we change
Inked art to begin
Inscribe loves mind
On my paper thin.
Paper
Plus a pen
The page shows words,
In which feelings rise up
and shine.
My heart on paper.
Zak I'm giving you my heart; all in black and white, with paper and words.
Because I cannot pull out a beating heart; otherwise I would.
Words cannot explain how I really felt when I finally got to see you.
You looked so real; your blue eyes staring into my soul as I'm looking in to them, and feeling so thankful.
Staring into those amazing, loving eyes; I couldn't look away, you had me mesmerized.
When I see you looking at me; I see so much more; I see our future, that I'm the only girl you adore.
I see that you love me, that you couldn't be more sure; I see your heart, so innocent and pure.
Most of all; I see the want and need in your eyes; you want to touch and hold me.
I can't wait to fall asleep in your arms; safe and sound, where no one can harm me.
I long for our first kiss; I know our first night will be complete bliss.
These words you read are my heart on paper, and the one you love is the creator.
~Sammie~
© SamanthaFryzel 2012
I Write As Of Old, On Paper In Ink
After reading poems, I get started
I write as of old, on paper in ink.
Hours pass, before pen and I are parted
olden ways used, give greater depths to think!
After reading fine verse, this heart then speaks
on things that just may give, some sweet relief.
Wheel sooner gets its oil, louder it squeaks
scribe true and often, is my firm belief.
After writing poems, soul finds comfort
in strangest way, very hard to describe.
Tis sweet pleasure, giving my best effort
gift is in your reading, no need to bribe!
New poems read, both happy and some sad
caused this poem, be it good or it bad.
Robert J. Lindley, 1-19-2017
Sonnet
Syllables Per Line: 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10
Total # Syllables: 140
Total # Words: 110
Determination defies all odds that any gambler sets
In the end, 'talent will out' ~ sure to lose the bet
Cost cutting beans
Recipe for poor planning
Unrefined refried
By Robb A. Kopp