Best Spill Out Poems
Sometimes words just aren't enough
to capture all of the magic that surrounds
the spill of the rainbow after a good storm
the twinkles that resound from a caring eye
the lick of the lips before that first kiss
resplendent, sumptuous, beheld
my mind wanders the forest that is me
searching for what now remains
the faults and the fissures
the fallen, and the free
the leaves fall one by one
opulent amber hues abound
ne'er is there a sound
no words but the beauty still exists
there's a rustle in the air
the bark begins to bleed
will the words spill out and breathe
I hesitate,
a chestnut gallops by
smiles and winks her eye
the words now come
flowing with matchless grace
stunning, wondrous, sweet
adorning a remarkable face
written by Michael & The Mysterious Lady of Soup
Michael
The walls are tall but I know your there.
I hear your voice and the thoughs we share.
So close but can't touch your hand,
all I could do is spill out my words and let my pencil land.
Lady of Soup
I can feel your heartbeat beyond these walls,
one tear drop and my pencil falls.
The image of you vibrates my desired needs,
every thought about you inside me exceeds.
Michael
I press my palm on the door,
just to feel your hand makes me want you more.
My chest is beating to your song of desire.
To be inside your body and feel your waves of fire.
Lady of Soup
I take a deep breath to feel your essence here.
In my mind, the image of becomes so clear.
I can not calm a single thought about you.
I place my hands on my chest in hopes you get through.
Michael
Soon this door will open , and all shall be revealed.
So many things to be said, will start with kisses sealed.
To see you standing in your beauty and appeal
I have to have you as our passion will steal
Lady of Soup
The time has come for us to be in each others arms
before you opened the door, you had me with your charms.
Lets throw these notes away, and feel the desire for each other.
Lets keep this a secret between us, my dear poet and sexy lover..
“Support your local poet please”
Said the man with hand out and down on one knee
I’m down on my luck
And for only a buck
My humble verses will put you at ease
Whatever your pleasure
Whatever your mood
A simple rhyme is sure to soothe
Perhaps a Sonnet or Ballad will do
Or maybe a Limerick for a laugh or two
How about a Couplet or a fine Crystalline
Or is a simple Haiku more your scene?
I’ll sing you a Lyric if you have the time
Or spill out an Ode as sweet as wine
I’m a simple man’s poet
Just trying to get by
So hearken your ear and I’ll tell you no lies
I am what I am no less no more
The words of this soul are an open door
For my tongue is richly blessed though some think me poor
I assure you my friend this isn’t a scheme
Just give me a listen you’ll see what I mean
For words can be such a valuable thing
When they make one think… “perchance to dream”
- This write prompted by the above sticker. I received it from some fellow poets while attending an open poetry night at a coffee house in downtown Flint, Michigan several years ago. It now proudly adorns my guitar case. :)
Come by the Sword, Die by the Sword
They stood in ranks a thousand long
High upon the hill
The Roman legion, fierce and strong
With sword and lance and bill
The Briton hoards below them stare
With wild fanatic eyes
They jeer the foe and beg them dare
With anger and despise
Come and fight you cowardly foe
Come and meet your fate
We’ll cut you down, row by row
Send you to heavens gate
With scoff and scorn the Romans yawn
What empty threats you speak
We’ll rip you limb from limb this morn
You’re scrawny, thin and weak
Down below, laughter roars
Your bellies, we will slice
We’ll lay you dead, in your scores
Come prove your men not mice
We will arrive and make you pay
For indolence and taunt
You will eat every word you say
When they come back to haunt
It’s easy up on high to gloat
But everybody knows
It’s our intent to cut each throat
And leave you for the crows
But when we make our move towards
There’ll be no shy nor rests
We’ll plunge our sharp and bloody swords
Deep in those ragbag chests
Think of your girlfriends, mothers, wives
For them there’ll be no gains
Will be, as we, cut short their lives
When we spill out your brains
For one last time you’ll see the sky
Cause you’re not leaving whole
When heathen head is raised up high
On legion victory pole
Gasp deep upon your final breath
Invader of our land
Your destiny this day is death
By rude and brutish hand
With sword and lance and bill
All break into their stride
With voices booming still
Blood fills the wide divide
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March forward to today
Though forces re-arranged
And ask them in what way
Anything has changed
Hounds from Hell take their toll on your soul
as you walk the mainstreet of mainstream
and watch Saturn and Neptune dance to a simple tone
of silence in the outer space.
As you sit in the middle of the world
alone;
free yourself from the sense of hopelessness,
only see yourself in the mirror of deception
as your reflection laughs at you and looks right through you,
and doesn't have remorse for what it says or does to you.
Hounds from Hell take your soul,
chock you, cut of your air,
the smog and fog blind you in the city of ash.
Hear the hounds from hell howl for your soul,
go now, barracade your soul behind sins and temptation,
Alone, listening to your soul die away,
watch love go away from you, with suitcase in hand,
picture frames broken and collect dust through the sands of time.
Till the cleaning lady comes on Monday, to clean the mess
that you left behind.
You are gone, without a trace of ever returning.
Looks of the Hounds of Hell came for you and stole you from
comfort and warmth,
till the sorrowed heart cracks and pain spills out
and you look at it all spill out over the floor.
The Hounds from Hell have paid a consumable harmage to you,
and your rich soul of sorrowness burns away... slowly.
Fear darkens souls,
innocent souls burn with a new day,
a slumber that has no end
with nightmares haunting every light of hope
there is left in this desolate Wasteland.
Fear and darkness tears a hole in the darkened universe
and we all go to hell to see the Hounds,
who come for us all.
The graveyards fill,
and death guards the tombstones of the dead,
and the flowers burn away on the feet of the dead.
-10/14/2013-
If words could envelop fire,
I’d whisper softly into a quiet
note and let the pyre in my
lonely coffer spill out it’s smokey dispatch.
Letting pathos glow inside carrion’s beat,
I would endeavor this note reach a messenger
with quick feet, so that you would read it before
I became nothing more than a ruin,
damned by it’s own occasion.
I would speak with a gentle urgency,
through teeth like embers of brimstone.
" Let not your tender humor steer you
in a direction that would wilt us both.
Fan the flames that have consumed me,
It’s a burn that fuels our passion
I love you and the pain that you bring,
you are the brightness in the sky,
and the darkness of night.
You are the sting of broken flesh,
and the sweet release of blood that flows.
You are the healing of my blackened benevolence,
and the anger in my wisdom.
You are my second eye,
and my heaviest anchor.
You are the spark,
and the kindle.
You are my Queen.”
-James Kelley 2013, All rights reserved
Past scenic trails once never touched
from hands of man no graces' clutched
near cloudless skies where beauty rests
in trees of maple songbirds nest
In rays of sun we find their tune
where lovers meet in months of June
holding hands with heart pledged vows
ring notes of faith when friendships rouse
Through all her wisdom hear the call
the hurdles cleared both large and small
warm winds of hope that bring forth peace
a walk through life in nature's crease
Shine in splendor white daisies bloom
Spill out glory in God's front room
Nick's descent,
his thoughts neutralized
words that spill out, hobbled
nonsensical
dementia stifles all intentions,
reason eroding
wounded bewilderment
sometimes he slips into Greek
his first language that crosses an invisible
border
self propelled
unexpected
a weightless swim through memory's deepest weeds
once was the warm smell of happiness
once he had his footing
a toughness that knew few limits
warrior worthy,
an emblem of defiance
but things creep beyond the fence of normal
he holds his proud visage still
Athenian brow, marbled composition
complex dynamics to fight submission
a gentle dignity
even as the recognizable world moves
like a mudslide
pressing in
Poem written November 21, 2021 (revised Jan. 1st/22)
Contest: This or That Volume 8
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
I the lonely poet whose words
spill out onto the page
like blood spatter at a crime scene
will knock at your door
books in my eyes hoping
you'll want to critique them
while others partake of tradition
I will bring cheese
summer sausage, and wine
quote Auden, Ginsberg, and Dove
'til the aurora strums the horizon
this rhythm inspires the wren
that melody signaling the dawn
I am deprived of my old sweet relief,
Turning the page but turn to the leaf.
I spill out myself to sanction some space
To which I can return, try to compensate.
Contemplate and complicate my own design
I find this a fate to which I cannot resign.
Soaking in the petrichor of each night,
Of every solemnly forsaken fight.
Each decision and each disappointment
So boldly displayed in my temperament.
I need this safety net below me always to move
Even one step forward toward what I pursue,
Simple answers and the life good enough
Hoping life itself does not call my bluff.
Out of all the questions I have been asked in life
None of them stump me more like this:
Why do I write?
It does not stump me because it’s tricky
It stumps me because it’s a stupid question to ask
Why do I write?
Because there’s nothing more relaxing than it.
Sure sometimes it’s frustrating
Difficult, fundamentally challenging
But that’s part of the beauty of it
Letting you emotions spill out across the page
And knowing that people read it
That people expect who you are
It’s brilliant
When you live a life of not speaking up
Of being that quite person in the background
Expressing yourself is… magnificent
I’m not me when I write
Something takes over me, controls me
So much so that I don’t really know what I am writing consciously
But it works so well
I guess some people will never understand
The joy in it all
When you're my age and you develop some characteristic
That doesn’t suit the normal criteria you get picked on
It happens, you can’t stop it
But I feel sorry for them
Expressing yourself through writing is one of my greatest joys
And I’m not going to stop
Not now
Not ever
I lay in my bed and glance on the floor...
There are letters and thoughts that lead
to my door...
The light shines on a few as my mind may
have a thought...
Could be a small Haiku on demons I fought...
Shall it be a write on love or a past pain?
Maybe a collaboration with a lady who
some days keeps me sane...
This is the beauty of Poetry, to spill out lives
from behind a keyboard...
To reach across the pond for a distant hug
when the notes don't meet the chords...
A wonderful place to play when a weeks worth
of ups and downs can be put on a screen...
Or how we can color our own pictures from
another poets dream...
So I continue to be dazzled from this beautiful
group...
Who knows my next write could be with that
"Mysterious Lady of Soup"
spill out upon page
this his way of self-healing...
a mind in turmoil
© Harry J Horsman 2020
honey, you are not responsible for the skeletons hidden in his closet.
rinse. repeat.
you are not responsible for the bones threatening to spill out.
he can call you a doll and watch your cheeks redden,
but honey,
you are only a doll because he has taken hold of your strings.
you are not his marionette doll,
not a circus attraction
with his name on the door.
honey, he is not the ringleader.
has no one told you, you aren’t
responsible for taking apart his ribcage and fitting yourself beside his heart;
that you are not responsible for the emptiness you find there.
he can kiss you sweetly and fill you with butterflies,
but no one told you that butterflies turn into bees.
and honey, more often than not,
they sting.
Poems with very little words
Only serve to minutise my imagination
Every word has the power to build
My sweet imagination
So serve them to me on a blank white sheet
WITH
Verbalization flare and you got my thanks forever
Engage me in your story let me feel the
Rising passion of your soul and
You will have me hooked forever
LITTLE
Words restrict my possibility of expansive thought
Open your mind and spill out the story my fellow poet
Rewind your life and tell me all the stories of your journey
Dance on my soul like a dervish circling my aura
Sing to me with words of assonance and repetance
STUNT
Me with your poet's steel quill and dip me in your well
You need not scimp on words just show me your story of
GROWTH .
October 13, 2018