Its Poems | Examples

Close to this sleeping root, in its flesh of ancient earth

Close to this sleeping root, in its flesh of ancient earth,
something struggles silently to become light again, to be born anew from shadow.
And we remain, with our thoughts hanging like a rope torn from the sky,
wondering whether to overlook its gentleness, sweet and annihilating.

A tumbling of black waters follows, over the forehead of my memory,
a shaken clarity, like a lightning bolt that lies, falsifies, and forgets.
Then I barely recognize the electric grace of the men from long ago,
whom I had seen carrying their rusted shirts through the swamp that scorched them,

planting themselves in the ground with arms outstretched like a cross, a condor on each shoulder,
men who wanted to die beautifully, shattering their bones like ancient bells,
their eyes extinguished like burnt amber, silent as icons forgotten by prayer —
and I feel them smoldering within me, like a root that refuses to sleep.

And I walk out into this magical, phosphorescent rain, mystical and cold,
to untie the rope that binds me across centuries and dreams,
to roll myself back into the root from which all that I am has struggled to become again.

Its about You.

The taste too sweet
like drips of honey and meat
Your scent in the air
Your hair on my pillow
body in my bed
Your taste too sweet
like love when our eyes meet
The touch of sin 
the taunt of when
I taste You again.

The Canvas Eats Its Maker

The artist starved beneath dawn’s cold whisper,
 easel tilted, drunk with yesterday's grief.
 Paint clung to his fingers like blood,
 a palette broken, leaking joyless rainbows.
 Each breath was a war he couldn't finish,
 lungs collapsing under the weight of color.

Light cracked through the blinds,
 half mercy, half mockery,
 and the brush trembled in his grip,
 a dagger dipped in quiet despair.
 Every stroke carved pieces of him away,
 his veins screaming for reprieve,
 screaming louder than the silence.

Coffee cups gathered dust on the windowsill;
 he hadn’t noticed them for weeks.
 The room smelled of sweat and turpentine,
 raw and sharp as the edge of failure.
 Each design stripped him bare,
 flesh scraped thin by his own will.

He fought sleep like a boxer with no gloves,
 shadows moving faster than his hands.
 “Keep creating, keep bleeding,” hissed the echoes,
 as if ghosts held the brushes too.
 The canvas stared back, white as a corpse,
 waiting for its pound of flesh.

He had died seventeen thousand times,
 not once with enough left to bury.

Childhood Makes its Final Descent - CM

“All grown-ups were once children... but only few of them remember it.” ~   Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

Childhood's magic once cast spells of wonder. 
Wildwood berries turned to pirate's plunder. 
That bright hummingbird, extraordinary,
in flight, became a wish-bestowing fairy. 

Then, imagination made a carpet fly.
Men were heroes, never falling from the sky.
I miss that genie spell that lasts but twenty years. 
I kiss childhood goodbye as it disappears.

Where Earth Keeps Its Prayers

dusk gathers breath along the trees~
a quiet calm that moves with wind-borne mysteries;
soft mercy drifting through leaves and breeze,
truth rising in the depth of being.

Vejon health ,

Https://vejonhealth.com has a
New report out in conjunction
With I C A N the informed consent
Action network..Dr Phillip Macmillan
Is attempting to mitigate any damages
To health that he can)
Also to gain transparency for actions taken
By people in positions of trust during
The time i reffer to.' 2020-24..

What Holds Me in Its Snare

sainsburys its not all white '

Not for me, i'm not going to buy it.!
I like multi-toned eggshells
Bad move guys cause
I will never..Ever boil
Poach scramble
Or fry it.)

Pouring Milk On Its Expiry Date

Still flows like silky smooth ribbon,
So I see it is not yet rotten.

Children's Poem: The Tired Star

A little star blinks in the night,
It watches over you to keep warm,
And gently whispers, "Go to
sleep."

ITS NOT THE WORLD THAT IS THE PROBLEM

It's not the world that is the problem
it's the leaders of countries, that is the problem, who think that they have the power and the right to dictate to other countries on how they should run their country, this mind set is colonialism at its best
still thinking that they have the right to invade other countries just because they have the power to do so, for their best interest, not the peoples of the countries interest
they need to clean up their own house, and take care of their own citizens and leave others alone
give them all the help and goodwill that they need for all of their inhabitants
not bombing the hell out of them, just because you can, that's not helping the people
"that's breeding hate"
In order to change the world, first we must change ourselves and the way we think of other countries
and their people
Nothing that is gain by force last; history has shown us that, we have to break the circle of hate 
Wherever we live on this planet earth we all want the same things for our families
and to live in peace

Its not that i'm too busy'

Its not that i'm lazy..Or i'm too busy.' 
There are such distractions.'
Yet i beleive they will not stop me
Ever from writing to infinity

Its Time To Let Go

We keep going back and forth in our minds
We tell ourselves we just need some time
The truth keeps staring us in the face
So we put up a hard fight to change our ways
What is it that we're afraid of losing
It's better if we let life do the choosing
Better safe than sorry is what most people say
Fighting because we don't want to regret it one day
We ignore the signs that screams it's time to let go
So we decide to take a break or to take things slow
It's hard to let go because of the fear of the unknown
Enduring each fight than the pain of being alone
Letting go would mean being alone with the memories
While asking ourselves why did we gave up so easily
Meditating over should of, could of, would of's
Not sure where holding on would have put us
We would eventually ruin ourselves keeping up this charade
So we need to let go and stop marching this parade.

Maybe its Me

Hello!
Hi!
Is everything ok?
Hi?!
How are you doing?
What are you into?
As good as it is, I am not a cheese person.
Do you think all birds are descendants of dinosaurs?
Hello!
Good morning!
Did you rest well?
I'm going to be busy today so, I will give you a call around 6.
Hey hope you having a good day. I'm just enjoying my break.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
I was just calling like I said I would.
Would you like to go bowling with me this weekend? My treat!
Hey its me!
What's up with you? Do you not like me anymore? Was it something I said?
I know work keeps you really busy and I'm not complaining. It just feels like I don't hear from you anymore
I would be nice if you let me know where I stand
Hello? Are you ok?
I'm getting worried
Hello?
Hello?!
Oh. Ok. I get it.

Under the horror '

Laying prone..Eyes pinpoints  bright pink' 
ya-kno pupils 'must look and'
 cant ever blink.' Mind overcome now what
Has been done.? So laid the infants
Under callous ones, in deepest trauma then
Comes the flash!!! Snap of light press of
Desires..Media circles something to 
snatch.' Witnesses speaking are the backround
Sound-track. noises's from ' pam bondi ' up-on the rack..'
Ruin of the nations.' Runs as innocent as the blood.' Some turn away..No wish to stem the flood, of filth thats waiting behind
'The watergate?' Above is its castle holding
Imprints of horrid fates..I recall many echoes from the past..Brothers Grim created stories of dark fantasy some wicked blasts
Returned to my consciousness.' Of trolls; ogres and kings witches druids sorcery and murder of children ( quite bad things.!) Happen to be old tales.? Contained some truth.? 
Gets me thinking? And thats for-sooth..' 
And andrew???
Well he's it seems now; gone away.! Sleeping in 
Some cat a comb might we say.? He has the cold blue blood, shared with some others and a familiy
 history..Quite gory.! just go ask his brothers.?

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