Manuscript Poems - Poems about Manuscript

Prurient Manuscript

Suck and lick my delicious fiction,
I’m lecherous taste the distinction;
A story you’ve wanted to be real,
now before the writer you will kneel;

The chapter filled with hanky-panky
describing a skimpy lace panty?
I know that vision is honey dipped,
it’s such a prurient manuscript;

Keep my fantasy by your bedside,
wanton desire you simply can’t hide;

On every page my hunger has

My life, a sealed manuscript, buried under layers of mystery

My life, a sealed manuscript, buried under layers of mystery,
She arrived like a key of light, revealing hidden treasures,
In its unwritten pages, immortal stories awaited to come to life,
Calling a soul to read them, to bring them from shadow to dawn.
Now, she opens each line with her gentle breath, bringing rebirth,
Breathing life into this forgotten

Manuscript

"Do you know what you are? You are a manuscript
of a divine letter. You are a mirror reflecting a noble face. This 
universe is not outside of you. Look inside yourself; everything
you want, you are already that."   Rumi   

Do you ever wonder who you are?
Sometimes, we just can't find ourselves.
We are

Manuscript

“Manuscript” 


activating pulse frequency
shifting unseen 
the new heards

in numbers 
multitudes tagged
now seen 

steered to better light fields of green
empowered consciousness electric, 
new songs for sown ancient seeds

planted deep, the hidden, 
washed in warmer energy,
unsung light codes now opening 

plough the 
tears for grief,
truth’s release

the supernature cleans,
the shadowlands 
sleep 

locked in their dreams 
the docile in

Manuscript of the Past

A legend.
A story.
Gold.
The fever.
My true love is finding,
History of true relics of the past.
My professor found an old map,
In his mother's belongings,
After her passing.
Laughing he truly thought it,
Was a fake in the imagination,
In the mind of his
Young great grandfather.
So he decided to research it,
To prove himself wrong.
He realized quickly this fact,
Was enlightening...
The map was indeed

Yellowed Pages

I came across an ancient manuscript
Long languishing in a cluttered drawer
Where hidden memories lay among
The flotsam and jetsam of my life,
And reading it I realized a forgotten time
When idealism was a guiding principle
In my way of life, when in my naivete
I was convinced I could change the world.
I had taken many bits of my life

What To Teach Your Children

WHAT TO TEACH YOUR CHILDREN

Do not lament to your ward about
The dark cloud that blocks your sky,
Let them see it as a peg that draws you
Closer to the topmost of your victory. Never

Should you tell the tales of your tears
and angush to your child, for he is going
To see every shadows as an escape to

Time's Manuscript

Unblemished pages without soiling mark
stretch out ahead of these expectant eyes;
trembling I wait dark midnight to embark
upon my journey, promising and new;
what delights, what sorrows await, disguised,
before I bid this infant year adieu?

Tolling clocks engrave with new year's song
first lines where timid steps engage the scroll;
time's manuscripts record both right and wrong.
Some far tomorrow when

Manuscript

Bright blossoms bloom with fragrant scent;
Opt with pure heart to craft clear thought;
Offer sure room as words ascend;
Keep poignant art as writes frame lot.
Mind fashions bold that sublime feel;
Align with grace that seeds your space;
Now zest unfolds that subtle thrill;
Urge feeds prompt trace that styles the pace;
See that you see with tact that springs;
Charm weaves

Manuscript

The tale is told in words of old;
Open this book and see the truth;
Rise and walk bold as thoughts unfold;
Now take a look to witness proof.
Make act your way to live each day;
Ask for pure heart to join with mind;
Note what you say in poise and play;
Use profound art to meet each find;
See what you

Manuscript

Manuscript written painstakenly
A large pencil held clumsily
Writing a story with words
Excitedly penning
Cursive writing learned
Poet's corner
Pen~paper
Word thoughts
Flow 

Sponsor: Michael J. Falotico
Contest: Your Journey
Written August 05, 2013

Manuscript

My one and only bright supernova. 
You are the aliment that runs through my veins. 
Your affinity is like hot lava. 
You take away my sadness; the thing that pains. 
Something so strong that no one can create. 
You are my savior, who came from heaven. 
A love so strong that on one will dare

The Manuscript of Time

How much is time worth? Is the cost of opportunity beneficial? Compared to the time spent on a single affair. Are your achievements worth the hours wasted? Or your failures moments of clarity; something to have learned? Time is a fire and before long, you get burned. How you recover, is truly the answer in

The Manuscript

He could see it on his coffee table
It seemed to have called to him
In a haunting voice, beckoning,
Seducing him with fame, treasures
He had wanted to turn away
As he swore he would never do it
Again, having already gotten out
Yet, his needs were strong
As he proved to be a weak man
So unlike what he was perceived 
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