When you give me your eyes
Its me getting roses
Two precious things
Looking at me with poses
Those two things we use to bring
Satisfaction, desire and devotion
The tools we use to unconfuse
and plainly show emotion
Two arrows shot with two lines
To pull the captured in
Bring attention to the lips
That sometimes give a grin
This thing called love uncontrolled
That eyes take and bring
Unspoken words to a heart
That listens to what it sees
Like a 70-year-old bow-legged harlot, jealousy never ages well.
Every year the mascara is painted on thicker.
Every year, less of that peacock strut
Every year, more pigeon steps.
No more virgin revelations.
Only clownish mumblings from the pen...
A discarded dried-up turd to the bitter end.
WAITING FOR DEATH
How tedious it is waiting for Death
When She is still dressing up
To sit in a quagmire of silent prayer
While sandwiches turn dry
How tedious when a nappy
Must still be changed
As Forgiveness waits for a touch
And a mantra hangs like a noose
How tedious when the chain thins
But do not break
Links either clogged or rusty
Clock hands not moving a second
Then a message is written and
Read twenty times
Her mascara brush picked up hurriedly
Death did not even knock
A tear falls down the cheek,
Glittering like a diamond,
It tastes of the sea,
Tears are they happy or sad,
Forced or free falling,
They both look the same,
Wet eyelashes mascara running down the face,
Leaving a black trail, red and puffy eyes,
Tears show emotion but will ruin your makeup.
a veil descended upon his restless soul
converted into apathy and grave sadness
no need to take off the mask of shadows
there was no living persona left to reveal
he dreamt of Venetian Carnival nights
but the only seduction was an illusion
of free flowing movement in stagnation
Henry was well versed in nagging despair
he had been living a pantomime in disguise
a rebel with course that led to destruction
now in the naked light of nothing to show for
his drama was an epitaph without real prologue
curtains drawn and only mocking applause
script empty and the protagonist sidelined
a prompter whispering mindless nothingness
an epic disaster personified with no hope
he tore his bleeding heart out of pulsation
ready to sever his wrists in an almighty gush
yet only red make up trickled upon his face
and rescued a lonely narration never to be
17th July 2020
Eyes dark brown
Hint of opulence
Deep stares
Eyelids pose no indulgence
Mascara projecting a bold persona
Sometimes too intimidating to bear
Coy corner of vulnerability
Crumbles courage without care
Stone hearted countinence
No longer finds sustenance
Smudged lashes
Eyes set back
Washing away that mascara
Good or bad
Happy or sad
She becomes herself
Words in mascara of faces in faiths
Not what I telling you
But the tones of words in tacks of minds
As absorbed is this
that the hate of eyes
Within hidden in hearts
Applied in masks
This haunting
And howls
I heard an angel speak last night and he said “write”,
“Write of the anguish and pain,
The desolation, and isolation.
May the ink fall like blood,
Spill over the pages,
Making permanent marks,
Never to regain its flawless form again”
I walk down the foot-worn trail,
Bare feet turned black by the earth underneath them.
Here comes that feeling,
The feeling of death.
Creeping up on me, suffocating any lingering hope.
Looking up, a vulture cries,
Like echoes coming from my insides.
I have arrived at my destination,
Black dresses and black umbrellas,
Lined up in lines between the rows of resting places,
Single-file reminders of those bereft of life.
I remain inconspicuous,
Hidden from the grim party's black veils and mascara stains.
Don't fret, my friend, there's hope for me yet.
She comes in to my view,
Alluring as ever, breathtakingly pulchritudinous.
Touching the cool granite wing, feeling such imperfection,
Takes my breath away.
I pray to my angel,
I pray for them to listen to my story...
And then my angel spoke to me and he said “write”.
Mirella Grosnickle
June 13, 2011
Angels in Cemeteries
Black Veils&Mascara Stains
Today she put on her makeup with a smile on her face,
not knowing that the one she loved is gonna wash it away.
When she looked in the mirror she saw a fake reflection,
her mind had a feeling that the one she loved had a confession.
When she got a phone call she knew her smile would fade away,
He paused when she answered then told her he had something to say.
She wondered why he would call in the morning,
but the crackle in his voice gave her a silent warning.
He said he found someone else and the love he had dissapeared,
This was the moment she had always feared.
Soon the sunny day became a storm,
But he would never know that her heart was torn.
Her heart was begging for the love she needed,
but when she looked in the mirror it was shattered to pieces.
She picked up a shard and looked at her face,
The makeup she put on had been erased.
All that was left was a stream of black,
but it was then that she knew the facts.
She tried to blame it on the rain,
but even waterproof mascara can't hide the pain.
dark rain falling down....
liquid smog drops drizzling down
so deep I may drown
I know how to make your makeup run
Make you bleed like light bleeds from the sun
Cause the mascara you wear to smear down your beloved face
Tell me, how do tears stained black taste
I know how to rip you scars internally
Force you to the brink of pain for all of eternity
Have you scream until your voice reluctantly burns out
And eat at your soul as you annoyingly Pout
Girl, I know how to make you squirm
Make you wiggle miserably like a hook punctured worm
You're the one who made this insanity be
Who caused this madness to run wild inside of me...
I know how to raze your pitiful life
Read your lies and cut through them like a knife
Break your bones with painful words
Sticks and stones are just so absurd
Darling, I know how to make you cry
Make you beg to me not to let you die
Cause what goes around to come back around
Run your papier-mache heart into the ground
I know how to torture every spot in your nervous system
Take the atoms of your mind and soul and twist 'em
Stick your pretty little face under the barrel of a gun
I know how to make your makeup run
I would like to thank you for your visit.
I have removed these poems for a distant future book publication.
I believe we poets, can make a difference
in this world. We live in the 21st century,
we have tools( technology), we have our past, and imagination.
We just don't have the courage, because
I guess most are afraid to fail, to loose money.
All I have to say is we can't take money with us,
when we die. I also say hasn't mankind failed enough,
and isn't mankind worth the effort, our children is worth the effort..
Thank you, and my your God Bless you
John E WordSlinger
"So what will you do without me?"
he asks,
I will become Jezzebel,
like all the other forgotten
women of romance movies,
huddle in the back alley ways of
notorious speakeasies
in a revealing red dress
and weep the soul of you
out of me
into your perfectly white kerchief,
runny mascara,
that's what.
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.