Poetry sets me loose
No, I haven't had the booze!
It just gives me a chance
To jump into a written trance!
I play with all heartfelt thinking
And dig out every feel of sinking!
I pen it down into lines
Hoping each word shines!
I feel the words across my face, breeze
Giving me a momentary freeze!
Now that its in the open and out
I feel like yelling a joyful shout!
Yes, oh yes, Poetry sets me loose
No, I haven't had the booze!
VERMEER’S GIRLS
Girl with a jug or necklaced
with pearls,lute and guitar
over the centuries seen from
afar.In intricate detail,a patient
design, of portraits in time.
These looks of love into
eternity’s mirror.Their beauty
his art with a delicate touch,now
frozen in time.Which muse shall
we choose,and which to lose.
Listen to me read this and others at this link
http://youtube.com/ichthyschiro
BROKEN MONOKU
just for a moment nothing mattered-
in the silence, quietness stirred
A spice of madness-
flavours genius
as in aging bodies-
adolescence lives on
LANTERNE SEQUENCE
LEGACY
Our
fragrance
lingers on
within those we
rear,
sweet
smelling
if in God we
fear-
and
above
hovering
blessing as a
dove,
our
bios
dissipates-
into those we
love
DEMI-SONNET
No noise,silence,
the beating of my heart,
alone,with my thoughts;
Without,I see the breeze,
soundless,active,alive,
slowly I awake,arise
to another day
Listen to me read these forms and others at
http://www.youtube.com/ichthyschiro
FOOTLE
AROUND THE CLOCK
Juke box
room rocks
OLD AGE
same chat
off pat
TEEENAGE
back chat
off pat
SEPTIMAL
ART TROUVE
lost and found
upon the
beach
INTERNATIONAL SET
Hollywood-
gone with the
wind
FILLING IN
did Benday
give ground to
Roy
PERFECT SIX
Rock
n' roll-
two-beat blues
WHISPERING CAMPAIGN
in
the wind-
rumour mill
END OF STORY
and
thereby
hangs a tail
Hear me recite this poems at POETIC FORMS A on youtube
http://youtu.be/n2xmrDywcQ
Words
Words, this life, knows no stronger force
These fragments with such ease we wield
Even love, they will steer off its course
And fell the high and mighty in the field
Unthinking we may use one by mistake
Throw out the smallest humble negative
Not realising how that one may grate
And find a heart unwilling to forgive
At times we twist them to our greatest gain
How simple is the art; Manipulate
With disregard for whom they may cause pain
With no concern for chaos they create
A means that has no other parallel
To take us to the plain of joy
Or plunge us into blackest hell
Unequalled is their power to destroy
We use them each, to communicate
To both confound and un-confuse
On their answers, we must ever wait
Whilst in reply, decide, which ones to choose
And on that throw of dice, win or lose
R D Seal 13 April 2013
The sordid words from his foul mouth
are enough to make a crow blush.
though unknown morphemically
despite this fact his vulgar sounds
are numerous syntactic f-words.
His nouns resound all who have ears
his verb usage quite disturbing
adjectives objectionable
combined they’re quite poetical.
Though universally profane
he utters these words unashamed
in perfect alliteration.
And if his diction does fall short
he’ll add this as a last resort:
......................../´¯/)
......................,/¯..//
...................../..../ /
............./´¯/'...'/´¯¯`·¸
........../'/.../..../......./¨¯\
........('(...´(..´......,~/'...')
.........\.................\/..../
..........''...\.......... _.·´
............\..............(
..............\.............\
the ***** is inferno. doomed for hell. sinful with lost indulging in their own ignorance. made into a reincarnation of the devils wishes. the devils wants the devils needs. they say the pigment is the reason. but i say Jesus is the reason for the devilish seasons excuse my blatant response to the evils that have been done in the name of the SON. the inferno ***** is the movie of this country, always watched and critic-ed. you must understand that self hating is very wicced, misunderstood when you walk through a suburban neighboorhood the devil is screaming conform!! conformm!! inferno ***** you dont belong so just get along, even if the devil knows. the devil knows your story and your weakness and he lives behind and inside the so called supremacy system we live within. peace inferno ***** know thyself for you are so lost in this Babylonia hell.
Camouflaged and coruscating,
skating in their see-through costumes,
part of the ocean's bold militia,
shuffling, you send them on their way.
Chrysaora Quinquecirrha,
jellyfish abound and flounder
'neath the surface smooth as glass,
they pester and you're irritated,
epidermis penetrated,
howling, you hobble to the shore.
Deeper still the riptide churns,
it's learned the tales of tragedy
as you pursue the ocean blue
with rubber rafts and play toys,
do not cheat the warning buoy,
listen for its tell-tale sounds,
the bottom of the sea is out of bounds.
i never saw the doornail die
never caught sight of a fox that sly
i didn't cure a dog so sick
didn't steal a glance of thieves so thick
i can't walk tight a rail that thin
can't see some sight as ugly as sin
i didn't ever take any punch so pleased
or been flashed by lightening that slippery greased
i can't light bituminous coal so black
or pointedly aim as sharp as a tack
didn't touch a witch's tit so cold
- i'd feel it's not as good as gold
i can't squish in any mud so clear
or finger a lobe cute as a bug's ear
folks shout i'm as deaf as a post
in fact i'm even worser, than most
i can't hear a fiddle so fit
in fact i don't give a - damn
a simile is as cool as winter's rain
so i utter them like, again, and again
true, i'm as buzzed as a bee so busy
but i don't think a bee's like a simile, is he?
© Goode Guy 2013-03-06
From one poet to another
Your words in me are a thunder
That fills me soul with wonder
As my open heart you plunder
Though I cannot see your face...
Through my poetry covered lace
Your deep feelings I can trace
My heart beat quickens a pace
Your every line scintillates
My wayward heart subjugates
My inner thoughts punctuates
My very soul confiscates
Your heart’s rhythm and rhyme
Not bound to moments of time
Makes each encounter sublime
Holds me with imagery fine
Addiction is my sweet game
And your poetry is to blame
My life is no longer the same
My high begins with your name
Each word is just meant to please
Makes me fall down on my knees
My hunger I must appease
Oh, feed me now, if you please!
I travel the paths of your mind
Treasures of worth my great find
To all else I am now blind
Our twin souls have intertwined
Eileen Manassian Ghali
When does a poem become a song?
Does the music make it real?
A melody makes us sing along
But the words are from the quill
Without the words the music's blind
It can't see where to go
For the words are how a song's defined
And the music's just for show
Wrapped in notes and chords to tease
It's meant to entertain
But it always takes the words to please
Or the music's played in vain
The words are there to touch the heart
Or the music might be missed
For it only plays a minute part
If the words did not exist
Some has said that poetry's dead
But they couldn't be more wrong
For the poet sees the music's fed
Or there couldn't be a song
Note: This will be my last poem I post for a while...it's time to move on to other things.....Whisk
In the magic screen
A potpourri of poems
Words once alive in the heart
Textures, shapes, sizes
Pieces of our different lives
The fragrance lingers with me.
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Sometimes my pen cuts as a scalpel in the surgeons hands
It releases my thoughts, it creates my plans
I can build them up, I can tear them down
Will I make them happy or will I make them frown
My words are filled with passion, they have the power of life and death
I can give you hope or make you feel there's nothing left
People follow the stanzas to the end of every page
Some titles express joyfulness while others breathe rage
Will my words take you to the skies, will they bury you in the sand
This poet is more than words, I am a still hurting man
So with each poem complete a part of my soul is released
When you take the journey, will you awaken or tame the beast
Creating is what I do, turning my flows into light
I will take you on a trip with every thought I write
So in essence this poet is the surgeon, the scalpel is my pen
I can take what was birthed in sadness and make you feel alive in the end
“PERFECT ISOLATION”
Days drift from one to another
nights restless--gray
steadily... mundane monotony loses magnitude
Obligatory conversation—social interaction
dwindle away
intolerable interruptions of the small minded
Finally boundless to envision all—over analyse
creative minds play
protected by clever syntax of the word
Perfect Island
Perfect Peace
Perfect Isolation
Copyright©2013—Kim van Breda
Oh, the pain of finding out: I’m not a favorite poet of yours as you are of mine!
Eileen Manassian Ghali
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