Spilling Poems - Poems about Spilling

remember, before the oceans wept the small pools of spilled light slipping across the brilliant doom upon canvases, dreams folded into flesh the curve of shadow in the darkness of oil god’s plan in the aftermath of artistic genius ...

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Written: February 5th, 2024 _____________________________________ My heart is leaking blood, I can view hatred flowing, from every corner of the planet, a volcano spewing nasty lava, their voracious acts are suffocating,  the flower that has yet to bloom. My heart is leaking blood, antagonism and skepticism...

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as of soul pact we dispensed with tact and took up our stance leaving outcomes to chance and so blood was spilt that made us wilt with guilt for though we stood apart we overplayed our part forgetting who we are during the friendly spar now, we’d have kissed and made up but our ego wouldn’t shut up and so we had to be reborn roles exchanged,...

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I tried to ignore you, but I miserably failed the test. So, I'm posting this to unburden it from my chest. It's in reply to your continual endeavor to protest against those of us who enjoy writing for contests. Why does it matter to you? Why are you obsessed with our friendly competition? Just give it a rest! You...

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Spilling my tears, drying my inner river washing my soul inside This I do when I laugh... When I laugh with an opened smile when I clean out sourness I feel lucky on the outside and renewed within... !...

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A curve of sky in a corner cusps a smooth, thick dusting of carrot-mauve hues tonight. Drapes over heather trees whose arms and hands bend with this drowsy sky as it starts to fall asleep- the cyrean "silk" upon which this cantaloupe tint is traced, daubed, by the brushstrokes of Mother Nature; is ready for the deep onyx doves-with halos- of a cold...

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These blatant lives poets lead with their guts hanging out, gore hid between beautiful words. I remember (after the failed surgery), when guts spilled out of my actual body; that unwinding of blank verse uncoiling in a slow slime of sincerity. The hectic rush to the operating room again, the gurney screeching on polished floors, guts still leaking from under a latex glove. A poem...

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Down from a prospect, acclaimed As that clear eyed Of a Reisling grape On the french side With the local product spilt Adds, dare I say What of its sparkle Gives life to bay....

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I'm going to share a story That happens to be true Because it's sometimes good to laugh at ourselves, I think. Don't you? It happened in first year high. It was a funny scene! I'd like to share this memory. Yes. I'm spilling the beans... Our science teacher was telling us All about capillary action. He invited us to try an experiment. The creative challenge...

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remember, sometime will become the rest of your life we feel each others fingers as they mingle with each others hair we never know from which is which or where is where until we have to part to start anew awakened by not the light but the breaking of light a freedom sound as it escapes from shadow the chase, the capture the escape, night...

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For a lasting lust, my heart’s been beating On a seat, I daren’t sit for deep thinking My entire body boiled for the same meaning I shivered, sweated like I was in a stream Closer I moved, only her eyes to seem Opened to hold me tight close onto her chest A hero of her sentiments I kingly became Fever...

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To feel this warmth, now overwhelming me, is Joy That giving these gifts brings such gratitude, was Surprising Yet, as much my gift to me Are you coming back? Perhaps If you see me with glistening face my insides swelling, know Tears It is only my soul touching new places inside,now Spilling Into this life too long barren of you awakening possibilities, is Hope...

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The wild talk of the wounded words pointed and sharp The casualties mounting dead noted and marked Each phrase a revival ink spilling divine The wild talk of the wounded —dark shadows to rhyme (Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2019)...

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I wander down a cobbled street, sodden from rain, heckled by whispers revealing secrets on this blustery night. They bewilder me in a surge of confusion far beyond the juncture of cursory fright. If this is collusion to drive me insane, I beg deliverence from their echoing disdain; Are these callous voices reality or delusion, taunting me to plunge into depths of...

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SPILLING SECRETS the silver bullets... a laugh from Harker’s friend ...Dracula’s raw steak drains upon his plate... handsome piece of meat...not pale ...centered fork wobbles Harker drops his glass... the smoking gun smiles ...ammunition spills 5/2/2018...

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