Water drenched my throat,
Sliding into the cracks.
Blood runs thicker from taps,
And quickly forms into a moat.
Water, unstable, unpleasable,
Nothing can stick to you.
Your liquid starting to brew,
Soaking my words and syllables.
I ship similes on a paper boat,
And it starts sailing many laps
To avoid all the upcoming attacks.
I'm not longed for staying afloat.
The cup may be more than half empty,
But I was made clumsy.
I'll dampen the air around my cyst;
So no fire can turn me to mist.
Creative Writings
Self doubt declines.
This is your season of change.
Be open minded.
Not pessimistic.
Learn to grow.
Sometimes pencil to error.
Keep on writing.
Keep on brainstorming.
Through creative writings.
Creative thinking.
Black ink flows through blank spaces.
Rhythms to azure rhymes.
Poetry am I.
Publish your own remarkable life.
The will to feel each other skin to skin while sleeping in one bed
you want me, don’t deny it
you know it’s not right, it won't be right
Trying to distract myself from crying
telling you perverse ideas
Making you sweat and tell me what you’d do to me if I were there
The ideas get more grousome each time we talk
tickets to my city are being bought
The hotel is being booked
I’m a child dressed up as an adult
Sitting on the edge of the bed
Why do I keep going? it’s not right
I hate how my body reacts to your words of holding me down, choking me, staring into my eyes
It’s all inside my mouth
All I see in my head is a repeating stream of fantasies
I reread them
imagine them
feeling it inside of me
for hours like in coma I repeat them in my head
and if you ask me how I feel
I wouldn’t know what to say
How dare I complain when I did this to myself
It's all just words and writings
told no one
that I had been
writing
did not
scrawl speaking words
to illiterate graves
no
i wrote with a finger
across my forehead
as to remember
i was writing
to a thimbleful of light
sat in the dark
under a low lamp
long before
the sun could read words
told her
she who lives
in a thimbleful of light
told her to sit it out
play her part for a while
tell no one
we will be sexual
in that tiny thimble
nothing more nor less
we will shape an acorn
with an erotic script
one only we can read
willing fingertips
can shape an acorn
out of a thimble
hands and lips can
mold that silent speech
going to plant
a meadow
a river
a nocturnal sunrise
inside of her
deep down
where nothing can be named
no
not even
a meadow
a river
or a nocturnal sunrise
not writing
not talking
just planting ourselves
in the one body
pushing down
gardening
not writing
we won't tell anyone we know
about this
sex is an open and closed secret
a small mystery
hidden under the earth
and above the sky
however
at all times
it should be revealed
to look like
a perfectly ordinary
thimble
Writings of a storm cold
The house gently
Creaks
From icy winds pressing against
Exteriors whilst slipping
Through
Small inconsistencies.
Sleet dances against window panes.
Piling glass against glass,
Particulates of infinite possibilities.
Fractals dancing down,
Tap dancing on rooftops.
I sit at kitchen table,
Bundled from the cold.
My only friend and partner, a
Dancing flame from candle
Casting shadows upon the walls.
Words scratching valleys and
Mountains across vast white expanse.
Scratching eloquence..
Moving still.
Plumes of billowy
exhale
surround my head
Like a haloed angel.
Tonalities of gray, from white to
A Dark and shadowy blackness.
Reaching out,
Ever growing,
Like the reach of sea creatures lost beneath vast depths.
Here I sit,
Staged against the cold.
A storm of ice,
From liquids fallen from skies with stories
Told.
I am their conductor.
Dance for me of wind,
Whisper in mine ear.
Settle still o house of moaning temperance
Against a northernly wind.
All the while my quill to
Parchment
Sliding out visions painted by verbiage.
These writings
Trickle from within,
Spring with emotion revealed,
Pour out with many tears not cried,
Bursting forth in deep, indescribable oceans,
A levy overwhelmed, collapsing under pressure.
Suddenly, it makes sense—everything,
Because it all flowed from the hidden caves,
A story that sounded in bits and pieces
With unspeakable pressure building up over time
And who could understand? Who could understand
All the pain, emotional turmoil, capsizing all belief
And who could truly believe that
All of this
Started with
A trickle?
Chanté Walker
The Gospels
And other writings
Are narratives of
Life as seen
Through the lens of
Separation..
Includes the possibility
Of a new narrative
Of the empty nature
Of all appearances of
Separation...
WEEKLY WRITINGS FROM THE HEART QUIETLY TRUE-
I just want to write you weekly,
Verses from the heart of one of God’s Son
Abated blessings of continued drums,
The rhythm beats of anatomical heart
Weekly writings from the heart
Impart electric eclectic energies sparks… Quietly True
5/1/23
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2023©
from anthology booklets … Quietly True
Not always but
The Search is often
Engaged In writings
Of the past..
Such writings may be
Handed down from
Sages who have
Weathered the criticisms
Of the centuries..
A deference to their
Words is accepted
As the search ensues..
There seems also
The appearance of
A realization that
All of this is story
Equal to other stories
Of searching in
Other climes...
I am Chikwelas grand daughter,
Am I a good writer?
My poems are they better?
Like other my fellow porter?
When studying at St. Peter,
Reading one poem of poeter,
I like to become writer,
Magazine shows me other poeter.
Kazima I was a sister,
My writings were not greater,
I could not reach meter,
I stop being a create.
New student when she inter,
She was having a supporter,
Her first submission were sweeter,
Her works were in printer.
She works up me latter,
After I have got newslater,
Dew to her good poster,
I become again a writer
Yesterday Mornings Writings and Warnings
David J Walker
Where did I leave off writing
Yesterday morning in describing
The world around me
Which hue glistened off
The morning dew at sunrise
Which tune did I hear
In the blue of your eyes
It is clear that my world is mine
For the making, each morning a day
For the taking
Which shirt goes best with a positive mood
Which shoes erase the dark brood
Of yesterday’s bad dream failures
With which I am more familiar
For now, the page is pure and clean
The next hour as yet unseen
And I have every right to believe
That I can write about
Something good happening
A writer whose writings are meaningful
A writer whose words are bold
A writer who writes for the well-being of fellow men
A writer who shows you who you really are
A writer who is stable and soft delight
A writer who is creative and Scotch Brite.
Note. A colonial writer is like an artist who produces a picture of a colony.
they said
where there is beauty
there is impressive poetry!
nature in the truth,
in the pen and paper
honest birth of beauty
the path has no end
the author walks to that endless
true poetic pen
can show a miracle!
care, bear up the word
in thy heart
one day God will meet
God, the reward of saintly
doing , writings and preaching
someone writes deeply
someone writes slightly
someone reads deeply
someone reads slightly
someone gets the real meaning
someone does not get the real meaning
but poetry is poetry
on its foundation of poetic thought!
-December 11, 2019 Chattogram
a dancing shadow
coming, coming from the spirit
some inks spray
on the white sprite paper
it's writing,
inspiration voice
in poetry figure
soul to soul alive
these all are
for the successor
- Wednesday, July 31, 2019 Chattogram
Bloody lips on ivory skin. Flames trailing behind those freezing fingertips. Eyes like black holes and the Universe they suck you in.
You call this love? Or cataclysm?
Unholy, dirty mouth and the taste of Heaven. We feel like flying as we lay together on our ripped wings and feathers. Halos tight around our throats, we live on passion and lust.
Sweetheart, what we have done is the worst.
Flesh and bones carved by the Gods, we're so hollow under the cracks. Words wrapped in thorns, delicious honey on our tongues. This Paradise, nothing but the fruit of our insanity.
Oh darling, we fell in love with the tragedy.
Sub Categories
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.