Poetry Blogs (poems)

this bizarre plea for that dystopia

dug here with slumber  

which might sleep for friendship.

maybe creep and demise passing,

a prayer and an assembly,

me and God in his chamber,

a euphoric chalice

that grasps a spade to dig

but who am I to find such bliss in the anxious ground?

I take a spade and dig

but who am I to find such bliss in the anxious ground?

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my days wash up like the shore trying to remember which day I can restore how I could of did something different or maybe its all a enigma whatever my come to be will be I just hope it all works out for me 

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Road by road I turn the car

and travel a phrase to a line,

move a sentence to plural,

then to verse to vent a thought,

but within the limit,

as speeding is futile anyway.

[2020]

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If only you saw they loved the smoke.

Know it were the shapes frolicking space

forming air they cheerfully choke on,

take a glass. Scoop it up drink it for them

swallow the haze, spittle on the mirror

mist this muse with thick saliva

so together they can press lips.

in the dusk where ignorance is shade,

the same as she and he did.

[2020]

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you and your psychedelic phrases

did they plunge from your tailing tongue?

perchance I took breaths from the room,

exhaled, and put them back in your mouth

moving, placing my ear near your lips,

pausing for an air lick near my neck-

lifted eyelids and confusion  

so, then the comfort could come

when I would speak your surroundings-

the bed, the door, and the soft sheet

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you crawl yourself forwards

wearing their feet

among spindled legs,

those limbs are anaemic

and cannot amble

the room into a door,

boughs teeming with another’s blood

it’s soft tissue from another’s film,

I follow it now-

see this copied onto

your corpse I might watch,

and see this stranger in the room,

and feel a stranger feign their face,

claustrophobic bre...

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The Poetic Bond X - calls for submissions - up to four poems on any subject, in any form, and of any length (120 lines in print + weblink).  

So far 623 poems from 223 poets have been published in The Poetic Bond Series.  The Poets of The Poetic Bond come from all over the globe, from the US to Malaysia, the UK to the Lebanon, with ages ranging from 14 to 86, exploring themes of love, life, age...

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direct your gaze skyward.

I see your eyes slip through

lens and the light shoot down,

orbit in your twitching

left to right,

left to right

panning light in soft night,

oxymoron of telescope

gathers perception -your feet-

fall here and your stare there

pinned to the pit of ground,

grate your phrase from fireplace.

and divide.

put syllables in pen,

cross out...

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drown in egoism.

how we forget – don’t.

for flicker- shift  

this shell ashore,

revive the rolling

carcass and dissect,

drag that black heart

with the colour waves,

bleaching comatose

vanity that presses

with weight of our bodies-

we sunk like sinking

stripping skin for river,

it rowed,

it rowed,

wrapped with those oars

wallow, watch, wallow,

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instances of mesmerizing glimpses vivify and lend clarity into an understanding of soul.

evocation leaves an everlasting mark as two twin flames embark from a space of divine love to create fate

meticulous minds pick a place and time, upon your arrival show a sign that's vital, gravity pulls us in for a kiss as our hearts meet.

my greatest wishes grant admission, a star is born and with t...

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It has become an incorrigible habit

doing this, an innocent addiction

folding ashes to elegies,

pages fluttering to dust

twisted inside,

slow parching of the paragraphs,

I consume prose and set it alight,

a morbid obsession,

a novelists jealously

but don’t jump to put it out

cast those ashes,

let them call me

to tacit thoughts that cannot still-

feed my munda...

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Late at night 
Lying in bed
Headphones on
Listening to music
Or a few recorded poems
Reading the latest 
I attempt to craft a new one
Or brush up a draft not quite finished

It’s becoming routine
I’ve always been
An undercover poet
Now I’m sharing my words 
With my family’s support as an added bonus

Shared are the happenings,
The disappointments,
The contests never won,
Submissi...

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occult curriculum, whispers of the ancients, leave for letting out secrets
oil lamp kindling catching flames; shining begotten light from passerbys
in between classes, shifting penrose stairs lead into underlying framework on occasion
halls lined with rooks adjacent and curators searching for a select
rites of secret passageways proclaimed, karma to the dark is just a means to an end
time and...

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Dust settles,

silently against

their skin,

eyes glaring beside

gentle end,

those ticks turn forward

against face,

pacing rapidly

becoming ash,

floating in slow air

carried fast by words,

observed keen

paired with gunshots paced,

ignorance

in psychotic blood,

some dystopian

past flung like bodies,

without heart

those chants that fire hard,

Th...

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All too little, 
Too late 
As the Coronavirus 
Takes down the world by mistake.

Government officials standing behind gates
As it rains a blood of money
To keep the economy straight. 

Waking up the public to a doom
Which is highly frightening
For me and you. 

A war with the unseen.
Watching loved ones turning green.
Mortals inflicting pain and death.
Born from the innocent creatu...

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Those dulcet shadows

chased my figure,

dancing. a motif,

that refrained

to end of those pages,

a requiem of endless sobriety

to those euphoric seconds

lost to me.  

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A trestle table set with content and classical elements
places a coven with arenose intent in a safe space
their minds set on causing change—present occurences canvass Mandala by way of effect.
fascicle circuits blitz and singe might-have-beens
washing away strands emblazoned in ever apparentness
accommodating silver lining fringe wherein proper golden ratio leaves
their genus' plant matter ...

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Witnessing their eyes glimmer,

as their lacerated heart was bleeding,

trying. I couldn’t pressure ignorance to clot-

blood pulsing while they leered,

relishing it-

the plasma seeping those callous headlines,

exhibiting grief in a page spread

with the hatred that slowly kills.

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Hands crept into the sleeve

as the buttons twisted

the shadow of cultural masculinity-

the callous cataloguing that jolts the collar,

I want to suppress fascination of scrunched stereotypes,

and iron the burns from my skin.

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There’s a connection 
A brief flirt
And before you know it
We’re going crazy over each other’s words
The list of reasons confirms you won’t be good for me
But it’ll make for some good poetry

We fool around, lift each other up
Take a drink from the lover’s cup
But watch out,
Don’t get in too deep
Remember this is only for the poetry

We circle around crazy ideas
The two of us in a be...

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Those thoughts and minutes

in verses

eighteen phrases per sentence

drifts in structure

ending in a full stop.

ink imperfect to hand that writes those letters

unique iteration of every character

to create those precious words.

that might emulate forte

or just mirror

a persona on the crumpled sheets

bound in the acquainted book.

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in your essence I sense resplendence
could do no wrong by me, your personably impressioned defendant
your honor is what I strive for
it's why the day turns to night, sun and moon argue back and forth
fight about what's wrong and who's right, tug of war
light bends but doesn't break, shines through the prism, and is perceived in different waves

I met you once but my memory is starting to fade...

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You pen beautiful poems,

revealing hurts, worries,

secret desires of your soul.

Dancing on high wires,

creating cosmic alchemy,

then your words

are gone in a blink.

You must be using

disappearing ink!

https://youtu.be/lpsThfIqp18

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