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  • Sapekshya Timilsina (1/31/2014 10:49:00 AM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

    If I could, I would.

    Don't look how my eyelashes are,
    or how fair skin tone I have.
    Don't judge how my hair's so messy
    or how I can't manage to look pretty.

    The curves that I may have,
    I would never want you to love me for that.
    Look into my eyes, how bright it would shine,
    if you were here and if I could call you mine.

    This feeling that covers up the whole of me,
    from the tip of my toe to the root of my hair,
    is something I will never be able to explain,
    because even when I see you, I go completely insane.

    How do I say what I feel for you is like?
    That would be unfair if I try to sum it up in words.
    and honestly, to me you define 'perfection'
    You're here with me, oh! that'd be an imagination.

    You love her, I know that quite clear but,
    I want to love you like 'Juliet' loved her 'Romeo'.
    I just don't get why she won't treat you good,
    because honey, if I could, with all my heart, I would.

    Replies for this message:
  • Dylan Morgan (1/30/2014 4:44:00 PM) Post reply

    The one that got away

    I was hers
    And she was mine
    I dreamed of something
    That should not change

    Her smile
    Oh god oh god
    Her smile
    Was as beautiful
    As her luscious hair

    And in a second
    She was not there
    To ship her away
    Oh so far away

    Across the border
    Goes her smile
    No love for me
    And no love for us

  • Rohn Moosh (1/28/2014 4:25:00 AM) Post reply

    It was not the like the moon wasn't red enough,
    Darker than the shades of your eyelids.
    Looking down on the naked.

    Hungry and wet
    We waited for our turns.
    In and out of my hands like falling ice cream.
    My mind ignoring the halo,
    My fingers disobeying physics.
    Your screams so silent it woke the neighbors dogs up.

    Yes! We did sway to all the howling.
    Rubbed our words for comfort.
    Your face melted into mine.
    Till we learnt to speak each others tongue.
    We kissed.
    But only one of us was kissed.

  • Skitz Meraki (1/27/2014 5:34:00 PM) Post reply | Read 1 reply


    begin again and break the bell
    forget the thing you cannot tell
    tried to warn you, ran away
    just to hurt you again today
    its fine, I can see the lies
    that cross the mirror in my eyes
    what happened then will happen now
    I told you not to fall or bow
    you didn't listen, now its old
    tripping over this fools gold
    tried not to break the thing you are
    then I took it much too far
    ill fall into the arms of night
    I've given up this fight

    Replies for this message:
    • Shelley Stanworth (2/1/2014 3:15:00 PM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

      Powerful imagery. I like the flow, what i try to do... Oceans I have filled with tear I've cried For a love I had and now been denied I searched all the shores and their tide For a secret cave t ... more

  • Austin Eseke (1/27/2014 2:55:00 PM) Post reply

    Hi i just wanna ask if there is any new contest for new members??

  • Rookie - 0 Points Twi$ha $hah (1/23/2014 8:21:00 AM) Post reply | Read 4 replies

    I want to be with you

    Out of the blue you grab my hand and make me dance with you,
    I think to make this moment more mirthful lets add a mocha to the cue,
    Sharing this moment together,
    Is the best time of my life

    I know you are a living dead
    And The moment we have in between
    Is the only thing I have in my head
    You and I both know that I am just a teen
    But being with you makes me feel as if I am the queen

    I can feel your noticeable absence
    And you, are the only one with whom I would spend my entire life
    Without even reconsidering the thought
    Whenever you are beside me I can feel your fragrance
    I see you coming when the fiery sun sets
    And I loose my patience
    To break the silence
    And I know when you'll leave
    I'll be fallen in the mouth of sadness
    Till then I want to be with you

    I would feel so good
    When I would be reminiscing
    About these days
    If ever I could
    And I surely would

    I hear you sing with your velvety voice,
    I want this memory in the future to be rejoiced
    And I want to be with you forever and ever

    By now you would be thinking that I'm a wise fool
    As I am drooling about the wind
    For you to read
    It would be logically illogical
    But for me it's illogically logical

    Replies for this message:
    • Har Srishty (1/29/2014 12:47:00 AM) Post reply

      Hello Respected, REALLY A CLASSICAL LOVE POEM OF FREE VERSE. It reminds of Yeats and longfellow's poems. Moreover, this passionate poem is grammaticall exact. Why nnt publish an edition of the poems?

    • Har Srishty (1/29/2014 12:47:00 AM) Post reply

      Hello Respected, REALLY A CLASSICAL LOVE POEM OF FREE VERSE. It reminds of Yeats and longfellow's poems. Moreover, this passionate poem is grammaticall exact. Why nnt publish an edition of the poems?

    • Har Srishty (1/29/2014 12:46:00 AM) Post reply

      Hello Respected, REALLY A CLASSICAL LOVE POEM OF FREE VERSE. It reminds of Yeats and longfellow's poems. Moreover, this passionate poem is grammaticall exact. Why nnt publish an edition of the poems?

    • Har Srishty (1/25/2014 9:51:00 AM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

      Fantastic, impressive coz it conveys you ... more

  • Rookie - 22 Points Gedion Onyango (1/22/2014 1:13:00 PM) Post reply

    I'm Sick of Writing Poems

    I live a haunted life of pain and misery.
    A terrible cocktail of love, hate and joy
    Is crawling in my blood and spurting overwhelming energy,
    tearing my veins and biting my skin with a cold venom
    With my pen,
    I carry with me a non-accountable responsibility
    Weighed down, and burdened by an addictive urge to address the hungry, intelligent, disoriented, critical, and ignorant audience of known and unknown worlds.
    The enslavement and tyranny of the pen strains and wears me down.... And I am sincerely tired.
    With it, are the spirits that jerks and swings my head in every corner of the wilderness where weird thoughts are born and executed.
    I am being persecuted by the ghosts who walk in the darkness, waking dark clouds and black, slimy dusts on their path as they make their way into my haunted head to deliver their poetic missives.
    And I hear voices banging my head against the wisdom of strange gods of the poem writing and angels of its prophecy, warnings, celebrations and laughter.
    Strange sounds of drums and devilish feet stamps around my arms and scatters like a stampede of scared faithfuls in a religious pilgrimage of Mecca!
    The devils and angels are struggling and fighting for my consciousness and the strength of my pen. And my soul is restless to deliver their message and un-relentful
    To put this luggage down.
    Yes! I am tired of writing these poems - but I have failed to beat the voices in my head, the crawling centipedes in my veins.
    And the ghosts who drive the engines of my pen
    to incorporate me into writing these poems.

  • Rookie - 22 Points Donald Goodside (1/22/2014 12:04:00 PM) Post reply

    Night Shift ___

    Each of us has an image of paradise,
    A destinations resting reward, and yet
    I am troubled as my own view is dim.

    Deep down many levels beneath the sun
    Where hand hewn roots of Sequoia support
    the Marble hall of others, I am sweeping
    the dust gatherings and collecting into piles
    The cardboard refuse of gifts not meant for me.

    Toiling the forever among vague others I never knew
    While I was sleepwalking somewhere up there
    I go on, in the certainty that eventually
    I too will rise to the Alabaster Porticos
    Washed by brief sweet showers of rain.

    Till then I accept my role
    As Janitor, this side of the Gate.

  • Rookie - 22 Points Melissa Ann Parker (1/21/2014 9:15:00 AM) Post reply | Read 2 replies


    The day turned into the city
    and the city turned into the mind
    and the moving trucks trumbled along
    like loud worries speaking over
    the bicycle’s idea
    which wove between
    the more armored vehicles of expression
    and over planks left by the construction workers
    on a dusk of summer morning
    when no work was being done but by the birds,
    and us, because no matter the day,
    we tend towards
    remaking parts of it—what we said
    or did, or how we looked—

    and the buildings were like faces
    lining the banks of a parade
    obstructing and highlighting each other
    defining height and width for each other
    offsetting grace and function,
    and the hearty pigeons collaborate
    with wrought iron fences
    and become recurring choruses of memory
    reassembling around benches lovers sat in once,
    while seagulls wheel like immigrating thoughts,
    and never-leaving chickadees
    hop bared hedges and low trees
    like commas and semicolons,
    landingwhere needed, separating
    subjects from adjectives,
    stringing along the long ideas,
    showing how the cage
    has no door

    and the lights changed
    so the tide of sound ebbed and returned
    like our own breath
    and when I knew everything
    was going to look the same as the mind
    I stopped at a lively corner
    where the signs themselves were like
    perpendicular dialects in conversation and
    I put both my feet on the ground
    took the bag from the basket
    so pleased it had not been crushed
    by the mightiness of all else
    that goes on
    and gave you the sentence inside.

    Replies for this message:
    • Jeannette Lucas (2/3/2014 12:32:00 PM) Post reply

      I love: " the buildings were like faces, lining the banks of the parade." This whole stanza could be a great poem in itself. Alone, it seems more unique. However, another poem could conta ... more

    • Scotty Dogg (1/21/2014 9:58:00 AM) Post reply

      M, this is terrific! Post it on the " Discussions" and see what the gang thinks. (don't mind Therrie, though) . Fantastic effort here!

  • Rookie - 22 Points Mohan M Prasad (1/20/2014 1:44:00 AM) Post reply

    Time will tell and ring the bell

    Nice it would be to let ‘that’ alone decide
    While you and I not take easy sides

    On who is right and who is wrong
    On what’s right and what’s wrong

    Till then let’s learn to move along,
    Suspending judgment all along

    That will make life so beautiful to live
    When we to TIME the judgment leave

    ‘Let’s keep the silence’ is the simple appeal
    And wait to hear the soft voice of time peal

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