Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
I am not a poet
Just trapped in love
Maybe this trap
made me one
I don't know

I never asked to
write these lines,
But you
You made me

So read them
Find yourself
between the verses
And become
my poet now
It's raining outside right now. It's raining.
It's beating down the dust on silent pavements.
I waited you to come the day before.
Today I've realized it was bedevilment.

I've realized it when I saw your smile
In raindrops, flowing down the window,
Your pretty eye wrinkles, so tremulous and soft,
And you in whole, so false and so ridiculous.

Waiting for you, alas, is not my lot.
No yesterday or next day, and no later.
I hate the rain today! I really hate the rain!
There's so much pain in it. I stop to be a waiter.
Sorry for being sad again.
Thank you for reading this poem! 💖
They touch
With a featherlight, brush of the fingertips.
Their prompt is a mere insinuation....
And their influence offered
As the slightest whisp of a wafting breeze.
But the impact made
Can be utterly monumental
And a driving impetus
To the receptive, creative soul
On a mission!

M@Foxglove.Taranaki.NZ
Inspired by the melodic artwork encased
in Agnes de Lod's short verse "Muses"
When I sit alone,
Someone will ask, “Can I use this chair?”
Then carry it to another table
To laugh with friends over there—
Leaving me, still and silent,
Closed off like a clam.
Have you ever felt like this?
i guess i got you man that's gotta count for SOMETHING
The delicacy,
that is a woman.

Soft as silk,
sweet like red wine,
tastes of fruitful fertility—
a dish so rare.
Why does no one care im dying?
Do they not realize?
Do they not see?
My hair is falling out
My hands are shaking
Maybe they don’t hear the cries
Maybe they don’t feel my cold hands and feet
My stomach growls louder
My mind is fuzzy
Can they not notice my baggy clothes
Can they not listen to my whines
The doctors don’t care that I’m dying
They can’t even tell me why
The doctors don’t care that I’m dying
They’ll just take their money from my grave
There is a beauty
in summer
in the warm winds
caressing your hair

There is a beauty
in sunshine

In endless days
slumbering by
reading Derek Walcott
and Charles Baudelaire.

There is a happiness
in summer
of bright skies
and ice cream parlors.

of fond memories
and fonder friends

For the joys of summer
are never truly forgotten.
Next page