expression

Self Expression

 

 

You, me, people,

 

I could be mistaken,

 

Because I have been,

 

Often,

 

But---

 

I do think,

 

That people have a right,

 

To inflect a smidgen,

 

Or a bit,

 

Or a touch,

 

Of their personality,

 

Into all they do,

 

And too,

 

They have, at the same time,

 

A responsibility to,

 

When in conversation with others,

 

For reason of accomplishing a task,

 

Or even just enjoyment,

 

Or making small talk,

 

To acknowledge to some degree,

 

The other person's personality,

 

And assess to it, a like or dislike,

 

And either chuck it, 

 

And focus on the subject matter 

 

Of the conversation,

 

Or enjoy it as they choose,

 

But certainly not allow 

 

For your like,

 

Or dislike,

 

To control or influence them,

 

In their evaluation process

 

On a given topic, and then 

 

Take out aggression 

 

On an individual

 

For their inability to

 

Place their feelings

 

About one's personality aside.

 

 

 

 

But alas! There IS a viable solution

 

For such individuals, which would be,

 

To purchase one dozen eggs,

 

Because if someone's personality

 

Bothers you, you can then 

 

Remove one from the carton,

 

And suck on it, 

 

And if it breaks,

 

You still have 11 more,

 

Just be careful of the shell.

 

 

 

 

 

9:32 PM 6/20/2013

 

©

An Expression Of Love

I am gravely sorry
That you hold pain within you.

 

We share love,

Whether you choose to accept it
In your reality or not.

 

I am empathetic towards your pain.

 

I am not a psychiatrist.
I am not a psychologist.
I do not know how to control your delusions,
Only you know how to do that.

 

I do know this.

When you can clearly see,
That keeping your mouth shut,
Instead of opening it,
Is hurting far more people
Than it is helping...

 

...it's time to open your damn mouth.

 

 

05/19/2013 10:04 AM ©

Author's Notes/Comments: 

We all choose our delusions in life.

Medicinal Scribble

                                                       
   
A rhyme is deciphered in multiple ways,
            Perception is vital,
                           As is the length of one’s daze,
The spelling of words can hold meanings construed,
              Making some rhymes sound different
                             If heard, and not viewed.

Inflections on words can be easily read,
            Better yet, when expressed from the heart…
                                      …(not the head).

A title can mimic the gist of the rhyme,
            Or take one on a journey
                             Through eons of time.

One thing is for sure about all that you’ve read,
           When we touch with our heart,
                           And reveal in our head,
What we feel becomes worth something more when expressed,
            On a piece of plain paper,
                          In truth or in jest!

You see, when stagnant feelings are held in the chest,
            The results of this could be your worst or your best,

Transformed feelings have less chance to become,
            Heart attacks that would otherwise
                           End lives of some.

 

 

© 2002

Title change  2013

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Thoughts on paper...purges the toxins. Ahhhh...

Day To Vent

Folder: 
Poetic Boosts

Imagination
Key to creativity
Exploring onto a piece of paper
Gliding your pen of words
Along each parallel lie
Inked in a deep black
After adding some pencil crayon
Stands a piece of art
Out of the canvas it rests on
Expressing a mood you feel
That day is a day to vent

Voices
Screaming to be silenced
An expression
Couraged to be sketched
Loud without quiet
Something was said
Something was noticed
Revealed originally
A sensation grew over me
The feeling over a paper
Worded in painful poetry
My place to vent

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Venting into Paper, as all of us Poets do when we Write.

View dark_scorpion's Full Portfolio

bloom

Who i thought you were fades into the past
Like a sky i once painted
So blue.
I think about you all the time, ive gone mad
I can't stop this, I'm tainted
Its true.
All thats left in my hand is a few grains of sand,
But I am laying on the entire beach
Shoreline stretches to the endless horizon,
Endless opportunities i will never reach.
Oh, how I need you here to tell me it is possible!
I would drown swimming to the impossible,
If you would tell me it is possible.
I open up, like a flower,
be my sun, be my reason for laughter.
I dont want to be locked tight inside this bud, only seeing me,
I dont care to be safe. With this love like the ocean, you're all i can see
I want to throw my heart overboard, and surrender to this drowning,
I wont fight against the great waters, your embrace is what rescues me.
I let go of what i thought, of what i once knew, i let go
I am a flower starting to bloom, the pure essence of love
Is all i know.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I know this has not very much consistency.... Just needed to vent through writing. Let out whatever is surfacing within the ocean of my being. Namaste.

The Clovers and the Sun

No poems

View bpg1's Full Portfolio

Epitaph

Written in a Geneva:

Switzerland Churchyard  

 

Ugonna Wachuku

 

A dirge and epilogue is sung for me
on your fleeing island of uninterested
unavailability. The owl hoots no more
on moonlit nights of home.  

 

Biblical Zacchaeus and Matthew: Oh!
Little me: "pass me not O gentle
Saviour..." Green pastures abound.
My peace unbound. Your island is
so real. The bridge stands no more
on humane pathway to landscapes. Kai!
Your island is so real, daughter of
the Almighty Creator.

 

Pathway to landscapes: The eagle I am
must soar this new day to welcoming
mountain-tops to view, one last time,
your pathway to landscapes.

 

At the stroke of midnight, this blessed
new day, I will depart your island of
unavailability; and sail for the high
seas. My smiling ship is created. The
wind from others beckons. Pines of home
whistle. The rainbow awaits. My simple
ship is set to sail; and I must bid you
farewell in God's care. I invite thee
no more on earthly footpaths. Oh!
Epitaph! This Epitaph! Would that
I wrote thee not; or perhaps
forgotten my lines on this
strange stage through life.

 

Heaven's gardens: Remember, when we
finally meet there, I am  the bald
Eagle that tarried for years on your
unfeeling island of unavailability :-
made whole with heavenly bounties in
His soul saving bossom.

 

AH! Epitaph! This farewell! This glad
dirge sung for me! This epilogue! Oh!
Little me. The owl hoots no more on
moonlit nights of home because this
glad dirge is sung. This emerald
epitaph all for you to set me freeee!
Heaven's gardens and meadow sea
shores. I set sail at midnight
under
heaven's
loving
eyes
and
hope
u
n
c
h
a
i
n
e
d
!
!
!
!
!
!
!