PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

You can be my kryptonite

You can bring my downfall

Bring me to my knees

Pull the energy out of me

You can be the fire

That finally consumes me

Weakness or ecstasy

You could be my kryptonite

Falsehoods and lies

Truth in disguise

Whispers comprise

A doubt in my heart

Blinding my eyes

Sorrow and sighs

Darkness will rise

My world falls apart

"Say it ain't so,

trapper in her own little world,

the sounds, smells,

and whirl of the ceiling fan

spins unnoticed, 

unfelt,

with the security 

and familiarity of her headphones.

The music,

unknown, 

the art that is decorating 

her time

sealing away

the ugly world around her.

Given unto her

the superpower

to make the whole wide world

completely melt away.

Her eyes never breaking 

a horizontal plane,

not out of submission, 

but from avoidance.

The lack

of eye-contact

can be unsettling to some, 

perhaps to the ones 

who cannot stand silence.

But in silence she works,

folding her laundry,

being sure to block all view

of any unmentionable 

she plucks up

to fold.

To the observation 

of the outsider,

an observer

would see or anything 

practically any and all

back story

only to be

most likely 

incorrect.

And she will never care,

never know

she is the topic of light scrutiny, 

so that script can be written, 

the unaware volunteer

for the unwarranted play

playing in front.

For there is nothing but a scene,

of washers and dryers,

an incredibly clean location, 

and with the only movement 

being the one

who has made a point

that she does not want

attention; 

she becomes the only subject 

on stage.

A boring play.

Smelling of fragrance;

after the rain."

Cover Girl

(Verse 1)

You're too big 

You're too small

You're too short

You're too tall

These are just some of the things we're made to feel

All the makeup

Girl in chair

Finger in curl

In glanced stare

Hair in a whirl

 Like peaches and cream

 She's my semen dream

Amber skin pearl

Silk honeyed hair

Finger in curl

Girl in chair

"A visit at my table, 

a very welcome visitor,

has a cup of coffee

set down,

but not before

the friend has seated herself

does the surface 

of the brew spill over,

splashing quietly 

as as she bumps the table with her knee.

Such a detail,

the dark, dark liquid

spread across the light brown

wood of where I write,

threatening to soil

the art being drawn.

The spillings

of the latest happenings,

the earnest devouring

of each others stories

lead to reading,

of depicting the next best thing

in lives still be finished,

download in progress.

A spiral

from one image to the next

from the warm-lit coffee shop

to digital acquisition.

Like this poem,

the conversation goes,

topics spiraling.

Not out of control,

but wildly different

in varient,

from the new job

made of dreams

to the steaming progress

of artwork creativity.

Reading,

the visitor stirring

with silent smiles

and sparkling eyes,

asking how and why

my poetry winds

into art so quickly,

but my answer is clumsy,

the failing of conveying

a real reason

for words written.

Awkward in handling it,

and unable still

to write out the soul

in one sentence,

stanza,

poem,

book, even. 

So let's write three,

I tell her,

and glee is sounded,

rounding back to her departure,

bumping coffee again.

But it's wiped away,

no evidence

of the one who sat across.

Nothing lost.

Meaning, rather.

No theme,

but a underlying feeling." 

Your hugs heal my breaking heart

Only temporarily, for once I see you hug another

It once again tears apart

I question my warm feelings…

We’re only friends, yet you fascinate me

To the point that I wonder if that’s all we really are.

I cherish our laughter, our quirky remarks

But do you lavish the intrepid beauty of others instead?

Am I nothing, if not the awkward girl you laugh with, when they’re gone…?

But then, am I more special than they?

More than a face, two breasts, and hips?

More than a quick pleasure in-between your sheets?

Or is that all you truly cherish…?

 A girl I met a match in heaven,

 More dark as me could be no better than my old lucky number seven.

Our lives started so grand the faults so small,

Being without each other just makes my skin crawl.

The people came against us one by one,

As every year that past we became that much strong.

Almost seven years now under our belt,

When she is not drinking she makes my heart melt

To wake every morning her face I first see.

The feelings in my heart larger than the sea.

To realize after time I have choices make,

 These choices so hard that will certainly control our fate

Written by,  Rob Casteel

         the girl that i see 2015

I look in the mirror every morning and see

a stranger standing there staring back at me

thinking back into her past of un-wanted pain

see's the unshed tears on her cheeks again

the doors in her mind are closed and locked

from the little girl who's childhood was mocked

she knew that her innocence was never meant to be

her reflection shows anguish from the girl that i see

she buried those nightmares inside that locked door

with past demons she doesn't want to see any more

she wonders what if i unlock all those ghosts

but wont ever do that for fear she'll be toast

those things all locked up forever will be

unspoken memories from the girl that i see