PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I see all the little shadows,

I claim to be only a curse.

I am only a memory after all.

I breathe and make everything worse.

I am built of the moments they left me.

I run in the sand just to cry.

I stand and the floor drops underneath.

I don’t know the words, they’ve slipped by.

They trust me, they say I am the poet.

They tell me I’ll make it someday.

But how can I be the right poet

when I say the right words the wrong way?

Will you write when I’m gone?

I listen to all the noise you’ve caused inside of me.

I only know part of what I’ve done to you.

If I leave will your words follow me?

It doesn’t seem that impossible.

But as soon as that sentence ends

I am walking

I see you

on every corner.

Every Rubik’s cube,

every blanket,

every beat.

Your imprints on me.

I close my eyes.

The words will stay.

© 2017 SachikoMochiko

Your eyes half closed.

Tell me the story

of how you fell in love with me.

Well,

it starts like this-

I don’t know how.

All I know is

you stole my head,

my heart,

my hands.

(My sleep.)

It’s like the ride changes every time,

little details that haven’t made it off my lips,

haven’t taken themselves

out of my heart.

When I’m tired of being sober

I want to waste every breath that falls toward you

even when gravity has taken the day off

and I am so far below your space.

We are getting older.

We are going somewhere.

We are giving up if you hold it against me.

So once again I find myself wrapped around you

when darkness falls.

You whisper again,

Tell me the story.

Tardis

(time and relative dimension in space)

By jfarrell

(inspired by dr who)

This is why I love free verse…

My life story, history, autobio…..

Goes on for  a billion pages…

But

In a poem

1 page, 4 stanzas

No rhyming couplets

But a rhythm that rocks your bones….

Kisses your soul

And dances the twist with your heart….

Here,

Not only can I describe what it felt like,

Back then,

I can whisk you away in my time machine

And you can feel it, experience it for yourself

And

If you’re familair with dr who…

You know to keep running away

Coz the daleks, cybermen and all horrible monsters

Running after you….

You look like their next dinner

I am the TARDIS.

A wordsmith.

But, still

A happily committed drunk!

You say I need to point my voice like a sword point

deliberate as a firework

and I watch the forest go up in flames.

I don’t want to sound like that.

I need to shape my words to fit your mold

when every letter is drawn through spikes

and gifted with a king and crown.

I don’t want to sound like that.

I hear so many vows on street corners,

nevers and forevers.

It’s so easy to promise things in a bottle

before you can see the contents.

I don’t want to sound like that.

So I cower in corners

I am stained red with truth and mistakes

and I walk like everyone who never sees me.

When I say that love is kind of like a lookback

like you can regret things that haven’t happened…

loving me is kind of like reaching with a short stick.

Peeling the onion

By jfarrell

My story, my history

Will come out, layer by layer

Within my poetry

And much of it you won’t like;

“let’s leave those horrors for scary stories”

Like peeling an onion, the deeper you go

The more intense it is

When I started writing poetry recently

I upset my sister with it;

It’s stuff she’s got over and buried in the past;

And she is the only one of my relatives I give a stuff about;

But she doesn’t believe that

She believes I stay away out of hate and spite;

I stay away coz I seem to hurt everything I touch

I promised her I wouldn’t write personal stuff

Sorry, but I’ve got to break that promise

I write for me, I have to write my story

And I have to write it my way

You can choose to not read

But you cannot tell me not to write;

You found your peace;

I’m still searching for mine.

I need to peel this onion.

you don’t want me because I spend

too much time

crying in elevators.

I am a slave to the not-enoughs

hibernating in my throat

and when no one comes to save me

I don’t tell you because I am caving

and I don’t want you to crawl where I’ve been.

you don’t want me because I don’t know what I’m doing.

admit it

and you can’t make me anything

I have always wanted to be for you

so all I have is a pebble with your name hacked into it on impulse

I have nothing else lasting to give you.

you don’t want me because my voice carries like bad news.

I like to think I tell you everything

but there are things I don’t ever want to hear come from my own lips

or the dam will break and I will never stop shaking.

and sometimes I write things

not because they are true

but because they sound like a waterfall

and I think you want to be drenched.

I am not honest,

trust me.