Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
 Apr 15 aviisevil
Ayesha
In dream, abundant
As roses to a girl
Whirl, pool, whirlpool
Wool, wisps, tickle
Taunt. In dreams, awake
Wide-eyed and red
Haunting choir, your joy
Multiplied, magnified,
Colourised. Shimmering,
Hung up to dry, to drip
In beads, as grief
On ground. In dreams,
Alive. Rattling, rumbling,
Merciless as a train
Touchable, unstoppable
A body of metal, of human
Full, of child, man, woman
Well, I – I I stand
Like a beehive at work
I – I – I curl my toes, my fingers
My bones. Contort. I am
Gyre, turning, turning,
Gyre, astray. You sigh
And it spreads like a scream
Hot, smokey, the steam-engine
Churns. Limbs move, move and
And the sky moves with them
The sun blinks between
Your windows, the ground
Mumbles, disturbed, grumbles.
And I, well. I – I do not
Give to the flight of soul
I do not limit myself to
Sweet. I am full on sweet.
On infatuation and yearn.
There is no music, no disection
Of beast. The violins move
Without their kin, and with them
Moves the world. I am
No pilgrim, O pilgrim love.
In dream, instilled, a storm at work
Red. Blue. Green. Red.
Blue. Green. You move
the birds. You do not
move me.
24/02/2024
 Apr 15 aviisevil
Ayesha
You turgid, pompous, twitchy, you leave
No room for word. For thought, for
Silence violins, for tip toeing quiet
I am paltry poet, a woman of pursed lips
And body twined like a thread between
Your thoughtless finger and thumb
I was to dress in weightless garments
And skip a cricket about the greens
There was nothing in me contained.
You fill me up like a memorial wall

And dust me everyday before dawn
And you polish the hundred frames
That hang with mirrors clean as sun
Within which peer the hundred eyes
Of people who mourn themselves sweet
And a sag of roses red as me
Mourning itself about my feet
You bring me no gifts but a sorrow
That is not mine. With kisses sharp
As lemons, you soothe me then
Into the night, and you wipe the faces

Clean and you love me till I am
Mirror again. I was no dream
contorted in memory to a clever liking
I was to dress in simple garments
and write off to the seas, I was silence,
Simply, slow and tender, come
To lurk and stray in senseless song
I was word. I was word. I was word.
You with your hundred eyes of love

Swift with hands that move like flames
Flicker, stone, sand, stars, applause
You fatten me up like a suitcase
With your hundred other faces of me
And it burns like music, it is daisies
And sugar, you - beast, bountiful,
Beautiful and blighty, I want to
Clutter myself up with you - by Lord,

But, need I get up and go
And twist and twist myself till
It's dead. Then turn and bleed in peace
For long - then void and white - love,
You will. You will not kiss me again
To sleep.
12/04/2024
 Sep 2019 aviisevil
Pablo Neruda
I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.

Write, for instance: "The night is full of stars,
and the stars, blue, shiver in the distance."

The night wind whirls in the sky and sings.

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

On nights like this, I held her in my arms.
I kissed her so many times under the infinite sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her.
How could I not have loved her large, still eyes?

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
To think I don't have her. To feel that I've lost her.

To hear the immense night, more immense without her.
And the poem falls to the soul as dew to grass.

What does it matter that my love couldn't keep her.
The night is full of stars and she is not with me.

That's all. Far away, someone sings. Far away.
My soul is lost without her.

As if to bring her near, my eyes search for her.
My heart searches for her and she is not with me.

The same night that whitens the same trees.
We, we who were, we are the same no longer.

I no longer love her, true, but how much I loved her.
My voice searched the wind to touch her ear.

Someone else's. She will be someone else's. As she once
belonged to my kisses.
Her voice, her light body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, true, but perhaps I love her.
Love is so short and oblivion so long.

Because on nights like this I held her in my arms,
my soul is lost without her.

Although this may be the last pain she causes me,
and this may be the last poem I write for her.
 Feb 2018 aviisevil
John Stevens
It has been seven years since Paddy posted his last poem. I am taking the previlege to bring it back up top. Please read his poems.

Paddy Martin Jan 2011
An Australian Summer Sonnet.
I pray thee sun thou should set,
or take thy leave better yet,
wouldst at last my thirst be gone,
But alas thee linger, and linger on.

There be no flower not yet dead,
no water flows in yonder river bed.
'Tis a heat where nought doth grow,
nor doth thee ever mercy show.

Dry of skin and parch of throat,
a man doth need no overcoat.
Thy rays doth burn mine eyes,
they do not hear mine mercy cries.

If there be a place where chill be found,
'Tis there it be that I be bound,
A place where there be no burning sun,
show it to me, so to it I shall run.

(c) 26th January 2010
with apoligies to all you Shakespeare freaks
I was thinking how Will would have handled our Oz summer heat.
if the ocean would carry me
it'll collapse under the weight of my bones
made with cement and steel
and the burden each brick owns

witness the waves howler and scream
just like the heart caged in my chest
blood bubbling around the muscle
surging with every beat and protest

the bottom of the sea may be quiet
like my tongue folded neatly in my mouth
though feral beasts deep within
choke with pressure more than i can count

the ocean and i are seperate
both flowers from different gardens
one ephemeral, one wilting before your eyes
but both's head tilting up to the heavens

sorrowful eyes, swirling, storm awakening
chaos mingling betwixt water and blood
ravid souls in dire need of feeding
cursed and blessed by god

i wonder if i could carry the ocean
within just the corners of my palm
i and the ocean - we are one
a catastrophe after the calm
i love the ocean. it makes you feel a lot of things.
 Jul 2016 aviisevil
Tom Balch
As soon as they used
the morphine word
I knew the end was near,
and yet…

I never said the things
I should have said
to my father dear,

and when I think
about him now
I can clearly hear him say

you did not have to say it son,
I knew………..along the way*.
Pray, And then Do Something!!!!
Be Still and Know.....
Face your Problems, don't Facebook them...
............

The Language of the Mob.
Never a place of Witnessing.

Look Up... Oh say can you SEE..
by this Dawns early Light
what WE Gratefully Hail
Christ's  Heaven and Life...

Liberty's Light  Shining Celebration Up
Beauty's tears of fading illumination out
Life falling softly into the arms of Grace...
Comfort the wounded, they are many..

Listen...
Sound of Clutter riding fiercely upon the breath of Giving..
becoming more like a machine gun.
Do you hear the Sound of fighting
within the streets of NEW Divinity?
******, ****, defamation... all threats,
Yes... each of them given..   Its true ..Backdoor gifts of rage..

Once a puppet show for re-emerging Wisdom
Now a strip tease for an endless line of dancers
This is the Made in Hollywood movie  that all have demanded
get your pop corn out...you are Witnessing the Question of Choice..

Nation sold  for the drop of a dime
Free Choice...
the right to Vote by Public Declaration
Now held in the arms of  What?   the Secret Ballot?

Prayer. The power of WORD
Spoken by the Giants of Robot imagination
a trigger, tied to the experience of feeling..

The scientific formula of Good,
magnified by ONE million strong
Are we focused on the Good First,
or the Oneness of Anything?

..."Give the money to the Representative
and it will all go away"....
But it won't...

Do You Understand the Question Now?

Peace.
 Jun 2016 aviisevil
Vasundhra
knock on the door.
I knew it was the bird
To tell me another tale
Of her lost love
Because I am the only ear
She has got.

She need to be at peace for godsake
Leave me alone for a day
With out her lonely talks
She should no longer be here.

Tired of hearing those tales
I took the gun
Opened the door
And shot 3 bullets
right into her.
One day everything is meant to end
Next page