Tag: Inspiration
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Mes mots dans ce rêve.
The likeness of snow-covered heaps on desert-searing nights Of a scathing wind that cursed a name and brought it By the crook of a deserted nest sunbathed by bare hands, Seducing a whistle to the primeval waters that shoehorn rocks Reflected with an awakening flutter within a cold room With lip of ice and loitering hill sides by a pale tide, blistering with mercy;
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“Inspire me Coffee, Please?” by Don Matthews.
I’m sitting in my cafe Wanting some inspire Staring at me coffee Waiting brain to fire
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Modernities.
isolate the modernities carnations touch the wind, mocking them, like a cigarette in the abandoned sunlight
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His eyes.
Leopard’s paws white like scolecite stones faceted to fingernails to the death of the wild, a resemblance to a beast
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Poem Collaboration! (Closed).
I’m holding a collaboration open for all to create a group poem together. It is not a contest, but rather an event we can all do together during these dark times of the world. Perhaps, this could help promote positivity in the midst of it all. Perhaps, we can meet new writers here from this collaboration and discover different pieces of writing. In a way, it doesn’t have to feel so socially distant.
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Tyranny.
your laugh like a poison to surge, the chill when you look at me; the dust of the horizon shapes cruelty.
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Effusion de sang dans les océans.
desire sails the salt winds in the dark sleep of eternity within the bloodshed of the sea
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Into the cold.
There’s glory into the sun winding the red into the willows lost into the mind of cool light
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Dreams we’ve never had.
Conquering in the exile of a gradual wind, The rhythmic blood Beating on your cold skin;
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They murder with a kiss.
Plucked in each verse, red for shame, Desire is cold, bridled by Webster’s obsession with death With a text that clutches and folds, Anguish, anguish in the flesh
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We’ve lived nothing as a dream.
I wake to the darkest light; the marshes cry in the mist, And my eyes fix to the shaking of the wind, grazing the footfall by the permafrost, It is a maddening world out there—the roads beaten, unlit, Crawling of a cedar’s blood Slaved in an undressed pottery polished in white lines
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Like forever meets the mist.
Flocked as ghosts, as words of humanity undressing in a torn darkening mist And there is not a forever, we must surrender as the dazzle of the sky blurs in starlit Blood fall days when the moon is stuccoed with white
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Is This Love?
I wanted to smack you in the head with my math book, But that smile made me take another look. Maybe I’d hit your friend.
Pseudopsychosis. 