21poetsunion

[21poetsunion]

Millenials

We’re the ones that make things happen, whenever and wherever it is permitted, not by your vapid laws, but by nature’s laws themselves, by the laws of motion, as we are also they that move, like drunken dancers careening haphazardly through subway cars, knocking into elderly passengers with well-timed pirouettes, twirling around the poles and offending their orthodoxy with our insistence on activity, no matter how badly they might want us to “pipe down” and “wait our turn” in these never ending lines, as though the inferno were not burning behind us and our “patience” would mean our end, and as though were not wasted on the milk of the stars, dribbling down our mouths like the blood from a stark bloody nose, the result of a father’s—“this will be good for you”—fist connecting with bones, which are still our birthright, which we will not bury in shame or let be cremated by a fate which was not our choosing; no, we will elevate them to a worthiness of the solar dust which made them, blend them back into the soil of Mother Earth, and construct a juggernaut, a spaceship of infinite proportions and unlimited capabilities which will barrel through subway cars, rolling over any resistance with the most beautiful locomotion you’ve ever seen, its engine humming revolutionary tunes and its headlights flashing out to the universe: we are here. 

[21poetsunion]

Simple and beautifully crafted. Lingers in my mind!

The Sycamore

Is someone at the sycamore Where yesterday I saw two drunks Who later passed me in the woods With feet above the forest floor?

I’m drifting further from the blues; The sycamore has talked at length Of children’s games and missing shoes, And poems published in reviews.

[21poetsunion]

Absolutely beautiful. Excellent use of line-break.

Unfinished Canvas

Paint me in dashing hues boldly spent in electric blues, trailing boldstroke footprints arched by jazzed golden sunbursts

tip tap toes on through to busted heart wide crimsons - will you not save us?

lead away to swirling grace, curls come to closer call, taunts of one for mercy mine, be dipped at waist to give wide, bend for known as owned, take hold for reason fast and surrender to faded strains in lover’s restraint and stays; plucked with quick-fingered ease; tormented, deep, and sliding taut, lines drawn round our play and steal away the wait for life less shared, then owned timeless moments, Dali fancied in melting clocks mad devotion, Picasso heard with bloodied ear forgiving broadstrokes, we are the unfinished canvas- forever changing as we brashly draw each into our lives as confidently, we learn to stay the distance.

[21poetsunion]

Circus Shenanigans

If only you saw in me twice First the clown with a diamond eye, And second, a limp circus mouse Perhaps you could've noticed That the diamond was only A piece of shattered glass

[21poetsunion]

Miracle

Honey, I told you I'm a miracle Shaping universe in clay Crafting here and today Believing more than you may Ever realize about yourself But honey, when I told you I wish a miracle in your life You already had it in your hands All you had to do was grasp

[21poetsunion]

Haiku

Are you telling me That mere flowers can describe The petals in you?

[21poetsunion]

Haiku

The storyteller Crafted a girl in syntax Made alive through words.

[21poetsunion]

Haiku

When I was a star The atoms in me pulled you To never let go.

[21poetsunion]

Don't silence the child within you. Courageous words are often the ones that seem the most cowardly.

[21poetsunion]

When in October I can go to Rome...

When in October I can go to Rome, after washing with the airport faucets I’ll find my way to romance in a house on the Spanish Steps, Then visit graves where grass, I hope, is laden with dew, Where flowers are heaped in the tussock.

Afterwards I’ll linger four days in the town, living of coffee, Some mindless chatter, some philosophical agreement And ethical debate. All the while thinking about Where flowers are heaped in the tussock.

©2014 by Andrew Wells

[21poetsunion]

Nightly Haiku

Sit and stare beyond The confines of the window. Dream big in small space

[21poetsunion]

Fruit Cocktail

My breath is stolen by  kisses  sweeter  than kiwi; lips plumper  than berries ardently caress mine

and I get lost in the vaguely citrus scent  that lingers about you

our tongues  tangle wildly like  grape vines before mellowing and evolving into a decadency reminiscent  of wine

and eventually I spoil it by smiling too widely to keep  the kiss unbroken

but you never seem to mind

since my lips, like my smiles, always return to you  before long

　

 © By wittywino​

[21poetsunion]

Haiku

A flower's beauty Lies in its shortness of life That withers in time.

[21poetsunion]

Haiku

What if the world stops Without erasing my marks Mostly of teardrops?

[21poetsunion]

Very vulgar, very simple. But what’s a better way to deliver this quintessential rawness of emotions than what has been done in this example? This poem has a Bukowski-an spirit. Absolutely delightful.

I’m easily distracted by attention my heart is a whore of sorts forgetting recent events, conspiring against better judgement because it wants what it wants and I’ll be Goddamned if I’m going to stand in it’s way.

[21poetsunion]

Absolutely beautiful! This poem proves that simple words can be beautiful when combined with care. 

When people tell you to bite your  tongue, bring your voice to me And I will teach you how to snap  their spines with words.  You used to wear dark clothing, but  you were never the mysterious kind.  You would sneak looks to him from  three church pews away They said you prayed to the wrong  God Find your voice sewn into  Beloved words You are the stories you tell. 

[21poetsunion]

Untitled

Meet me at the bookstore Where flowers grow Right out of the pages I’ll meet you there I’ll meet you there I’ll show you the words That captured me You see, I have a theory That some books are criminals That steal away parts of you Because, don’t you know, There are places inside me I never knew existed Empty, gaping, holes I want to shake the pages until I get back what’s mine

　

 © By boutsofinsomnia