Behind The Mind of The Abstract Poet...
Kaleidoscopic verve of vision
we dare to tread finest lines,
steady as the marionette
dangling o'er a child -
recklessly, drunkingly,
grade school tom-foolishly,
metaphorically breathing,
teasing and testing,
delivering loud messages
so subtlely...as 'we' do so well,
quite collectively, such variety,
like potpouris scent of diversity,
synthesizing all principles
of written locution;
and have you studied
the grammarical bible
of parlance, keen lexia
in lieu of lingual dreck?
personally i'd rather
be accused of shibboleth,
or the strange esoteric,
as the Masons so practiced
so f r e e l y.....covertly
bizarre in dark legendries,
by death pledge in blood
to protect their covenants
while frightening the bejesus
out of Quakers and Democrats -
threaded codes do tell tales
with their symbols 'n numerals
not so different then we
and our underlying themes
diagnal acrostics
interpretations,
indignations,
surrealistic Dali-ations,
cryptic lexicon just so -
we can create our own covenant
of dark, linguistic pages;
pages, thick with cold richness,
''our'' richness, and blood;
blood that pours hard
from every stroke of our pens,
from every rush to our brains.
And thats poetry of the Abstract
surrealistic free verse
...yes it is -
right above,
as forementioined, yes,
thats what it be-
and it's so strangely beautiful to me.
poem by Frank James Ryan Jr.
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Written In Blood And Love
In pages written in blood, in pages written love.
Stories are told of you grow old together.
Live to dieing forever.
Scarred by the pain of misery.
Scarred by the imperfections the have created so many rejections.
Give me the antidote to the poison that I have slipped in my own drink.
Let me breath the life in again.
Drowned out all the cowardliness of my angel who holding me up.
Such a beautiful crutch.
Still in the pages written in blood, in the pages written love.
We are just one of millions.
Every story is the same.
All that's changed is the names, places, and faces.
Erase it all.
Rewrite the entire fall.
Let the wind take me.
Let the lightning strike me here and now.
For i will not let it cloud my judgement.
No matter the storm that's brought on.
In the pages written in blood, in the pages written in love
Hate me for the right reasons
Hate me because I am what you wanted me to be.
In all the irony.
I didn't change for you.
It was done way before you came along and sang your song.
All the pages have been written, in blood and love.
The Shakespeare play Romeo and Juliet to the fullest.
Its the cruelest games in tragedy strikes without a ounce of leniency.
No mercy to those who are jumping without a life line.
Protection against the evil of an accident so quick.
A slip becomes a fall.
Next your trying to stall buy a little time.
But its in vain.
Nothing can be changed.
Its sink or swim till you reach shore.
So long off stripped of everything you thought was important.
Values so mixed up in these pages written in blood, in the pages written in love.
We have killed another pair of doves.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Beauty Of The Sky
Beauty of the sky, is the richness of the blue.
Deepness of the sky, is the richness of the red.
Darkness of the sky, is the richness of the black.
Freshness of the sky, is the richness of the rain.
Glimpses of the sky, is the richness of the stars.
Smile of the sky, is the richness of the moon.
Sparks of the sky, is the richness of the lighting.
Beauty of the sky, is the richness of the clouds...
poem by Manzoor ilahi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
What Is Written In Red
I am written in red,
I am sliding across the page of life.
I am racing across the lines of language.
I am red.
I write words,
I create lines and sentences,
I am kept in solitude
I am red.
I create paragraphs.
I create signatures.
I know what you're thinking before you speak,
I am red.
I cannot breath because I am enclosed in a capsule.
A capsule that covers the knowledge inside.
All I do is stare at pages,
All I know is pages,
I become apart of the pages,
And the pages become apart of me.
I become apart of english,
I become apart of words,
I am RED.
BY: Takisha Fields
poem by Kiesha fields
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Written In Red!
Pages of history of man kind
Are written red,
Those who thought their blood,
As blue as sky or as blue as deep ocean,
Wrote the pages in Red and every page is full of bloodshed!
Hungry people weep for even glass of water,
And even for that they had blood to shed,
Innocent plants or innocent grass die,
When two elephants fight for supremacy!
They never care how many innocent may die!
Great heroes are made on the number of men they despatch to hell,
Saying patriots have heaven in their fight!
They are heroes like matadors at the cost of blood of an innocent bull!
Otherwise they are as you and me except that cruelty,
Men the made several men to shed blood, in the name of woman,
May it be sita, may it be Padmini
Or may be Helen of Troy,
All men were treated like toys
By a that a few mad boys,
To have their woman back,
Or defend their action,
All religions have their history written in red,
May it be books that are from God,
Stained with red, God signed it with blood,
Put the rubber stamp of quality with bone and flesh,
Every nation is having its own fountain of blood shed!
power hungry need only to shed crocodile tears,
Or just present awards and reward,
Those who safeguard
and died to save them!
May it be Ashoka, may it be Idi Ameen
or may be Churchil, or may be Gandhi,
Or may Lincoln or Changez Khan
Only they were famous due blood shed!
May it be history of continent or that sub continent
Only a story written in blood, On human skin and with bones as pens!
May it be any ' -ism ' or may
Politics in spain or Britain,
Equally dangerous are these..
Power or woman,
Ambition or nation,
Whether terrorist or counter terrorist venture
Police or politician,
Every history of massive wealth,
Or a piece of land
Religion or culture, blood is That red ink with pages of history is written only in red!
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Book
My life is a leaf
Bind together in a book
Written
With sweat and blood
Pages after pages
With the taste of Pain and joy
Every emotion
Big or small
Fully charged
Packed and sealed
Every incident
Recoded in details
For the experience
Good or bad
If you want to learn
Whether there is any love
For you and mankind
You just need to turn
The page number twenty one
Chapter after chapter
Written with mixture
Of success and failure
If any one
Written badly
And Tastes sour
It is my life
Full of blood and flesh
Please pass on to another
poem by Abdul Wahab
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Moses Dedicated The Law Of Moses
Moses read to the people the law.
The people promised to obey the law.
Moses sprinkled blood on the people
blood on the book sealed the people
sealed in contact with dedicating blood
thus was born a new Mosaic Covenant
the first covenant was dedicated blood
Moses spoke every precept
to all the people according to the law
Moses took blood of calves
goats, with water, scarlet wool, hyssop
sprinkled both the book and all the people
saying 'This is the blood of the covenant
which God has commanded you.' Hebrews 9: 18-22.
Moses sprinkled with blood
both the tabernacle and all vessels
of ministry according to law
almost all things
holy are purified
in sacrificial blood
shedding of blood
there is remission
atonement in blood
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Tracks, Trails, Lines and pages
Tracks in forests… of woodland creatures
Trails of shooting stars in summer skies
Tracks of rockets o’er bloody battlefields
Traces of wrinkles round wizened eyes
Lines of wisdom on wrinkled faces
Lines of ants upon the floor
Lines of prose on parchment pages
Lines of carts inside the stores
Pages of life, inside old diarys
Pages dog-eared to mark the places
Pages filled with tales sad and fiery
Pages filled with empty spaces
poem by David Whalen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Guardian and BloodRose
BloodRose,
Rose of my love,
My love for Dark moon,
Dark as my heart,
Black as my soul,
And gave me my rose.
The rose of blood,
With petals soft and black,
Never as a rose so beautiful,
Grown not in light,
But under a dark moon lit sky.
Guardian,
Yes a guardian of BloodRose,
With teeth long and sharp,
Claws hard as diamonds,
Scales as dark as night.
My dear sweet guardian,
Guardian black as my heart,
Fire in your eyes,
Shadows in your soul,
A dragon of the dark moon.
A single rose,
With petals so fare,
As dark as my heart,
I now hold in my hand,
The rose of blood.
You are my darkness,
Fear of this love,
This love for you,
Love for darkness,
The cold shadows in my heart
That makes me yearn for you.
Now as you lay dying,
I hold a single rose,
The rose you gave me,
And as I hold it tight,
The thorns slice my hand,
Covered with blood,
My blood.
I have one fear,
The fear of death,
Symbol of my lost love,
Rose as dark as me,
Laying in a pool of blood,
Blood from me.
As I lay dying,
I remember my name,
BloodRose,
I am the rose of blood,
And I died of my own creation.
A creation of perfect beauty,
Petals dark black,
Thorns like small daggers,
Grown from my love,
My love for a dragon,
A dragon as dark as my heart.
Even in my death,
I think of you,
And the rose you gave me,
The rose that killed me,
The Rose of Blood.
poem by Nicolette Gonzalez
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
(Depression Poem) Blood Letting Just To Feel
Blood letting just to feel.
Nothing is real.
Crawling in the dark.
Looking for an escape.
Will destiny just let be free.
In constant debt.
A slave to an system that knows no regret.
Your just so god damn insufficient.
Nothing absolutely nothing.
A march of the blind.
At war with everyone for just an tiny bit of breathing room.
Someone just let me out.
Blood letting just to feel.
Nothing is real.
Crawling in the dark looking for an escape.
Will destiny just let be free.
I'm on my knees praying to a god
i don't even believe in.
Just for a chance at a better existence.
One where i can run above the clouds.
Without having to worry about falling so far down.
So suddenly i hit the ground.
Got to run for cover.
Blood letting just to feel.
Nothing is real.
Crawling in the dark looking for an escape.
Will destiny just let me be free.
Maybe with a little more agony.
Pain turns into pleasure.
It becomes the systems measure.
Walk a mile in denial.
No willingness to face it faithfully,
honestly, and wholeheartedly.
Blood letting just to feel.
Nothing is real.
Crawling in the dark looking for an escape.
Will destiny ever let me be free.
Take your shackles and chains.
I just will not play this game.
See the writing on the wall thats my name.
Yes i was here but now i'm gone just so far gone.
Lost in space and time.
Searching for something i will probably never find.
Its just too late its already gone, already gone.
Blood letting just to feel.
Nothing is real.
Crawling in the dark looking for an escape.
Will destiny ever let me be free.
All i have ever wanted is that
i promised an was so wrongfully denied.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
My Idea Book (Cinquain)
Richness
Treasured pages
Gems of wisdom therein -
Bountiful ink from which I write
Bible.
'The unfolding of Your Words gives light;
it gives understanding to the simple.'
Psalm 119: 130
.......................................... ......................................
July 7,2009
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
From the pages of History
The blood as I know
Has no colour nor any flavour
Except it's history
That flows through the ages.
Neanderthal or Neolithic men,
Homo sapiens, warriors or peasants...
Nobody knows the chemistry of blood
Except the sharpen swords!
Since my birth I watch
The bloodstained pages of history
Fly over the dark sky......
poem by Braja K Sarkar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Shadows are my sun
Ive fallen in a hole
so deep, dark and cold
No one is there
no one to hold
My eyes are bloodstained
tears and they fall to my
lips
My plams are scratched with
blood, it trickles to my
fingertips
My blood is cold and my veins
are ice and my hair is dark
dark like night
I sit in a dark corner
shadows are my sun
I fare myself,
what have i done
I pick up a mirror
but fail to look
I will only see an unknown
place so i put down,
myself i cannot face.
poem by Nicole Buckland
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Love Written In Passion Blood
love is written in warm passion blood
life is written in lust stirring flow blood
union is written in rich soul merging blood
blood in all union gift birth children born
blood bled in surge birth new life
blood corrupted death end finale life
blood love warm pure pumps renewal
blood flesh pierced sword's blade
blood climatic performance act ends
blood in taste of virgin experience death
contradiction the birth of life the birth of death
music cosmic soars at moment of conception
a moment seals love passion or life rape ripped
life poem writ contains such complexity such depth
lucky are lines life focus love given in glad glee read
glad for startling insight thoughts reflections merry
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
See Me In The Mirror
See me in the mirror if you want to
See me in the mirror if you really want to
Maybe not too clear, but the face you'll see is mine
Do you feel my eyes burning through you
Do you feel the burn when my eyes see through you
Do you see my eyes when they burn into your mind
I can feel the teardrops hit the ground where I'm layed
I can feel you breathing while I sleep through the day
See you in a vision in the dark with no light?
Your soul may go to heaven, but your heart's mine tonight
Do you feel my skin when you touch me
Do you feel my skin when you reach and touch me
Cold and blue and thin but it's still somehow alive
And you can feel my blood running through you
You can feel the rush of my blood run through you
You can feel the gush when my blood runs up your spine
And I can feel the teardrops hit the ground where I'm layed
I can feel you breathing while I sleep through the day
See you in a vision in the dark with no light?
Your soul may go to heaven, but your heart's mine tonight
See me in your mirror if you want to
See me in the mirror if you really want to
Maybe not too clear, but the face you'll see is mine
See me in the mirror, mirror, mirror
See me in the mirror, mirror
See me in the mirror, mirror
See me in the mirror, mirror
See me in the mirror, mirror, mirror
song performed by by Alice Cooper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Dark Night, Dark Blood (couplet)
Dark night, dark blood
Blood that is as dark as mud
Stains the life of many afar
Stains the blackness of the tar
Dark night, dark blood forevermore
Blood in the night and on the shore
poem by D'Anna Abril
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Liberty
Theres a gentleness within
Theres a kindness that shell bring
Through her eyes of sadness lies
All her love for him
Imprisoned every day
A handsome price to pay
Even when shes done her time
Shell insist that lifes just fine
Someday soon shell make her move
Seize her chance to shine
Its all that she can do
To free herself from you
Its her liberty ( that she wants you to see )
Its her liberty ( that she wants you to see )
Where has all her life blood gone
Will you ever see
Even if she understood
Is it written that she should
Come and see him when shes gone
Hes surprised but knows hes wrong
A simple case of do or die
And now shes cut and run
Your vision let you down
You almost let her drown
Its her liberty ( that she wants you to see )
Its her liberty ( that she wants you to see )
Where has all her life blood gone
Will you ever see
Even if she understood
Is it written that she should
Where has all her life blood gone
Wil you ever see
Even if she understood
Is it written that she should
Its her liberty ( that she wants you to see )
Its her liberty ( that she wants you to see )
Where has all her life blood gone
Will you ever see
Even if she understood
Is it written that she should
Its her liberty ( that she wants you to see )
Its her liberty ( that she wants you to see )
Where has all her life blood gone
Will you ever see
Even if she understood
Is it written that she should
song performed by by Olive
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
2008: I've Got News For You
Words describing the
Sharp silents sounds
Of a single edged razor blade
Slicing through wrist and vein - -
Blank verse summoning sights
Of dark red blood pumping
Into a clutterd sink - -
Is not poetry.
Expaining the blood stains
While cleaning up the mess
With bandaged wrists the next day - -
Is not poetry.
It may be cofessional.
It may diffuse a fire
That was buring out of control.
If anywhere it goes in your diary.
Don't fling your bloody wrists at me
By making up a metaphor.
Until I see the scars,
It is not poetry.
poem by Tom J. Mariani
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Blood Red Roses
Blood red
The roses she'd
Always received
Blood red
Blood red
The sole chroma
Of her world
Blood red
Blood red
Spurted out from
His thorn-like barbs
Blood red
Blood red
Her anguished life
Assiduous
Blood red
Blood red
Her favorite
Shade of roses
Blood red
poem by Alice Vedral Rivera
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Poetry The Beacon!
Beacon of literature is ever poetry only!
Greatness of literature lies in quality ideas;
Richness of language depends on poetry;
Worthiness of matter in poetry only is best!
Writing needs creative mind whatever thing is!
Novels, Short stories, Prose and Poetry are they
That enhance the richness of literature ever;
That too writing poetry makes one great sure!
Having chosen the form of poetry to write itself
Is not an easy matter as it needs skill and time
To write what one feels, thinks and conceives
In heart, mind and soul, otherwise no good at all!
Other forms of literature needs concentrated work
But poetry needs natural ability to express free all!
poem by Ramesh T A
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Gods Do Not Intervene
The battle between Athens and Sparta lasted a lifetime and more.
Men who ate lentils
Were not interfeared with by any gods,
Said Thucydides,
who is the father of scientific history.
He did not outlive his own battle,
Dying suddenly by an iron sword.
His blood spurted on his pages,
But most were saved. If one reads Greek,
One can smell,
On the pages
Blood and lentils and pointed iron. And read the first truth about the horrors of war.
poem by Stan Petrovich
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!