Bleeds Through
My 'Bleeds Through' poems are of emotions that enter or escape as you read
If you feel a call to action, sadness, happiness, relative tingling
Or anything
Then something in those words bleed through into you
How the emotions contribute is the bleeding out
Bleeding is not of only blood
It is strictly the slow oozing of feeling
Until it eventually clots and stops
Read these with a open mind and heart
Let the words soak in and leave as they came
Slowly
March 14,2012
poem by Ryan Collins
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Related quotes
What Do You Really Mean By That?
seeing the face of your lover
(the one whom you have not yet
revealed what you feel
deep inside you,
secret love, suppressed
desires, concealed emotions,
on a moment of distress
for love unrequited, you have been
indulged in an
inaction, what do you really mean
when you say, your world stops
revolving?
fool! you're at an age
where love has not place to hide,
where one cannot be stupid
enough to be silent
a bleeding heart? is there such
a place this time, for a bleeding heart?
situate yourself. be fair.
speak your mind. open your heart.
unzip that fly.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Need to Write
I need to write a poem, but how shall I do it,
First of all shall I write standing up, or just sit;
Until I get comfortable, I won't be able to start,
All the words will be muddled up, and then it'll fall. Apart.
Now! I got it right, I will choose the title to write about,
No good getting frustrated, or even sit or pout;
Just need to relax, and then the words will come easy,
Cause if I try to hard, Then my stomach will feel queasy.
I know what sort of holiday would people like,
And as I start the poem, the hall clock did strike;
Oh! It is now is what I can do, write about the time passing,
And so I have the heading, the thoughts on paper lasting.
It's got colour, size, And description, and the taste of art,
It's come from my mind, emotions, and also from the heart;
It has vision, and thoughts about where I want to go,
Yes! I think it'll get some to agree, to me they'll show.
So if you have a problem to write a poem or story,
Just read this poem, as a help, it's a help from me;
Don't force the idea, or rush it through at all,
Just go have a cuppa, read an article or a friend call.
Eventually it'll come, the words will flow along,
You might even end up, turning it into a song;
Writing poems will be rewarding, just give a go,
And you might enjoy it, they may end up in a show.
poem by Margaret Haig
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Bleeding Soul
Sitting alone and really I have no clue of things. Hopefully, things will get better with time, this I often hope although sometimes even that hope fades. It makes me feel so miserable and then I sometimes even cry. My heart starts to bleed, then after sometime even the bleeding of my soul stops. Emotions kill me, when I feel so.
poem by Rohit Sapra
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A Confession
Her heart an open book
Easy to read
Emotions bald for all to observe
A confession to the one
Who denied her soul
As she read his text
Weigh heavy on chest
Squeezing the life from her faint heart
He could not read between the lines
How sincere her words
Until it was too late
Reading the diaries of a broken heart
poem by Persian Khushi
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Can You Hear Me?
Inspired by inspiration
A pen bleeds emotions ink
Saturating page in prose
As a parched palate, in need, have drink
Fluent, fluid, a liquid thought
Invisible until written free
Exposing itself in lettered form
Each line molding, what's soon to be?
Words oozing with vivid imagery
Capturing reader within its clasp
Eyes hearing, ears capturing site
A shared experience within words grasp
Inspired by Inspiration
A pen bleeds emotions ink
Drizzling, doodling, dripping
Ideas, can you hear me think?
poem by Wendy Bureau
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I Want My Poetry
(8/22/12)
I want my poetry to touch the hearts and minds of all who read
And on their emotions my words would feed.
To express to all people no matter who they may be
Or what schooling they may or may not have
That their voices will be heard and told
And their emotions will all unfold.
Every emotion known to man will be written
With a gentle hand.
We as poets can climb into your being
And see what you are seeing, and to feel
Your every emotional pain
For no two are ever the same.
To feel your hunger, your thirst, your needs
And feel the cut vein when you bleed.
To feel your sorrows, your bitterness, your hate
And also feel your religious faith.
We are you - you are us
And in our minds you put your trust.
Let us tell the future generations
That these words were our salvation.
I want to make you feel the splendor
And to my words you will surrender.
To make you feel happy inside
And with a smile you can not hide.
To make you see that ALL LIFE is worthwhile
As you look upon that newborn child.
To let you know that your life was given to you
Because the love your parents knew.
© L. RAMS
poem by Louis Rams
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The useless poem
He knows that his poetry
Is a useless endeavor
As you put it,
There is no money for a poet,
Not even fame when he is alive
Or even dead, perhaps for some,
Whose lines are judged for greatness
His poetry is nothing but a way of laundering
His emotions,
Not even read
Nobody really cared
How many nights did he spend to make a poem?
His heart bleeds
For more pain, his stomach acidifies for more
Harmful corrosive liquids rising to his brain
Through all his intestines and veins
And he goes groggy
Nauseous,
Till dawn breaks he makes his lines
Like a fool
He wants to stop and put an end to everything
He is suffering
He knows the end
Cannot refer to this poem
But to his life
He ends it
His poetry may live on some pages
But (again) not even read because nobody
Nobody really cared
Perhaps someday when another useless poet
Comes accidentally along
Surfing
Or
Writes the same useless
Lines like the way he wrote his
By a slim chance
He shall then
Be read for once
Through this poem
Again
And again
Because in fact
There are many of them
More than you will expect
Rereading the useless poems
Still bleeding asking for care and even forgiveness
(The vice of asking for attention
The uselessness of recognition)
Another one reads it this time
It is, I will not mind, You
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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111
The useless poem
He knows that his poetry
Is a useless endeavor
As you put it,
There is no money for a poet,
Not even fame when he is alive
Or even dead, perhaps for some,
Whose lines are judged for greatness
His poetry is nothing but a way of laundering
His emotions,
Not even read
Nobody really cared
How many nights did he spend to make a poem?
His heart bleeds
For more pain, his stomach acidifies for more
Harmful corrosive liquids rising to his brain
Through all his intestines and veins
And he goes groggy
Nauseous,
Till dawn breaks he makes his lines
Like a fool
He wants to stop and put an end to everything
He is suffering
He knows the end
Cannot refer to this poem
But to his life
He ends it
His poetry may live on some pages
But (again) not even read because nobody
Nobody really cared
Perhaps someday when another useless poet
Comes accidentally along
Surfing
Or
Writes the same useless
Lines like the way he wrote his
By a slim chance
He shall then
Be read for once
Through this poem
Again
And again
Because in fact
There are many of them
More than you will expect
Rereading the useless poems
Still bleeding asking for care and even forgiveness
(The vice of asking for attention
The uselessness of recognition)
Another one reads it this time
It is, I will not mind, You
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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289
Read the poems and meet the words
Like they are strangers
They do not know you
And you do not know them
But then you
Get to know each other
With how you feel
And what they feel for you
They flow into your mind
And float there
Then they sink because
You rock them in your
Blood and thirst and
Loneliness, and you ask
If it is you in the poem?
Did I not tell you the magic
Of my poetry? Or of poetry itself?
I will tell you again
You read them and then feel them,
Then they become you
Because now you see yourself
Inside them
And the poems own you
Because now you own them too.
is it you? yes, it is also us.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Is it you?
Read the poems and meet the words
Like they are strangers
They do not know you
And you do not know them
But then you
Get to know each other
With how you feel
And what they feel for you
They flow into your mind
And float there
Then they sink because
You rock them in your
Blood and thirst and
Loneliness, and you ask
If it is you in the poem?
Did I not tell you the magic
Of my poetry? Or of poetry itself?
I will tell you again
You read them and then feel them,
Then they become you
Because now you see yourself
Inside them
And the poems own you
Because now you own them too.
is it you? yes, it is also us.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Seven Nation Army
I'm gonna fight 'em off
A seven nation army couldn't hold me back
They're gonna rip it off
Taking their time right behind my back
And I'm talking to myself at night
Because I can't forget
Back and forth through my mind
Behind a cigarette
And the message coming from my eyes
Says leave it alone
Don't want to hear about it
Every single one's got a story to tell
Everyone knows about it
From the Queen of England to the hounds of hell
And if I catch it coming back my way
I'm gonna serve it to you
And that ain't what you want to hear,
But that's what I'll do
And the feeling coming from my bones
Says find a home
I'm going to Wichita
Far from this opera for evermore
I'm gonna work the straw
Make the sweat drip out of every pore
And I'm bleeding, and I'm bleeding, and I'm bleeding
Right before the lord
All the words are gonna bleed from me
And I will think no more
And the stains coming from my blood
Tell me go back home
song performed by by Flaming Lips
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Only Desire Will Not Work
Only desire will not give good start
Feel from inner depth and start
Poetry and emotions start with tears
That speaks of your anguish to bear
Make those feeling to be heard in words
Do nothing and wait for blessings from the lord
Words have powerful impact
That makes you to cry with skill and art
You need no pen and paper
That may be like words on water
It may go away with one fresh wave
Nothing will remain in mind for others to behave
Inject emotions that must look real
Undergone with sufferings while making deal
It may then be felt by others same as you
This is principle when you are writing true
You need not ask how they feel about poems
Let it come in form of few words by them
Simple acceptance of facts may certainly make the space
You may then have satisfaction with bright shine on face
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Seven Nation Army
Im gonna fight em off
A seven nation army couldnt hold me back
Theyre gonna rip it off
Taking their time right behind my back
And Im talking to myself at night
Because I cant forget
Back and forth through my mind
Behind a cigarette
And the message coming from my eyes
Says leave it alone
Dont want to hear about it
Every single ones got a story to tell
Everyone knows about it
From the queen of england to the hounds of hell
And if I catch it coming back my way
Im gonna serve it to you
And that aint what you want to hear,
But thats what Ill do
And the feeling coming from my bones
Says find a home
Im going to wichita
Far from this opera for evermore
Im gonna work the straw
Make the sweat drip out of every pore
And Im bleeding, and Im bleeding, and Im bleeding
Right before the lord
All the words are gonna bleed from me
And I will think no more
And the stains coming from my blood
Tell me go back home
song performed by by White Stripes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bleeding
Stop bleeding said the knife
I would if I could said the cut.
Stop bleeding you make me messy with the blood.
I'm sorry said the cut.
Stop or I will sink in farther said the knife.
Don't said the cut.
The knife did not say it couldn't help it but
it sank in farther.
If only you didn't bleed said the knife I wouldn't
have to do this.
I know said the cut I bleed too easily I hate
that I can't help it I wish I were a knife like
you and didn't have to bleed.
Well meanwhile stop bleeding will you said the knife.
Yes you are a mess and sinking in deeper said the cut I
will have to stop.
Have you stopped by now said the knife.
I've almost stopped I think.
Why must you bleed in the first place said the knife.
For the same reason maybe that you must do what you
must do said the cut.
I can't stand bleeding said the knife and sank in farther.
I hate it too said the cut I know it isn't you it's
me you're lucky to be a knife you ought to be glad about that.
Too many cuts around said the knife they're
messy I don't know how they stand themselves.
They don't said the cut.
You're bleeding again.
No I've stopped said the cut see you are coming out now the
blood is drying it will rub off you'll be shiny again and clean.
If only cuts wouldn't bleed so much said the knife coming
out a little.
But then knives might become dull said the cut.
Aren't you still bleeding a little said the knife.
I hope not said the cut.
I feel you are just a little.
Maybe just a little but I can stop now.
I feel a little wetness still said the knife sinking in a
little but then coming out a little.
Just a little maybe just enough said the cut.
That's enough now stop now do you feel better now said the knife.
I feel I have to bleed to feel I think said the cut.
I don't I don't have to feel said the knife drying now
becoming shiny.
poem by May Swenson
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Like So Many Poems I Read
LIKE SO MANY POEMS I READ
Like so many poems I read
These poems I am reading now
Are not poems to me.
They are too detached
Too abstract
Too up in the air.
I want to hear the words
Make a music of feeling
In my soul.
A poem must move me
If it is to be real.
Why then do I write these words
as if a poem?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Painting dreams...
Gazing at an empty page,
Thoughts and emotions run wild.
A portrait of words come to life,
Like dreams of emotions dancing.
Images of us live on in written words,
Stirring my mind and emotions.
A world of dreams built within the mind,
Forever floating upon the emotions of fantasy...
Spread the love... The peace will follow...
poem by Cosmic Dreamer
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Wounded
Lost and broken
Hopeless and lonely
Smiling on the outside
But hurt beneith my skin
My eyes are fading
My soul is bleeding
I'll try to make it seem ok
But my faith is wearing thin
So help me heal these wounds
They've been open for way too long
Help me fill this soul
Even though this is not your fault
That i'm open
That i'm bleeding
All over your brand new rug
And i need some one to help me sow them up
I only wanted a magazine
I only wanted a movie screen
I only wanted the life i'd read about and dreamed
And now my mind is an open book
And now my heart is an open wound
And now my life is an open soul for all to see
But help me heal these wounds
They've been open for way too long
Help me fill this soul
Even though this is not your fault
That i'm open
And i'm bleeding
All over your brand new rug
And i need some one to help me
So you come along
I push you away
Then kick and scream for you to stay
Cuz i need some one to help me
Oh i need some one to help me
To help me help these wounds
They've been open for way too long
Help me fill this soul
Even though this is not your fault
That i'm open
And i'm bleeding
All over your brand new rug
And i need some one to help me sow them
I need some one to help me fill them
I need some one to help me close them up
song performed by by Good Charlotte
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Poet's Soul
I read the poet's souls in the poems,
I read the poet's inner world.
Pulse beats louder, then duller,
And all my doubts are just hurled.
The sadness sometimes a kiss cover,
Then suddenly curled at my feet,
Giving the whole body a heat,
The warmth of a true lover.
Fever passes through nervous points,
Chill runs through the whole body,
I read the poet's souls in the poems,
And feel that the soul is haughty.
I delve into the words and their nature,
Understanding destroys the walls,
Now I would like to capture
The main idea and the poems calls.
I read and my joy is in full swing,
My own soul gets the wings,
I am ready to fly with the singer,
Like me the poet is a swinger.
I am with that one who dared
To plunge into the holy spring naked,
I am with that one who shared
An inspiration and was not faked.
I read the poet's souls in the poems.
But do I read the souls of reality or dream?
Let's deem that no one here and there lies,
And the law of poetry is always precise.
©Larisa Rzhepishevska (Odessa, Ukraine)
The 4th of April,2012
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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0009 Favorite Poem
and you can’t remember much
about the first time you read it except
that it held you to the end, but most of all
this one line, which seemed to hold
the key to the whole poem
as if you were opening the closet of your mind
to bring out something which you knew was there
but instead something way at the back
called to you and you remembered
a moment from way back you thought
you had forgotten
and then you read the poem again
in company with the poet and
yes that’s it, and the two of you
became friends for life, almost
related.
So, now you’ve read all their poems,
feel some more than others but
as if you wrote them all in the same room
where you read them together
and you wait for their new book with
a sorta family pride
and like family,
you leave the poems for a spell,
grow up a little, then
come back to visit -
they mean more;
can it be,
you've both grown?
each time you come back to them
you carry them more close to you
in fact you feel that you could write
poems very much like theirs
as if you’d inherited, too,
the family gift
and though you wouldn’t of course
seek them out in person except
in a reading where you’d
have to share their warmth
with the rest of their extended family
but not say much since
you are a, well, close relative,
if you happened to be driving a route
not far from them, you’d detour,
park a little distance from their house,
but have it in your sight,
hope you might catch a movement,
wait a few minutes, then
start the car with almost a sigh
half relieved that you didn’t have to try
on their cautiously polite doorstep
to find words to say
you love them in their words,
which you almost wrote together,
lived them together;
love them like life itself,
love them
poem by Michael Shepherd
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I Won't Leave You
I won't leave you,
as I know you can't leave me!
When I was about to think,
worse about love,
you came then in my life!
We made a world with our
two hemispheres-
I hear the beat of your heart,
in my heart's every beat.
I know you can feel mine too...
You read my heart-felt words,
which I leave on my poems.....
You never asked for whom,
my heart beats, my blood flows...
Never did you tell harsh words,
or, ask about my feelings!
I'm tied with a bond.
If you set me free I won't fly.
Twelve years are twelve minutes
to me now, as if you have just
married me, and I'm getting in your
house to get the fresh fragrance
of your soothing love-
Eagerly waiting to hear from
you, the three words-
I Love You..................
poem by Nilakshi Das
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