Miscellaneous Poems
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Random, diverse and unusual poetry
This section is for poems that don't fit into other categories. A diverse choice of miscellaneous poetry, including random and abstract poems about strange and unusual subject matter, and emotions not covered in the other sections. If you like surprises, then you're in luck.
Cipher_O
Poem Published
Today 10:31am
Today 10:31am
Healed
Clouds drift
past
the
Moon.
Everything
is
right
&
in
it’s
rightful
Place,
Into
gleam
of
blade
Made
for
the
Craft
of
the
Kill:
Bleed
out
into
Nothingness,
nothing less
than
nothing
more
to
feel;
Now you
are
Healed.
past
the
Moon.
Everything
is
right
&
in
it’s
rightful
Place,
Into
gleam
of
blade
Made
for
the
Craft
of
the
Kill:
Bleed
out
into
Nothingness,
nothing less
than
nothing
more
to
feel;
Now you
are
Healed.
#shadows
12 reads
0 Comments
Cipher_O
Poem Published
Today 10:30am
Today 10:30am
Destiny V Determinism
This poem is alive,
born in an electric storm -
Electric.
I can look away
&
it will still be there
Waiting
To unfurl & unfold
Always
in
all
ways
Bold
Making
all
things
Silence
&
Cold
Resounding
in
rhythms
of
True
Daring
to
be
the
all
in
the
All
&
leaving
echoes
...
born in an electric storm -
Electric.
I can look away
&
it will still be there
Waiting
To unfurl & unfold
Always
in
all
ways
Bold
Making
all
things
Silence
&
Cold
Resounding
in
rhythms
of
True
Daring
to
be
the
all
in
the
All
&
leaving
echoes
...
#shadows
10 reads
0 Comments
jalopy_dreams
Poem Published
Today 4:11am
Today 4:11am
pretty waitress perfect of fools
jalopy dreams · pretty waitress perfect of fools
she’s a lovely cold sculpture, marble nude with her head cut off
a sexartwar reality keeps the rattle snake that bit her
in a peanut butter jar, like voodoo
she’s a painting of a painting, a revlon reproduction
venus on the half-shell, phosphorus and effervescent, arms wide like
happy hour and everybody’s glow in the dark expectations
coming true
she wears a uniform of fingerprints, her angels in aprons overshadowed
by dogs playing poker, howling her attention
she cleans up and...
she’s a lovely cold sculpture, marble nude with her head cut off
a sexartwar reality keeps the rattle snake that bit her
in a peanut butter jar, like voodoo
she’s a painting of a painting, a revlon reproduction
venus on the half-shell, phosphorus and effervescent, arms wide like
happy hour and everybody’s glow in the dark expectations
coming true
she wears a uniform of fingerprints, her angels in aprons overshadowed
by dogs playing poker, howling her attention
she cleans up and...
#WritingPoetry
15 reads
1 Comment
buddhakitty
Poem Published
Today 1:41am
Today 1:41am
days that shine
when God stares you
straight in the eyes
and you stand there
unwavering,
unflinching,
unashamed
of the life that you
have
lived.
straight in the eyes
and you stand there
unwavering,
unflinching,
unashamed
of the life that you
have
lived.
#identity
#myself
#SelfReflection
#choices
#SelfWorth
19 reads
3 Comments
Wafflenose
Ellie
Ellie
Poem Published
Yesterday 9:47pm
Yesterday 9:47pm
Nonet
For this competition, I would like
entries using the nonet form.
Starting with nine syllables,
each line will get shorter
until you reach one.
Any subject
except porn.
Get set...
GO!
entries using the nonet form.
Starting with nine syllables,
each line will get shorter
until you reach one.
Any subject
except porn.
Get set...
GO!
#WritingPoetry
25 reads
Sonneteer
L Robinson
L Robinson
Poem Published
Yesterday 8:32pm
Yesterday 8:32pm
Dreams of Sleep
Unbridled inscape works with artistry
to paint a canvas never seen before
the colours drawn from self’s psychology
create an oil which moves emotion’s core.
The dreamer, artist and the model too,
revolves and leaps behind, before the frame
resulting in a shifting point of view
but consciousness cements to one the same.
The scope, the fantasy, the recollect,
the psyche’s visual synecdochic theme,
an oracle when meanings you detect,
a thousand words, not worth a single dream,
For those that think this of subjective worth
one...
to paint a canvas never seen before
the colours drawn from self’s psychology
create an oil which moves emotion’s core.
The dreamer, artist and the model too,
revolves and leaps behind, before the frame
resulting in a shifting point of view
but consciousness cements to one the same.
The scope, the fantasy, the recollect,
the psyche’s visual synecdochic theme,
an oracle when meanings you detect,
a thousand words, not worth a single dream,
For those that think this of subjective worth
one...
#dreams
#sleep
12 reads
0 Comments
MuckyWaters
Poem Published
Yesterday 6:59pm
Yesterday 6:59pm
Tattooed Hands
Rodin spent days
months
years
Perfecting the rough arches of the male hands
and yet I stare at yours
understanding his obsession to capture their strength
Yours provoke me
with what they hold
They grab me
clutching at my thoughts
clenching my dignity
They suffocate me
The power I gave them deepens the correlation between your words and your fingertips
why
from such rugged hands
flows poetry that whispers softness
I contemplate every word you write me ...
months
years
Perfecting the rough arches of the male hands
and yet I stare at yours
understanding his obsession to capture their strength
Yours provoke me
with what they hold
They grab me
clutching at my thoughts
clenching my dignity
They suffocate me
The power I gave them deepens the correlation between your words and your fingertips
why
from such rugged hands
flows poetry that whispers softness
I contemplate every word you write me ...
#relationships
#friendship
#obsession
17 reads
2 Comments
adagio
Poem Published
Yesterday 4:43pm
Yesterday 4:43pm
Open Mic
Speakeasy in the haze
on the open mic
for busboys and poets
as the smoke embrace
words of the philosopher
on the open mic
for busboys and poets
as the smoke embrace
words of the philosopher
#philosophical
22 reads
0 Comments
MadameLavender
Poem Published
Yesterday 3:06pm
Yesterday 3:06pm
Probabilities
It's not probable that
the air will ever be fully cleared;
attempts were met with defense
and stories--
Ah, the stories ....
Remembrances , embellished
to fit narratives into more drama
than they actually had.
Some were purposeful.
Recent ones were probably
effects of age on mind and memory.
It is probable that I will cry, someday
at your funeral --
it's a requirement on the mourning checklist .
I may cry for myself, too
because my need for human contact
comes with an expiration...
the air will ever be fully cleared;
attempts were met with defense
and stories--
Ah, the stories ....
Remembrances , embellished
to fit narratives into more drama
than they actually had.
Some were purposeful.
Recent ones were probably
effects of age on mind and memory.
It is probable that I will cry, someday
at your funeral --
it's a requirement on the mourning checklist .
I may cry for myself, too
because my need for human contact
comes with an expiration...
#mother
14 reads
1 Comment
Cipher_O
Poem Published
Yesterday 2:15pm
Yesterday 2:15pm
Hell
The fall of it all,
the
fall
into
hell:
it begins with
the brandishing
&
breaking
of
surreality,
like
riptides
of
the
Inside
Tailor
made
to
Torment
&
tear
apart
into
Pieces & pieces
of
Lament.
the
fall
into
hell:
it begins with
the brandishing
&
breaking
of
surreality,
like
riptides
of
the
Inside
Tailor
made
to
Torment
&
tear
apart
into
Pieces & pieces
of
Lament.
#shadows
23 reads
5 Comments
Cipher_O
Poem Published
Yesterday 2:09pm
Yesterday 2:09pm
Heaven
Heaven.
make
to
Hell
Out of
Up
Climb
Who
persons
of
exertions
the
Frames,
in
Enlightenment
Frozen
Like
Suspensions,
Confetti
in
Falling
Stillness
is
My violence
Silence:
of
Echoes
Breaking in
Heart,
Over emptiness
Falling leaves
Season over season -
make
to
Hell
Out of
Up
Climb
Who
persons
of
exertions
the
Frames,
in
Enlightenment
Frozen
Like
Suspensions,
Confetti
in
Falling
Stillness
is
My violence
Silence:
of
Echoes
Breaking in
Heart,
Over emptiness
Falling leaves
Season over season -
#shadows
27 reads
3 Comments
ursa
Poem Published
Yesterday 1:36pm
Yesterday 1:36pm
Waiting
She keeps her fists in pockets
shy of blood-crusted cuticles; a
shameful mark of her
lost faith.
He speaks slowly, she begs
him to rethink his testament;
these words won’t land on her hazy heart.
Reading his metered movements, she
feels her body fold
to the floor.
shy of blood-crusted cuticles; a
shameful mark of her
lost faith.
He speaks slowly, she begs
him to rethink his testament;
these words won’t land on her hazy heart.
Reading his metered movements, she
feels her body fold
to the floor.
#sadness
#grief
15 reads
2 Comments
DU Poetry : Miscellaneous Poems - Random, Diverse and Unusual Poetry
