'history'
Learn more about other poetry terms
My bloodstained and angka-infested heart weeps for my family, my childhood, and my old life.
It beats faster and louder like my bamboo stick hitting my infamous Khim.
A light fall breeze passes over the forlorn field,
Carrying with in an air of lonesomeness, a desire
To restore life into what has been sealed
Up for all eternity
Her roots run so deep holes look down to glare.
Organic drums placed on her hips cause them to fear.
But it attracts a friend called rhythm, who is smooth.
The afternoon’s tropical island breeze is
Laced with salt and a host of aromas
From the bazaar that lines the beaches
That holds all the flavours and chromas
Legends of this monster began
On May 2, 1933, when somethingCame out of the Loch Ness lake, and this wouldHave Scotland famed forever.
I keep writing all these facts
Become Ancient artifact
Running laps
Staying in place
Welcome to the tank
Wheels keep spinning
Balance like my taste buds
Telling the real from artificial
There will be a day
When there is nothing to talk about,
When no one can stay
And one can no longer shout.
Then, there will be a time
The atmosphere was stained with the pleasant strings of violin,
The aroma of her perfume, melodies intertwining with her mellifluous euphony,
Her voluptuous moonlit almonds peering into the depths of my dreams,
Moles of Misfortune
By Ben Fitzgerald
Darkness and light all at once,
The faces of many and yet few,
But who am I to judge our fate.
You may look at me,
But why do you stare?
Have I grown two heads,
Does this cause you despair?
Did some wings just sprout upon my back?
Do I look to be crazed, like I'm going to attack?
Its enthralling to remember something forgotten
to learn of something no one wanted to remember
because that's how it starts right?
People decide their thing is not important
Before I first tasted honeysuckle on my tongue,
Before I felt cold, churning seawater brush against my toes,
Before I wandered sunlight paths of pine and oak and palmetto,
there was you,
Pure white blankets the city
Egg shells waiting to be walked on
Red coats the street with muzzles to silence anyone who dare to crack
Sickly sweet sweat stains my face,
As Specters’ kisses dress my lips,
With ghostly fingers my shape they trace,
Caressing my cheek, my breasts, my hips.
