Archive for October 3rd, 2011

Poetic License – October 2011

Posted on the first Monday of every month, Poetic License consists of eight carefully selected poems for your reading pleasure from the thousands posted across the Internet daily. I only want the best for those who make it through the sea of blog posts to my blog. I hope you truly enjoy this month’s selection. If there is a particular poem that you find moving, please visit the link of the poet and let him or her know.

Unspoken Words
by Tolu Akinyemi

Unspoken words
Roaring louder than the stomps
Of Alexander’s troops
Across the streets of Greece.

Multi-plies of unspoken words
Birthed from a spoken word,
Or a lingering gaze
Or even the shadows of a sigh.

Your lips are sealed
But your clothing speaks
In deafening amplitudes.

You’ve said a word
But I heard ten more
As loud as thunderstorms
Unopaquing that smile
Revealing your grime.

Now I know what you are.

Gray Matter
by Addybee

I stopped closing my eyes
and for a while I saw myself fly
Wandering around the deep blue sky
With my hair billowing and my fingers gliding
Around around around the blue swirls go
All seemed fine and all seemed like gray
But the blue swirls decided to stay

And I’ve been waiting for another beat
to come my way, ready to give that break
I’ve been needing for so long, for so long

I closed all windows and I broke all doors
My eyes are still wet from drowning in yours
I breathe in and I breathe out
It’s time to break out from this grey matter.

Waiting To See
by Soundbyte

the anticipation breeds a tingling sensation
and gives a climbing elevation type of elation
with every inhalation,
this is how i feel when i am about to see you,
gods pencil drew you into my view
and all i can do is be grateful,
take full advantage of the fateful
meeting of our minds,
and enjoy the playful times
so that i can smile and rewind
them again and again in my head

Our Imaginary Truth
by Typhani M. Roberson

“The man who knows something knows that he knows nothing at all.” Badu
A simple pearl of wisdom that holds a delicate truth.
Can you handle that we may not know even half of what we think we do?
Sure the thought is very scary
What if man’s wealth of knowledge was just imaginary?
Even the truths you considered legendary
Passed down by scholars considered exemplary
One after another spoon fed the tales of fairies
Truth is we couldn’t handle the truth
I’ll bet it’s raw and gritty and sure to uproot
All beliefs, all customs, and all lies…
We have no clue; it’s just safer to pretend we do.

Sometimes I Don’t Say I Love You
by AuntBethany

I don’t tell you about
the fear, the hurt, the pain
I lean on silence, which falls in between the
smiling, laughing, hiding

sometimes I don’t say I miss you
you are not mine to miss
too many goodbyes and not enough hellos
are reminders of the uncertainty

sometimes I don’t say I need you
when the storm rages at night
needing is weak, and weakness is vulnerable
and vulnerability is terrifying

sometimes I don’t say anything
letting seconds, minutes, moments slip by
and I fall mute
even though inside, im shouting
and holding on with my heart

sometimes I don’t say I love you
because I fear if I say
ill lose you
and never be able to say it again

but, im always saying I love you
in thought, word, and deed
in the moments following
a kiss
a smile
a laugh
a tear
and every moment in between

and the missing, the needing, the wanting, the loving
are there
and everywhere
and although sometimes I don’t say I love you,
I do.

Deploring Dreams
by Cherlyn Cochrane

I did not notice my despair,
or my unending internal regret.
But slowly I began to become aware
of the face I could not forget.
The smile that could melt my soul –
those eyes of a sea-like hue.
And I have yet to feel as whole
as when I spent my time with you.
Perhaps with time the wounds will heal,
and all I’ve done will be redeemed;
but maybe regret is how I’ll always feel –
and I will be left within this dream.

A Pretty Girl’s Dilemma
by A. Wall

The vortex that is my soul swallows any and all effort put forth from such loving hands;
Such carefully blundering words;
Such sweet nibbles you take; bites and nips like a bird of paradise, preying.
If only the black gobs of loathing that make up my being weren’t fed so often, or rather never.
Dreaming of being your dream girl only serves to slowly drain me.
My body is wracked with wanting, my soul trapped and haunting…
Precious few forms of fabricated happiness generate pure debilitating ecstasy,
dying to be someone’s fantasy, crying for someone to save what’s left of me…
Fibers stretched thin as those trembling treble strings on the instrument of the troubled,
with a soul as black as the lacquer covering it.
Emotions like keys pushed with sustain pedal depressed,
always ringing, too many pressed;
No melody singing to Mozart’s unrest.
This ability to absorb and never grow full consumes every bit of intrusion, inclusion, and confusion.
Your girl is who I want to be, but no girl is who I am.

How to Nab a Husband Who Cooks
by Liv2write2day

There’s just a few pointers I’d like to share
if a gourmet cook you’d like to snare.
Survey the aisles of your super mart
for a man who’s alone and who looks the part

of someone who eats just a little more
than he should. Follow him throughout the store.
Ask a question, “Do you know just how to cook
a rack of lamb?” (then a pleading look)

“I’m out on my own now and up till now
my cooking was simple, I don’t know how
to prepare anything that’s not in a box
or frozen stiff or stirred in a wok.”

Then listen intently to the words he speaks,
your eyes wide open, a blush on your cheeks
and with a deep sigh, wipe away a tear.
“Do you think I’m silly–I have such fear

that I’ll surely ruin this beautiful meat—
maybe it’s better I go out to eat.”
Then stop (and hope and pray) and wait
to see if he’s open to taking the bait.

And if things proceed like you wish they might
soon enough he’ll invite you to dinner some night
to sample his prowess in the chefly domain
and see if his craft is worth the champagne

that you brought to toast the auspicious event.
If you find that all else is one hundred percent
to show that you’re pleased with his culinary skill
gnaw on that lamb bone—it will give him a thrill.

All Rights Reserved © by their respective authors. Tom Baker and his Morning Erection blog make no claims to any poetry other than his own.

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