Untitled 061
We are not friends.
We aren't less.
We aren't more.
We're somewhere in between all of that.
Contemplative poems
Contemplative poems — a collection of the best works on PoemShip.
Clockwork
In total, it was a disaster.
A complete nightmare
waiting to come alive.
You could write out the script,
but couldn’t edit mistakes made.
Neither snowstorms came,
nor tropical hurricanes blew.
The air was a blazing hot,
but no instrument could tell,
but some intuition you had said so.
You felt awake and senseless.
The diversions of color and taste.
There was no target in mind,
no absolute hero nor villain.
It was just the ticking of clockwork.
Ode to a Sheet of Paper
Once you were pure white.
Now no space is clean.
There was once no flaw
left on your ivory skin.
Now it is scarred
with raven-black ink.
You have been crumbled,
scratched, marred with creases.
Messy tattoos trace your spine.
Ink spills bruise your body.
You are the result
of the misuse of words.
It is not your fault
that you have been left
in a hollow metal cage
for the unwanted.
Early Winter
A cold blue eye pokes
into the vision snow.
It stays, scared stiff,
behind the frosty window.
Winter has come faster
than previously expected.
Pinecone trees have changed
into big snow piles.
Mud tracks trail together.
Two big feet, two small feet.
The man comes from behind.
The small girl keeps still.
Chuckles press on her ear.
It starts to spread warmth.
She wonders, pensive.
She doesn’t know where
Stars
Stars in the night sky give me a false sense of hope
They brighten the dark and allow me to look ahead
They let me move forward confidently rather than let me walk around senseless
I am able to shake the demons in my head and wear my pain with pride
As I look up I see a million stars, and notice a gorgeous one right at the tip of my nose
It flickered until it died
Then I realized—
It's core is what kept it alive
It may have been bright, but it couldn't shine for long.
For even the most beautiful star, if weak, will never survive in the dark...
followers of crossed paths
Every human's dream
Is to be the original
With no twist of other minds
Upon their own style of life
But that same human
Is the one who follows
Paths already crossed
By all the other humans
Who never met themselves
Never knew who they were
Crossing
The window opens upon the world
limits nothing now three floors up;
no life or death, he looks out at
quiet nothing: only wind reports.
His long hair lifting through the heat,
weft through warp into a moiré;
before his eyes, driving by, she
stops. City life is more than sums
of streets paved with rain and the gait
of grim pedestrians, more than
make-up in the rear-view mirror
and cell phone blather, though one
forgets such things when there is work
and child care and thousand small
items on the the honey-do list.
Her hands twitch; eyes are crusted dry.
easy choice
apples or oranges
pink or blue
i'm a little indecisive
it's an easy choice
skip or stay in school
smoke or say no
i'm a little indecisive
it's an easy choice
stay with you or not?
forgive or forget?
i'm a little indecisive
it's an easy choice
yeah you're right
it is an easy choice.
The Hallway
The simple bricks
Of a school hallway,
Support more than just
An academic pathway.
To the left
A boy kisses a girl.
Her cheeks flush
And her heart does twirl.
To the right
A weeping girl hugs her friend.
Her forearm bears her thoughts
Of making it all end.
Scattered throughout
Students with their heads down,
Bruised and broken
leaving only a frown.
level three
pair wise
the ideas go
from to and or
Just dust
The broom dances on the concrete,
Swaying left and right,
Back and forth,
Unearthing the dirt off the ground,
Building up a storm in the air,
A brown storm we call dust.
Churning and turning and mixing,
The dust moves in sync to the air,
With the broom humming a beat,
A beat that only the dust is familiar to.
A fest of a sort is going on,
The sweeper unaware of,
The scene unfolding beforehand.
What goes on in her mind,
Is as oblivious as the surrounding about her way.
Flocking the flock?
You try so much to be
As kind as your maker
Making your face as busy as a bee
Not wanting to become a faker.
What is it that they see?
What is it that they feel?
What is it that they think?
Warm is your heart.
Sweet is your smile,
Graceful are your movements
And gentle is your voice.
You want them to love you.
You want them to appreciate you
You need them to notice you
You need them to understand you.
Cover up your emotions you do,
Describe a feeling — we’ll find a poem
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