Search Results: love poem

I see you looking at me,

don’t think I can’t see you with

with my nose all runny,

peering into battlefields dark

and hospitals sunny

You’re the measure of every man, woman, and sometimes

child, the problem no one runs from-

-gold medalist to chair/bed

exiled

Collecting like badges Us in your pocketbook

like a morbid accountant laying

lines flatter than the phone companies

in sometimes seconds at that,

but it’s been a few years now and

I’ve made out like a bandit so far

stealing so much breath I got fat

You’re the cops down the street on which I drive, and I see you in your

flashing, lagging police car on chase like slow bees

pacing themselves out of the hive

Laying down the laws of nature,

leaving nurture down to us

(to be done done much more poorly)

Your playground

hell-bound, hounding down the

doorsteps of the universe looking

for rent in a depressed nation

extracting irritation and the existential

meddles of the soul

You

religions ugly secret,

the governments ultimate ransom,

the kind of face a mother would

never love

but the likes of Charlie Manson might call you handsome

I’ve found you here and there

being more to take

than bear but

stepped on like a rake and

biting as the snake

you’re that soldier which needs

no uniform,

my least favorite friend,

as hard to fake as you are to swallow

my roadside follower

down every bend,

the end.

It won’t be the ‘I Love You’s

I issued with care and consideration

It won’t be the mouths fed

through care or taxation

It won’t be the trials

that made it all worthwhile

It won’t be the hands

which in good faith,

I extended down the aisle

It won’t be the hope

I put into the truest love

It won’t be the stars I gazed upon

at night

from above

It won’t be the sunsets

that littered my lazy afternoons

It won’t be the times

I denounced cynical news

It won’t be the fields

I strolled through

on a whim

with a muse

When I fret & fumble

among the regrets

with this life that

to me

two parents’ love did lend,

it won’t be

these

setting me in unease,

in the end.

so you want to be a writer?

if it doesn’t come bursting out of you

in spite of everything,

don’t do it.

unless it comes unasked out of your

heart and your mind and your mouth

and your gut,

don’t do it.

if you have to sit for hours

staring at your computer screen

or hunched over your

typewriter

searching for words,

don’t do it.

if you’re doing it for money or

fame,

don’t do it.

if you’re doing it because you want

women in your bed,

don’t do it.

if you have to sit there and

rewrite it again and again,

don’t do it.

if it’s hard work just thinking about doing it,

don’t do it.

if you’re trying to write like somebody

else,

forget about it.

if you have to wait for it to roar out of

you,

then wait patiently.

if it never does roar out of you,

do something else.

if you first have to read it to your wife

or your girlfriend or your boyfriend

or your parents or to anybody at all,

you’re not ready.

don’t be like so many writers,

don’t be like so many thousands of

people who call themselves writers,

don’t be dull and boring and

pretentious, don’t be consumed with self-

love.

the libraries of the world have

yawned themselves to

sleep

over your kind.

don’t add to that.

don’t do it.

unless it comes out of

your soul like a rocket,

unless being still would

drive you to madness or

suicide or murder,

don’t do it.

unless the sun inside you is

burning your gut,

don’t do it.

when it is truly time,

and if you have been chosen,

it will do it by

itself and it will keep on doing it

until you die or it dies in you.

there is no other way.

and there never was.



Were you touched?

That magic sky,
Have been thinking you and I
You was tears of my cry,
You're my sky..

That thing you meant for me,
All those questions you let be,
You are free..

And is there much life,
That I cut off with my knife,
Anymore?

All those pictures that you tore,
Like those time we were before,
You were real..

Do you scream of what you feel,
Do those scars ever heal?

I have been using Mirakee app, for more than a month, to unleash the writer in me.

Hey? Is the first I wrote.
Secrets of love is the recent one.
Which do you love?
Do you think there is a romantic writer in me?
Have you written love songs, stories, micro tales, poems?

Check me out in Mirakee, if you are already there. These two are my original and copyrighted writings.
out_of_my_heart is my pen name.