Tumblr Poet's Anthology

http://boothswritings.blogspot.com/

curtismega:

RUN
by Curt Mega
March 15th, 2012

When everything closes in
You’ve lost the light of day
Look back and see the past
Remember yesterday 

Remember where you came from
Think of the battles you won
Remember the courage you have
Then look forward, and run. Run. 

This poem © Curt Mega. Published March 15th, 2012   

curtismega:

by Curt Mega

March 8th, 2012


Waiting for that call

But it’s always just the same

Staring at a phone

For a call that never came

This poem © Curt Mega. Published March 8th, 2012 

thec00lniverse:

What is forbidden 

is for the best,

what is best 

lay in my chest.

I lay alone barbed 

and secluded, for I know

the price I’ve paid

for exiting penance. 

But yet I yearn,

oh I yearn to find a day

where I may once more rest my

head on the breast of a love,

one of many I’ve stumbled across,

and feel weightless in respite. 

But alas, I am condemned,

a prisoner of my own devices,

a slave to the pain I’ve brought.

This is my punishment,

sentenced by heavy breath and a 

tired neck.

I claw for what was never mine,

I yearn for what I cannot have.

What is forbidden is for the best,

but I can’t find the will to bury that

deep enough in my chest.

scottswanger:

don't count on 
me. this is a pond,
the woods provide
shelter and intimidate
even those who belong
here. i haven't been faithful
to anyone. don't count on 
me. this is a pond, the woods
that even god could sink
into. things that still don't 
matter.

paintmesecure:

We
understood
the distance of 
our lips 
during the 
immobility of 
our breath, and
you carved 
sentences, 
blood red, 
into the
fragility of 
our skin.

Pressed
fingers and we
knew all of death,
but you were
mine, and I gathered
the shards of my 
heart for you; this
showered us with
a sense of life:
you and I, 
skin and skin,
life until death.

scottswanger:

forgive me if this isn't
perfect but i am not 
here to save anyone
in particular, not even
myself. when everyone
else wished to live
forever, i wished to 
live comfortably and
die somewhat alone,
like people should.
the american dream
is to be self-sufficient,
no? even if that means
eating yourself alive?

if i die today 
wasting everything 
or tomorrow having
wasted that much more,
you will have something
to remember me by.
i will make sure of
it.

Within my telescope, you are.
Sitting at the rim,
Unaware of the importance you now hold.
I watch you.
I stand there waiting for your next move too.
When lights dim,
till sky’s blue.
Beauty within a long paused look,
of moments when you’re reading a book.
Look away when I’m not looking,
My attention, now yours.
making dinner without cooking.
Within my telescope, you are.

entrappedthoughts:

The wind 
  Once told me
     A tall tale of
       Truth that
       Was never
      Heard  
    By the ears
    Of the innocent
      But echoed
        Infinitely 
          In the minds
           Of the remorseful  

thediaryofawriter:

His eyes are blue,

But they hold a blazing fire.

He talks in simplicity. Straight foward sentences,

Yet there is an intricacy of knowledge and meaning knit behind every word.

His hands are built and strong,

But they are gentle, and featherlike.

His voice is deep,

But his spirits are high

His fingers are short,

Yet his reach, goes as far as my soul.

His heart is guarded and hidden

Because its beauty will blind you.

His smile is subtle, almost shy,

But his happiness is tangible, and contagious.

His hair is long and shaggy,

 It is protecting a vault of genius

His back is bare,

But sometimes,

Sometimes I see white wings.

(Source: messagestothemoon)

thevagabondking:

i’d complain
if it meant
a fucking
thing

about the
vanity

of you
and me
and all
that we
have become

how we
flock
to images
that

titillate
stimulate

demanding
mannerism
of fornication

we get off
on the 
beauty
on enticing
smells
on fluttery
fuck objects
we create
we create
we create

i’d complain 
if it meant
a fucking thing

but we don’t
really care
what is on
the inside
anymore 

and even
if we did
it wouldn’t
matter

because there
isn’t anything
beautiful in
there anymore
either

we create
we create
we create

this void 

(via thevagabondking-deactivated2012)

storytimewithdaniel:

I stare into the back of my swollen mind;

I picture my fall in time’s relentless grind.

Fear drives its claws into my ink stained back.

malevolently beckoning my attack.

I try to free myself from fear’s mighty clutch,

but my attempts don’t appear to gain me much.

My pheobia breaks down my protective wall,

as if it were glass and not there at all.

As my resolve ripples under this impact,

which graciously leaves my courage intact,

my shaking knees buckle under my weight;

my anxious heart starts to dessipate.

Though the effects of this hell bent symptom

create a meak sense of you-are-a-victim,

I remain steadfast in my decisions;

I refuse to accept all my frantic visions.

I crawl up to the edge of my terror,

hoping I’ve made a terrible error,

but when I look down, I see my last hope:

a true test of how well I truly cope…

Before my brain can start to wonder,

I jump into this endless blunder.

I awaken at the bottom and see:

the whole time my fear was wrought within me.

(via storytimewithdaniel-deactivated)

aprofoundocean:

I saw a couple
at the cofeeshop, intertwined
in the corner, seemingly
lost in the conversaion
of body and lips
their whispers kissed the air
around them as they stared
into souls
amorous auras having
affectionate foreplay
nobody could see but feel
with the rising heat
from steamy lattes and
intense conversation

So this is what love looks like.

Maybe one facade of a
kaleidoscope of faces
love, like beauty
is in the eye of the beholder
and even the eyes can be wrong
love is felt with hands
and feet
and minds
and hearts long before
the eyes notice anything.

Is this what love looks like?

Feel for yourself.

(via aprofoundocean-deactivated20120)

claritea:

I know that
Strangers with kind eyes
Are polluting the city and
There is not enough water
In rusted faucets but
If you and I were to

Embrace a blood red solstice,
We may find emeralds
In our cans of uncooked beans.

I met a witch doctor.
She asked me to
Change.

(via claritea-deactivated20120304)

angel-you-were-born-to-fly:

i hope you are well
and not lying broken and battered
worn and torn
in a ditch with only the buzzards as company
i hope your heart is strung out
and someone’s holding onto the kite you’re attached to
and that you don’t depend on anyone to live.
here’s hoping you’ve seen wonders
sailed across this wanton world
with drinks at your fingertips
and fire in your heart.