[x]

Melody in My MindShhh...
Listen...
Do you hear it?
rustling trees,
buzzying bees,
summer breeze
someone's sneeze...
voice of street,
hearts that beat
people breathe,
then repeat
Rhythm set free:
one two three
one two three
hear the song
dance with me
There's melody in my mind
Magical melody, murmuring, moody
Musical mystical moving melody
There's melody in my mind
But shh....
Listen...
I'll tell you a secret.
I cannot sing.
Imagine that feeling.
Those tones frozen between your mind and mouth, that melody you can't express.
Imagine one of those songs that give you goosebumps, that clutch your heart and make you cry "Yes! Yes, that's it!"
Imagine you want to share it with everyone... but can't.
When you try to repeat the melody, it is off and quavers and screeches like nails on the board.
There's melody in my mind, and it wants to be heard, to be set free.
And so I paint.
The colors are my symphony.
I sound the violins of sky-blue, the lutes of green and drums of violet.
And so I write.
The words on pape

Witch's BrewBubble bubble
toil and trouble
eye of newt
its the witching hour.

Its the witching hour
where the witches
are in a gitty mood
making new potions.

A dash of frog's lips
scale of dragon
wings of a gremlin
stir them all into a cauldron.

Witches just love making potions
they got so many viels on their shelves
you can find all that you seek
at the witch's cottage.

Make your true love fall for you
there's a love potion that'll do the trick
want to be a few inches taller
there's a growth potion to help with that
just be careful not to drink it all
that is if you want to be a giant.

Witches love the time of hour
making their potions with wick

The Power of Wordsa gentle whisper on the wind,
carries across nations,
through homes and across cultures,
a simple play on speech pulling heart strings,
a gentle rhythmic lull in your ear,
even the sweet sound of silence calls to you,
"a pictures worth a thousand words",
yet a single word can tell infinite stories,
end wars,
bridge cultures,
and unite families,
a single word may change the world,
as can the neglect to say it,
a single word but once uttered,
can span the vast flow of time,
and carry on into eternity,
words speak to the soul,
and connect people in remarkable ways

Death's True KissYou fall in love with a ghost
And dream yourself an island
You take me for a home
But cast and torn apart

Fill me up with a whisper
Take me for a friend
Dead or alive
It all comes to end

Those visions I've seen
Oh, so many times
See me in dream
That only comes to life

You've known me before
So know me again
Like the diamond you once been
Light and inflamed

Slice me with silence
Shed tears of mud
Fill me my requiem
Take me for none

Outcast and dethroned
I will still hold my ground
Forbidden and alone
I too will brake down

No matter my saviour
Hold with dead lips
Those words that I whisper
Death's true kiss

With love there you fight m

Living :Conest Entry:To say man is sinful, doesn't seem to quite say it.
Because all that brings to mind is blasphemers, fornicators, God-haters--all of us.
But to say man is dead, is all the more accurate
Because a corpse can't feel sympathy, it can't hear cries for help.
It tastes not, hears not, handles not, it becomes as lifeless as the very idol it worshipped.
No, to say man is sinful doesn't seem to quite say
Because he who identifies as a cadaver can't hope to know who he really is.
That's why my endeavors are heavenly, and my ID is "Living Among the Dead" Because I know Christ gave me life so I could feel your pain even though find it pleasurable,
To se

Who I amWho I Am

&

Who I Want To Be,

are so far away from each other it hurts.

Twerping Birdies

I. not a morning person

Twerping birdies, chorping away at the day
As if I were supposed to be awake
At the crack of noon.

Cheerful construction workers obliterate
The restful silence, encouraged, perhaps,
By the bad example of the twerping birds.

There's plenty of rest for the wicked,
But none at all for me; let the early bird
Gorge itself on wormy guts for all I care.

II. insomnia blues

like unto the gentle, polyphonic susurration of the wind
through the leaves of the sibylline vuvuzela tree,
the evocative, resonant, goldurned whiny two-stroke
of the kargyraa engine of progress that powers
the early morning hunting call
of the ove

vengeance for injusticea mother she cries
cries at the war
now she waits
waits for the call
of the soldiers orders to kick down her door
vengeance she took filled with hate
for her husband and child who couldn't be saved
now she's locked in a cell
she buried her son
they put her through hell
but it's okay the rich man won

cirque de nuitanfangs ein rauschen am nachthimmel
so geschehen vom flattern der wimpel im

halbdunkel und dem klagenden streichton einer
singenden säge.

genommen und versteckt
verloren und gefallen

und ein riss der das zurückkommen
nicht möglich macht.

ein bild unter glas
getrübt - verhangen wie weisses Metall.

( hast du das licht vergessen- hast du?)

die leine baumelt mechanisch
am hilflosen arm.

ein atmen - stockend und menschlich fast
(etwas pocht herzähnlich)

ein raunen geht durch unsichtbare reihen
enttäuschend wie ein sprung ohne boden.

verlierst du dich verlierst du mich auch
und haben wir schon uns beide verlo

The Ugly TruthI'm not a miracle worker,
I'm not superwoman,
I'm a broken, 17 year old girl, who has no idea where shes going in life.

And I'm scared.

An angelAn angel
What is an angel?
An angel is the little boy
who's head is bare
from his sickness
but he shows no despair
he hasn't lost life
only his hair
An angel is a kitten
that snuggles up to you
after a hard day
it seems to sense what you've been through
it will never judge
it's care is true
An angel is you
when you're of right heart
when noone knows what to do
there to make a start
help is needed
always take part
An angel is stuffed toy
that you tell everything
what you have done
and where you have been
always listens
never accusing
An angel is in every corner
in every space
you just have to look
in the right place
to be without angels
is never the case
An angel is a friend
whom you're happy to see
whenever you're sick
makes you a cup of tea
always there for you
you know they won't leave
An angel is the little things
the ones for you only
and the ones that you share
you'll never be lonely
if you learn to find
the big little things solely
with heart and mind
An angel is hope
an angel is

LEAVE ME ALOUNEI've said this once
I've said this twice
leave me alone or pay
the price. I've said this
three times I've said it four
NOW LEAVE ME ALUN BEFOR I SHUT
YOUR FINGERS IN THE DOOR

Grand Ball for FoolsI keep bashing my head against this same goddamn wall,
over and over again,
I let myself fall,
and I can't even fight,dear
I can't even crawl,
because your hands in my chest,
keep making my heart stall,
and i won't ever die, dear,
even though the reaper stands near and tall,
I'll always be your pretty little puppet,
although when you're bored of this my name you won't recall,
so i'll be cast away like a bag in the breeze,
And i'll perish finally of the hate you forced me to install,
with my last breath I'll still curse you
-no myself.
For I knew since the beginning that this waltz wasn't worth my pain at all.

GunshotOne bullet
The gun is loaded
Pointed at my head
Will you pull the trigger?

A Friendpeople change at a rapid pace
but i know that until the end
despite the problems we may face
in you i'll always have a friend
there's never been another you
and never will be, on this earth
so i will miss, that much is true
i love you, friend, for all it's worth
when the day comes that we must part
and we reach the end of this life-long endeavor
you'll always remain in my heart
and we'll be intertwined forever
so keep in mind as you go out
to do great things, whatever they be
that i will be here, without a doubt
you'll always have a friend in me

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s.m.i.l.e.

S o m e
M o m e n t s ,
I
L o v e
E v e r y t h i n g

the sounds a fetus hears...curtain open
window wide
i'm breathing
loud & hard

who says i
only belong
to my eyes

hearing tunes
seeing words
touching skin
i can't think
only feel
i can't write
what i feel
but this is
real

we love each other
we feel each other
we think each other
we hear, see, and touch each other
we don't only belong to our eyes
we're loud and hard
we breathe
we're wide open
we're real
but this is
not real

curtain open
window wide
good morning
i'm dying

August - pt.1feel
the grass
is knives
for the cult of cold sighs
when the night exhales splinters
of winter 'cause the moon has
rebelled from the sky.

the morning is mourning and crying
for the light
   to smoke out
       and just die.

        wake me up
         when i die.

life is no longer known
as a road because the road
is now crust where the earth's face erupted
into laughter.

'happily ever after', i wrote.
but the truth is i'm hungry
for the truth and the lovely,
the screams and the taxis,
the girl stari

the world can waitloop my favourite song
and talk to my favourite girl
because it all works

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Stoneage Astronaut

by ~GetYourGrip, Nov 26, 2008, 11:24:14 PM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Urban & Spoken Word

Wake up,
to light not hot enough
to burn all our issues
to ashes
       but warm enough to
       cast hooks down to
           your frown,
           and tug at the ends of
           your mouth
           are you happy now?

            I'm going out of my mind
            I don't mean crazy this time
            my head is in the sky
            out of body, out of sight

   I see the moon at night
   so there's no need to be scared
   I dream with my eyes open wide
   so I don't need to travel there
   to be up at great heights
   looking down and I stare
   at boys and girls all alike
   and the world that we share

birds rely on the air
they only value a good wind
yet you're jealous
with all your wallets and bags
full of nothing but problems
problems, problems
and they're weighing you down

     but I guess,
     It's on days like these
     when I can hear the heavens call
     I come to see that I'm not me
     I'm just one human after all

Stoneage Astronautby ~GetYourGrip

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Urban & Spoken Word

photo from

, she has good stock photos if you're into that.

scene in my head: In the stoneage, they didn't need to go into space. They dreamed of being out there, and they saw way more than we do nowadays...back then, every dreamer was an astronaut.

Way Gone [link]

~Annerb Dec 16, 2008 Hobbyist Digital Artist

To be honest - it's not my favorite. Actually, I liked the description of the poem (back then everyone was an astronaut). It made me like the poem a bit more.

~GetYourGrip Dec 16, 2008

not my favourite either, after it was written down.
It's just very hard for me to get this one's idea down onto paper the right way.

~Annerb Dec 16, 2008 Hobbyist Digital Artist

I bet. It sounds like it would be. But it's such a good idea. Keep with it!

~GetYourGrip Dec 16, 2008

~save-the-lunchboxes Dec 1, 2008

"every dreamer was an astronaut."
God, I love that.

~GetYourGrip Dec 1, 2008

~spongeXD Nov 27, 2008

I like the picture you ended up using-it fits marvelously

~GetYourGrip Nov 27, 2008

I was worried about it...haha

~LgthAoshi14 Nov 27, 2008

very good. I like the concept.

~GetYourGrip Nov 27, 2008

I'm glad you do, thanks

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Stoneage Astronaut

Stoneage Astronautby ~GetYourGrip

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