Most Commented Abstract Poems (471)

Its a crazy world out there, especially when inspiration is gone
When feelings are imparted, and creativity is shared
Do people really seem to care?
We are caught in a momentary trap, a wormhole, paradox of your making
Do you think we are still circulating?
Are we just foreigners trying to come to terms with our reality?
Are we aliens in human form trying to come to grips with our humanity?
When will we realize that we are not pawns for society?
And the fears or worries lift into a tsunami of anxiety?
When you think you can get up and just be strong
When your voice feels smothered and you don't know
Where you do belong, when there's no purpose
When you don't know what you should do!

Every day itself is a challenge, when you feel hopeless to impart wisdom
Of the questions and the answers that are circulating around within
When you feel the need to go to ground and heal, and you are stuck
Remembering

When you lose yourself in the past gone by and identities seem to slide away
With a numbing crush of feelings then it tugs on the strings of your heart
In harder challenges of survival, its a regular competition to take part
The old flame of creativity and introspection encourages you to participate
But yet all you can feel is anger, fear and public hate
When you want to bring around a bit of hope, heaven knows how you can cope
But you still want to paint it in so the future doesn't look like its grim!

The world around you changes as soon as you make the choice,
And sooner or later you will find your voice,
Yet in this mission as you partake,
your present intercedes in with the future too
And the seeds of doubt will be one too few
Strength will be a part, gifted from me to you,
And soon I'll be moving forwards heading into the georgeous sun
Knowing in time that my battle of power, control and emotions will be won.

if love visited me tonight,
would i be the same?

if love touched you tonight,
would you remember his name?

if love visited us tonight...
would we dance beneath the sheets,
or return to the safety of our restless shame?

duplicity and reckless steps are sometimes the symptoms
of passion, but never the cause.

passionate glances,
soft touches,
long kisses and dark dreams...

the nectar saturates my tongue...
canvasses my loins ~
and pierces my heart.

what if love touched us tonight?

would we both be the same?
~ ~ ~ ~ ~

gs.

Of course you are
You're the star
Step right in
Let's begin

What are you going for
20,30,40,50 or more
You better keep score
There are she devils
And he devils

The whole crazy gosh darn lot
Contact someone tell 'em what you got
Go on mate
Look for a "date"
Before its too late

Nice! I think you've got it
This will be sort of like a hit
Have you ever inhaled
Been jailed
Or nailed
What about failed
Impaled

Oh geesh I went too far
Did you know I play the guitar

You want to build up your rapport
So you can keep looking for
The bestest one you adore
We're like a little candy store

Now did you say you like the shore
What about the dance floor
Do you snore
You have money so you're not poor
That's great and totally understood
Well done, really, really good

Wait..just hold on minute
Don't say anymore
I met you before
Aren't you Iknowhowtospinit

Oh, but you're new on here
Of course you are
Your "hello" is great
Like some kind of bait
Do we look like fish
Yeah...you wish

Good luck
You F.....k

No I'm not going to say it
I'm sweet, I just delete
And trust me, its for your benefit
Stop the insane delusional repeat
And retreat

We've got all your numbers
Hey, do you like cucumbers

Thunder Birds approach on the horizon...
just before the rain -
four-legged's tapping and banging on this old house
and its skeletal windowpanes...
rain dancing across the tin roof
barely touching the gutter,
the thunder growls,
and south winds howl...
earth, bones and walls begin to shudder.
The Owl perched above the loft sits frozen..
yet always keeping his even and steady scowl.
The Ancient Ones spoke of these harbingers...
These Thunder Birds,
and how they would foretell of the Storms to come,
They come now...
in my dreams...
in my Vision..
before the thunder clouds,
in a crash...
in a whisper.
The clear reflection in this still pool
mirrors my perceptions now...
as before...
but soon reflections obscured,
Choked by the red clay that swirls within its depths.
My friend, the dark bird...
lost in the ever turbulent streams above the clouds,
will soon find its roost...
...and the Grandfather will bring us the Holy Light,
born from the heart of the eastern mountains.

Gregory Sexton

Yesterday when I was sleeping
I had an incredible kind of dream,
we were there, dressed in white
it looked a garden of spirits....
you were so pretty, around of flowers field
the sky was blue and the clouds looked cotton fields
This was my dream I know we were in a garden of spirits
Yesterday I cant forget, the trees were so green
and there was not dead leaves
Oh god I felt me in the heaven, I would like that could be this way
I believe on these sort of thing, I know we were in a
garden of spirits.....
We were in a garden on spirits, in a garden of spirits.

Greg Sexton

"A Voice from across the River"

I wonder if it is like this for you...
Watching the shoreline....
laughing at the dance of the the crow.....
the beauty of the trees ...
Hearing the intricate rhythms of the crickets,
...the cicadas ....
...and how they must give us a hint of joy...
Even amidst the most somber of days.

I wonder if you could love the depth of this writer, and laugh at the antics of the thieving alley cat....

From the reflection in your eyes,
I see you've always been strong,
your soul guides you ,
even when your highs...
were so very low.

The salty mist from these shores have soaked my skin..
watching the moon,
and listening for your voice .....

Touching your hand I've yet to touch... a gift of grace from the gusts of coastal winds.

It is here that I sense your presence,
I hear your whispers..
Your laughter...
your footsteps.

In the evening moonlight ...i sense your candor, It is your Light...only borrowed by the Moon.

It's the "real" that we love.
The insatiable desire to know it...
to taste it ...
to be it...

Loves finds us all ...
at Her own pace...
Not ours.

Just as a soul must find its own voice,
It's own reflection,
revealed in word,
In deed,
In glance...
With each and every thought.

It's the "real" that we love.
The insatiable desire to know it...
to drink of it...
to be it.

Perhaps one could tally it as an obsession, But I know Love only as a living prayer.

.......a living moment suspended in time...
every bit as real as it ever was...
Both ancient and new.

This is the voice I hear.... from across the river.

This is the Voice I Hear.

GM Sexton --------------------

There it is, not moving, no path
alone comes itself
and brings the move for others
to dare
can't make it go further away
cause this damn inertia of mine
got froze
thus, directed by great illusions
from minds of nothing
nothing to joke, none the second of luck.

Perhaps you saw me walking on the street with my head hanging down and you wondered why..perhaps you saw ne at my desk at work with my head hanging down and you wondered why..maybe you thought to yourself why such a beautiful lady is always looking down. If you only knew ...the beating last night was because I burnt his dinner...This morning it was because I forgot to iron his shirt. So next time you see me with my head hanging down..don't wonder . Speak to me words of encouargement and life..

Long Walks...
Bring Rusty Railroad Tracks,
Crisp cool nights.
Old Wooden Train Bridge,
Overlooking moonlit lake,
My hand tight in yours

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
“I don't think so” she quickly said out loud.
Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
“I know but you're just saying that”.

What have I got to do or say to get you to take me seriously?
“Try being yourself once in a while, not someone you think I'll like”
I'll be whatever you want me to be!
“Exactly but that won't be you”.

It's been going on like this for months.
She wants me to be myself.
I want her to take me seriously.
It got to a point when she said “If you loved me you'd do it for me”.
I said “If you loved me you wouldn't ask”.

What exactly is love? It's something I've thought about over and over.
She thinks she has the answer.
“What is love then” I asked her?
“It's the yearnings you get when someone you love is away from you” she said determinedly.“The melting sensation when they kiss you and the feelings of hatred when you see them talking to another woman”.
“That's love? Well I get all those feelings as well” I offered.

“You're just saying that” she said.