adj8103

Home seems to me an unclear idea
Which is vague like an echo long passed.
Still, I find myself ever roving in search-
Often the guest. Always marked tourist.

I keep fingers stretched toward a horizon
Where I imagine my lonely words will find
solace; a sincere ear in which to fall.
Isn’t that what it means to feel at home?

I want a place to relax from ambition
A peak or a riverbed to steady my mind,
But like the ocean’s love for shore,
Gravity and time force sad withdraws.

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/4tjcdc/love_poem_2/

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/4thu03/abandoned_earth/

“The Shadowbox”

Your round eyes, water-lined with salty tears,
The way shadows fill the spaces between the stars,
Whisper to me the details of who you are.

Like the lurching, abandoned house on Paper Street,
Eclectic pots and pans collect dripping tales from lone souls,
But where do you go when it’s your turn to pour?

To me, to me. You come to me, divulging those
Painful memories. Let me hold you and lull you to peaceful sleep.
Let go of the shadows you hold to spill over the brim.

Teeming with sadness, but more with relief
It will cause the old house’s joints to swell and heave
Spilling ‘til nothing beside those stars remain.

With sails unfurled ov

Your round eyes, water-lined with salty tears,
The way shadows fill the spaces between the stars,
Whisper to me the details of who you are.

Like the lurching, abandoned house on Paper Street,
Eclectic pots and pans collect dripping tales from lone souls,
But where do you go when it’s your turn to pour?

To me, to me. You come to me, divulging those
Painful memories. Let me hold you and lull you to peaceful sleep.
When we wake, find sweet dreams turned to reality.

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/4r8vvh/why_do_you_stay/
https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/4r7x7h/you/

(Still new to posting and sharing with other poets. So, I have been taking feedback, and learning how to write a better poem. This poem is like my Ode to Poetry for Beginners.. haha.. The titles in the first tercet reference the monthly Poetry Primer posts by u/actualnameislana Also, thanks to all the other reddit users whose helpful comments have been helpful.)

"How to Write a Poem"

Tercets. 8-feet lines. Accents. Catharsis.
Trying to put together new words i've learned. whose speaker is this?
asks the music lover to the waiting crowd.

7, Seven feet lines. Can't always get it like you plan every time.
Take all the lessons. Apply all the tasks. Night moves. By Bob

The first time I loved you was in your father's house
you pulled books from your old shelf
and opened your world to me a page at a time.

In the same room, you held my hand
through the worst dream and panicked tears
Not questioning, but returning embrace.

Even when my breaths fell to a steady pace.
Even then, I didn't let the words escape.
Even those nights when you let them slip.

August second, the power failed in Carolina heat.
We were the last two standing, and dancing,
and knowing.

I had an inkling then, but now,
oh lover, now this is knowing.

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/4qj3be/subtle_sadist/
https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/

Sensual circles, you said
as you traced the place
I'd once envisioned that
I'd be holding a gun to my head.

Figure eights looping softly
Charging a sensation in my body
as if you had woken my head,
my breast, my hands tingling.

trust fall, trust fall.
Into the circle become a well
and found hope springs
effortlessly, continuously.

Edit 1:https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/4pvh18/smile/
Edit 2: https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/4pvu3l/houseguest/

Meeting you a river burst

strong and even, it cut its course,

carving canyons through my heart now bared.

Immersed in the streams that you beckoned forth,

I was baptized in your love so pure.

It is a mighty river filled with life

It delivers its dreams to me at night.

In the dark, beneath the moon,

I bathe in those liquid mirages of you.

Thought that river does works by night,

Dreaming to see does not compare to true sight

of that river's works under fresh morning light

When we wake on those dewey shores,

we do not wait nor hesitate,

but rush in to our rivers depths

and be carried in its wake evermore.

(writing a love poem for anniversary next weekend. although after readi