Miraquill
My Grandma used to ask my uncle Jerry when is you gonna fix this washer machine because it sounds like a mule's assBy Hazel Teen Webb
Grid View
List View
Reposts
-
ciara1
12w
-
ciara1
12w
Live each day like it's your own because one day you gonna be right. By Ciara Webb
-
ciara1
12w
Women Definitely Deserves Respect. By Ciara Webb
-
Always honor and celebrate your culture rather if it's Black History, Indian culture, Mexican Heritage, African culture etc... Honor your culture forever. By Ciara Webb
©ciara1 -
ciara1
14w
Read More
Hanin
Let's ride and take control.
Your body next to mines.
You on top of mines.
You are my advertisement all day every day and night.
I am gifted to have you.
We ride, we ride, let me ride
on top of those gorgeous tits of yours.
Gender unidentified.
I can be a man or a woman.
Just take me and let me be your guide.
Seeing your face just makes me squeal.
I hunger for your body.
So sexy, so sexy you're.
Those gorgeous tits just makes my pussy excited I can just
slob on it.
I can spoon feed you you everytime we eat and cuddle.
That red lipstick, ooh that red lipstick just makes me want to kiss it off of you��
Stand up, please stand up my my night and shiner.
I love your body, I love your smell.
I love the body aroma you bring to me everyday we meet.
I need you, I need your body in my life.
©All Rights Reserved
#sexHanin
-
ciara1
14w
Power is knowing your past -- Spike Lee
-
ciara1
14w
Do not die in the history of your past hurts and past experiences, but live in the now and future of your destiny -- Michelle Obama
-
Music is the soundtrack to life. It plays the melody of our being -- Michael Jackson
-
ciara1
14w
Study the greats and become greater -- Michael Jackson
-
ciara1
14w
Never Give up. By Ciara Webb
©ciara1
-
penkin
14w
Missed everything and still waiting for something is my life which is just teaching others what is blind belief....
©penkin -
hannaabideen
18w
Read MoreHOLDING A HEART LOSING ITS BEATS
O dearest heart !
Lonely I and dark red you alone here
You inside me,
May feel I'm dying inside
To hold you before you break without love.
I am not the sixth glass of red wine
You drink in the middle of chaos.
I am not the second carton of virginia slims
You urges to smoke and leave behind.
I am a poetess breathing in between stars
The rising and falling stars
The brightening and dimming stars
Like I was already written in the damn sky.
Beyond the rage of poetry
Walking along the schmaltzy ballads of our tale
Holding a heart losing its beats,
Battling between lost him and losing myself.
O dearest heart !
We are together from nowhere,
Without waiting anyone to chase
Before the sunset hang on clouds
Under the clashing words of love.
#writersnetworkHOLDING A HEART LOSING ITS BEATS
-
hannaabideen
17w
Read More
PLIGHT OF MIGRATORY BIRDS
Once I heard from dadiji
The tragic tale of Indo-pak
Which I define a deep dive communal rage
During her childhood days, made it bitter.
Slowly began the rise of British empire
In the seventeenth century.
Ample wealth of Hindustan
Silks, spices and so on and so forth.
Higher taxes and larger trades moving to England.
We indians could be different yet got united.
Hindus and muslims,
Brahmins and dalits,
Whites and blacks,
Nationalists and liberals,
Men and women
We weighed trust on each other
In the battle against the British,
Against chivalry and slavery they are known for.
Blood smeared battlefields
Hours of martyrs in the pool of blood
Sheer cry of revolts and rebellions alarmed
Like pulling the strings of an instrument
India was in the hands of the great Britain.
At last left the Bharat,
Marred with extreme poverty and famine.
Seeing the soil eroding under their feet
Sowed a seed of hatred between us.
That was a monsoon, grey dark broken clouds
Poured rain upon them
Perhaps another attempt
To amalgamate streams of tears.
Divided hindus and muslims to tore us apart
Like a barrier the border was born
And the hatred had grown
Finally did she truly celebrate the freedom
From the British crown at the stroke of midnight ?
Verily millions moving towards the border
Like the lament of fallen feathers.
They looked like homeless dead bodies
Collapsed into a distant dawn
With frozen fingers and measureless sorrow.
Came the next shocking news
Baba lost his job in a factory in Delhi
Identifying him a muslim,
Was told to get the next train from India to Pakistan.
That was when birds seek shelter,
A poor woman with a rich heart
Carrying a child left at birth
Hummed in a low tune
To steer clear of purple crying.
That was when a boy seemed to be five
Sipping the last drop in a bottle.
Neither radiance of the big orange sun sinking
Nor monsoon flowers were embraced on that day.
Indian by birth
Widow of my Pakistani dadaji said
Desires have no borders
She sings urdu and writes hindi
Yet voice injured by the inhaled past
Of divided soil of forefathers
Parted love, abandoned houses, empty pockets
Tears welled up and lungs choked.
Whom to blame the fate ? freedom either.
Even broken glass bangles of raped girls
And the telephone box resided
In a corner of the post office in
Witnessed the grieving mothers over dead bodies.
The curse of evil enveloped us,
And yet, not healed
Unseen wounds and unspoken tales,
Concealed beneath the duppatta
From the disturbed peace to the shattered dreams.
The migratory birds in the darkest of all hours
Unquestionably strange in our own land.
To the mothers of missing children in mining
To the brothers who were separated during partition
To the beloveds of freedom fighters died in prisons
To the daughters suffered abduction and mutilation
Still memories bleeding in the twenty first century.
The bond formed decades back can't be that weak
Though here is a moment to poetic justice!PLIGHT OF MIGRATORY BIRDS
-
catdadjynx 16w
Read MoreThis one's a bit older, figured I should probably post my older stuff before posting too much more of my newer stuff lol.
Less commonly used words (to spare anyone having to look them up):
Murder - A flock of crows
Mirth - amusement/joy, especially expressed through laughter.
Dirge - a funeral song; a lament for the dead, particularly used in a funeral rite.
#rhyme #reflection[Nature Versus Nurture]
A murder of early birds,
crows perching;
serpent slithering, swerves;
worms squirm, turning the dirt.
Working up the nerve at first,
fervently burst
from the earth,
surfacing through turf-
the birth of a person
burgeoning from
between the curtains,
occurring virginous,
nature versus nurture
emerged.
Words, verbs,
and terms heard
become verses earned;
sermons for internal clergy,
pertinent versions of our
self-virtuousness,
unfettered and perverse.
Our sterling silver
perfect sureness disturbed
by learning hurt;
mercilessly surgical,
flurry of burgundy
permeates and obscures;
wounds nursed,
suturing severed mirth
leaving nerves astir.
No longer impervious,
a servant to
this awkward burden
and absurd turbulence,
I stand sturdy and firm
but impermanent,
impureness the curse I must purge;
lurching as I traverse
the curves of this circle
in recurrent purpose, further;
trying to revert
back to where we were,
spurned by the future
in a hurried search for worth.
But tempered in
this infernal furnace, immersed,
unable to curb my thirst
when third degree burns
urgently incur worse;
such pains aplenty
and diverse,
worries certain
as fate confirms.
Afterwards a blur
of what my composure
diverted, deterred,
survived, and conquered,
but nothing left
which to refer;
just a fading dirge
and ashes filling urn.
©catdadjynx -
" They often say, in the end, if you have a heart, then it’s them to be at loss. But what about your pieces, you already lost to them"
-
hannaabideen
19w
Read More
What autumn left ?
Autumn leaves are refugees
Like my depressed grandfather
And diabetic grandmother
Who fled to turn fresh green hue
Into painterly tinctures
Without a compass or map
When the autumnal sunshine
Grows shorter and
Fall embraces withered leaves.
Suffocating somewhere,
Where I could not escape from
Dwelling there for many a time
Gazing at the thatched
Roofs of mud hut.
My four year Baha
Asked tears in eyes,
What is the color of hunger ?
Perhaps darker than black
Or brighter than blue!
When hues left art
Sugar maples, aspen and
Russet leaves in heap
Listening to the tales of
Starving humans and empty pockets
Awaiting companions to fall off
Swore the art to turn into dust!
Inspired from @my_cup_of_poetryWhat
Autumn
Left ? -
nishaydv
21w
Stories you read ,
Poems you recite,
They take you in ,
in the writer's mind,
And when you are
Connecting with line's ,
The perpose of writing
is served just fine...........
©nishaydv -
nishaydv
20w
You become a master of your life
When you learn how to control ,
Where your attention goes,
Value what you give your energy and time to .........
©nishaydv -
When you soar high
Like an eagle you attract
The attention of hunters. -
Mysterious
Don't love me too much,
'Cause I'll set you free to my depth.
;More deep - more wild I'm !
- SEA
