Spill Poems - Poems about Spill

Lately, my passion lies in poetry’s embrace, Quenching my soul’s thirst in this sacred space. The newborn’s cries inspire the lines I weave, Leaving them behind, in their form, I believe. My heart is torn, in tatters and frayed, I write my verses with a shaky hand laid. One day, this paper, with my thoughts laid bare, Will be cast aside, as...

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To spill one’s guts ‘tis hard to do ~ though the pressure's like a tight corkscrew ...

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On a night with waves so high, A ship sailed beneath a moonlit sky, With cargo bound for distant shore, It carried toys, and so much more. But, fate had landed on a different course, For the sea unleashed its torrential force, The tempest rose, the winds did howl, The ocean roared, an angry beast on prowl. As the ship heaved to left...

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Starve the mouth when its the soul thats hungry Push the pen until the fingers bleed Crack open the chest baring the inner world Neverminding the possibility of being left empty I will always spill myself for you ...

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Note this poem was written some time ago but I was sick and deleted my site. I have been patiently reposting my poems since 9 October 2000. On November 13, 2002. The Prestige, one of twelve tanks burst during a storm off Galicia, in northwestern Spain. No help was forthcoming and by November 19,...

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For the thrill of writing to be exciting a reading mind… by taking the time to write a rhyme in rhythm… shot from this poetry imprisoned prism like mind of mine…. I’m tussling words like a busker busking melodies from famous songs covering… words on paper smothered in from my ink spill… uttering unspoken words speaking my will cluttering thoughts...

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Can napkins not esteem or honour a history of being placed gently on laps to catch, take hold of, what is carelessly spilled or dropped, used then to pat lips before being rumpled tenderly, after eating, and placed carefully at one's side? At a table in a bar, a paper napkin on my lap, I look at friends: they have their napkins sitting at the sides...

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Spill your ink on blank page. Express your rage. Suppression only leads to mental pain. Without catharsis, art is trapped in cage. Trauma will stain, as you age. Gain your stage. Sage soul smiles. It's worthwhile to tame your flame. Poetry is perfect for thoughts to drain. Sane words flow to show feelings have no shame. Mute charcoal clouds, hail chord sounds. Tear drop rain. Brain feels free. Peace now reigns. Clear skies bring glee. Release of burdens cleanse...

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At last, Education stood to teach. Acres of agonizing memory. Hectares of Hecate, Tripling in advance of nonsense. Peering round and round in vertical cylinders. Spun web-less in a lore of forgotten before. And after, for the sake-less now. Trudging on to prevent neither from creeping upon the self. The worry. The memory of anamnesis to approach. Guided by prodding pasts and redundant fates. Ghosts are pasts...

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There's not enough time for my gut to spill Yet, o'er this thick towering dam it flows Blazing blue eyes pierce my soul reaching still For deeper feeling than she feels she knows Keep it from her, I can't, but I won't rush She's a fountain flowing all over me Dark depths of despair that she needs to gush Leaning into you...

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Words spill out of me bleeding all over the page, I can breathe again....

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the taught red skin wrapped her wrist like a ribbon; dim and so trimmed with disease. all bruised from a blood-let cephalic incision; she's thinned out and gnashing her teeth. departed in sin, packing cyst into vision; the brim is now flavored with grease. knee waning ceases along with derision; nodes flare and impair with a seize the solemn defend what is friend...

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The release of the naked sword of marine oil spills From the window and door of offshore platforms drilling rigs, From the arena of natural oil sips to execute our living meals. Petroleum hydrocarbon spreading its tentacle to the coastal shores, Crops behold their departures And sudden death is sure. Painful is oil torture, Holding to ransom our farming culture, As...

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Empty your heart Spill your ink Let the whole world know How you feel, what you think A poem's 'way out there' Yet in it you'll hide Their emotions your fiddle ~ Your ink, their guide...

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I turn on the water spicken nothing comes out but rust and sludge such as life inside~ 9/4/20 Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2020...

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