Kambria Donnelly

Maybe being lost is the best part of finding yourself,
completely and utterly engulfed in the unknown.
Every turn is a new opportunity to learn something about yourself you never knew before, there's beauty in that entire journey.

Discover yourself to the fullest, reach deep within,
find that thing and run with it.
That thing is what makes you, you.
And nobody can ever take that from you.

#love   #peace   #life   #unknown   #lost   #philosophy   #you   #journey   #explore  
11 hours ago

It's every time i hear "baby" spilling off lips that aren't his, every time i kiss someone, and it tastes like talking in tongues, because it isn't him. Every time it rains, every window sill, it's delicate, every cigarette, every time I think I see his face, every place, that he loved me. It's every song by catfish and the bottlemen, every metal cover band, every drive, every minivan. It's every beach we never went to, every time the sun set feels warmer in my heart than on my skin. Every time their hands slide down my waist they don't waste their time like he did. Every sip of liquor on my lips, every drug every daze. Every May June July August, every haze. Every word, every bird that sounds like waking up in the morning with him. Every street we made ours at night, every firefly. Every time I pretend spilling ink on a page spelling love as his name will help me bleed him out. Every time I bleed myself dry. Every time I should let go but I don't even try, to. Every time before he left; before I loved him. Every cloudy, overcast seven AM. Everything that reminds me of lust, and love and sex and sin,
Everything that reminds me of him.

Every August 28th
Table For Two
5 hours ago

A rose grows,
Persistent to the trouble around it.

And if not,
It withers down, and grows again,

All on a new day.

And I’ve always thought about how much,

We resembled roses.

#love   #poem   #life   #pain   #garden   #day   #new   #rose   #grow   #gaps  
Mary Winslow
Mary Winslow
2 hours ago

You crawled right out of the fires of hell
fully baked, lovely crust, eyes of hot coals
you are nothing but a tail with tiny legs
those wigs that curl along your body
osteoderms make you armored and plated as a tank
eyes right on top of your head
you are shined and lacquered for war.

That kind of polish with 80 teeth
shed and replaced with better ones
up to 3,000 teeth in a lifetime
while I lament the ones I have
oh, you are a hardy anger
that puts the seethe in efficiency.

For all of your sizzling complexity
your intentions are not convoluted.
They move in a straight line
not wily, never generous.

I saw you in Pasco County
where I met an old guy
with his tackle
going gator hunting he told me.

I saw you there, but he didn't.
He stepped down creek-side
and you reared up from the stones
protecting your nest and he sprang
back as though bitten
shouting, "See ya, later alligator!"
He ran as you smiled
and uttered:

"After a while, crocodile."

copyright Mary Winslow 2016 all rights reserved. This is just for fun! I have wanted to post a humorous poem. This story actually happened. I spent a lot of time watching alligators when I lived in Florida. They are amazing animals.
The Knave of Spades

Here again, behind closed eyes
Balanced on this fragile threshold
Enjoying the moment before it’s over
As morning melts the locks
Tenderly tracing unseen features
Kneading you from dreams and memories
Feeling the meter of your sleeping heartbeat
Synchronizing as we breathe
Folding you closer, moored in your warmth
Pressing your blessed scent against my chest
Picturing the glow outside
Alighting on your virgin eyes
Savoring our seven precious seconds
Helplessly defending the present tense

Today I woke up holding your pillow.

Paul Butters
Paul Butters
16 hours ago

Assonance was ensconced in my bonce once.
It puts me in the mood for a muse.
Love those cool peaceful pools under a Moon in June.
Or to croon about dunes and oasis blooms.
Such a lovely tune,
It’ll make you swoon.

Enjoy my runes,
No matter how crude.
I can be a goon
Or even a loon.
Sometimes a fool.
Poems strewn with clichés
For want of a better phrase.

Words hewn before noon,
To give you a boon.

Bad days may loom,
Injustices done.
Cruelty that’s is fuel for a duel and may ruin a life.
We may be doomed.

But I must stay upbeat,
Give you a treat
And make you fall at my feet.
Quite a feat!

Every dog has his day,
Another cliché you’ll say.
But I don’t get any pay,
So soon be on my way.

Love to play with words,
Writing songs for the birds.
These words are a tool
For making me cool.

We’re back to those pools:
They are shimmering jewels.

Paul Butters

Playing with words....
#poetry   #nature   #lyrics   #rhyme   #pool   #cool   #assonance  
1 day ago

SHORT AND SWEET                                
I woke up one morning
Surprised, I was not dead
Found myself in hospital
Restricted to my bed                                                                                  
They gave me Nitro Glycerin
In a tiny cup
Then told me not to move
Because I might blow up
BOEMS BY JA 275      
Written in hospital 2014

To comment on this poem, please log in or create a free account
Log in or register to comment