Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
anilkumar parat Mar 2010
it’s morning
groggy-eyed, zombie-like,
stubbled, disheveled,
he rises.

Outside is the gleam of dew,
the scent of fresh bloom,
the chatter of birds and squirrels.
Not for him, though,
the brilliant hues of early dawn,
the bustle and cheer of the day just born.

Tarry he cant, mustn’t
shouldn’t, oughtn’t
for he has work to do.

And so he scurries about,
not much unlike a rat-at-night.
scratching the stubble out,
shocking the slumber out,
with a splash of rusty water
and scented alcohol

glassy-eyed on the clammy-cold seat,
with the daily in hand,
he lets in garbage as he lets it out.
(let’s see: “six killed, talks fail,
girl *****, man robbed,
chain snatched, stocks down, jobs lost…)

but no, tarry he cant, mustn’t,
shouldn’t, oughtn’t.
for he has work to do.

Not for him
to reminisce and wonder
at bright-eyed kids straining at their yokes
to remember that kind teacher
who patted his cheek
and held him to her smock
smelling strangely of
freshly ironed starch.

Nor must he think
of  progress cards and golden stars
and hobbies learnt at leisure,
of cycling in the rain,
and endless hours spent
under the mango trees
waiting for heaven’s manna,
of books devoured, adventures vicariously lived
in strange English lands
where they breakfasted on
bread and poached eggs and bacon.

Nay, tarry he cant, mustnt,
shouldn’t, oughtn’t..
for hasn’t he got work to do?

‘ Tis his lot to weave
his own web of chaos
as the road turns a
tangled mess of trails
darting here and braking there
in feverish, frenetic fits
of stopping and going
and spewing
clouds of carbon and venom
and especial epithets

no, no, tarry he cant, mustn’t,
shouldn’t, oughtn’t,
for he has work to do.

So what if he didn’t see
--just ahead of him on the bike,
the baby’s pink,delicate,
fingers as she clutched
her mamma tight?
--the shriveled, outstretched,
hand that cried for a morsel of mercy
since even the cataracted eye
was drained of hope?
--the strange aromas of
fresh coffee, incense, cigarettes
and some open sewer?
--the signals that said “relax,
you’ve 68,67,66” seconds to go?

Not for him to tarry—he cant,
he mustn’t, shouldn’t, oughtn’t, god forbid!
He has work to do!

Quotations to send
calls to attend, meetings to sit in,
sipping soulless coffee,
nitpicking.
accounts to tally,
targets to meet;
better still, exceed,
‘in’ trays to empty,
‘out’ trays to fill,
reports to make,
power points to present,
all before lunch
and, strangely, until after
until, outside the prison,
life has , once again, ebbed away.
one more sun has died,
or so cries the muezzin,
some distant bells pealing
in doleful agreement.
oh where has the day gone?

Stray thoughts appear
like lights switched on-
thoughts of children, wife,
neighbour
thoughts that convince
that here, indeed, is a person
with kith and kin and others to love.
But no, they must perish—the thoughts—
he must instead focus on the task at hand.

of  first weaving through
the now dark chaos
of blinding headlights
and urgent horns, darting bikes,
neon fireflies
and reaching ‘home’ where
the ***** is busy cooking
and the cubs scampering…
“hi dad ”says the kid
as he mindlessly waves
his soul numbed by
the monotony of the day just gone
and the tv that’s ever on—
and already on the report for the morrow

can he afford to tarry awhile?
to hug, hold, talk?
to share with him
a childhood anecdote?
horrors! he cant, he mustn’t,
absolutely shouldn’t oughtn’t!
for he has work to do!

And so the bedroom light’s on
until long after she’s embraced
by slumber, deep slumber—
her eyes closed
in childlike innocence.
can he watch the slow rhythm of her *****?
the languid curves?
the cozy bed
with its promise of warmth?
on the screen , scowling,
is the clutter of data
that must be processed
into bite-sized bits of
decipherable hieroglyphics—
now, not later!

Its so dark, so  still,
even the stray dog has stopped
howling its pitiful howl
one more cigarette
burnt at the altar of work
one more hour burnt at the stake
he simply cant tarry,
mustn’t, shouldn’t, oughtn’t…
he has work to do.

It’s morning.
Matthew Harlovic Oct 2014
On the paint chipped pavement we went over the rules:
NO cherry bombs, NO bobbling,
NO lower-ballers, spin-tops,
chalk walkers, twenty fingers,
and especially NO  skyscrapers.
So for a few minutes we played as raw as apple skin knees,
it was the roughest, toughest, hard-nosed game
of four square any fourth grader has ever seen.
But it was all over when someone crossed the line.
There was fussing, cussing, and an accusation of the mustnt’s.
Eyebrows adjacent, we argued and clawed like kilkenny cats,
we were breaking rules, we crossed the chalk.
We took sides and worst of all,
the one crucial act that we regret,
we slammed the ball down.
It towered overhead like window washers
and landed on the school’s roof.
We stopped arguing. Nobody won that day.  

© Matthew Harlovic
Brea Brea May 2013
I wanna kiss it
but its so hard
not sure how to bring it against my lips
and then my fingers up and slip
So soft
the place you make between my shoulders as they stand
the truth in your presence
the defautl in your eyes
unlike the lovely demise
in the powerful
but full of histories of deciet and self succumed lies
in a cloud on a pillar high
this is where I thought I might die
but death isnt the only escape
when beauty surrounds you from your mistakes
filters in through your insides
it leads you to a moutain top so high
the snow fall cleans you of your ***** hide
kiss you touch ouy
never call you mine
because I know better

not to contain higher things
clip thier wings

I gave my heart, I gve my soul
to the wronged of those

may I rest by your side
my ribcage exposed
to the love you know
from my touch
from my gental spirit
the light from behind my eyes
that reaches and finally does it touch
you heal me inside
you slip your sweet medicine between my lips
you swindle your breateh of life
I dont fight you with my hips
into my worried eyes
I fear not
not any more
so long as you are here
I can let go of this rope
lay your worried bones next to mine
and I'll do my very best to buy us this time
may the clock stop
as it does for the dead
because we are heaven lieing in your bed

kiss me once
kiss me twice
and I'll kiss you thrice
my worries drop as does this plunder
my thoughts roll from us like defeated thunder
I hold you whole
I hold you tight
I give you the same freedom, I give you the same rights
I heard you speak
of whats in your head
I'm smilling for the things you dont know that of which you said
fumbling in your sleep
you craddle my crown
as I dose myself in the sweet silent sound

I am fawn white
I am pure irridescent light
cloaked in darkness
hidden from sight
so that the goodness might prevail
even during teh trials of night

You, with orbs in your antlers
with moons on your tongue
you dont chase me
I realize I mustnt run
The power with in you
sends me still
even so, I am reeled
for the dangers I've met
for the dreams
I stir
I feel the safety in this allure
you sparkle in my eyes
from inside you
I see us side by side
standing tall
for authority we call

together we are safe
and with tired eyes
I will keep you warm and safe
to any and all expendeture
we are fair
a deiety in of itself
we are desired for being rare
Michael Parish Nov 2013
To pelt the world in ice and graves.
To feel how quiet this part of town feels
When the lites turn on we will not sleep.
We will not dream of anything tonite
We will run like the chinook salmon runs
To flood the world in rivers alive
With pain the pain of peace.
The pain after loss.  
What will come here when the hedges pop
Out like boxing gloves.  
Out of me is songs apollo sang.
Out of him and I we dance with
Wounded leggs.  And prove
How sweet salt tastes on gashes of death.
How sweet to taste imortality when
The cars speed.
What now is a world full of saints.
To fill markets with fresh fish.
And throw the bottles of whiskey
Where they belong.  Where they are warm
Proves how hot my sweater gets when my
Forhead clams up.
My scarf unwraps and we run
With out our cloths down pearl street.
Let there be muse forever on feet and side walk.
We mustnt forget why we break free from
The shakles of eternity.  
The horrible shakles of wild life.
Are finally pure gold.
The softest medal to bend.
And we leave the tempting
Medal behind and choose to
Drink the rain  drops.
Terry Collett May 2015
Ingrid finds the crowds of people overwhelming the West End of London is busier than she thought it would be theyve just got off the bus at Trafalgar Square quite near from here the National Portrait Gallery he says as they walks through Trafalgar Square past by Nelsons Column its a 170 feet high he says looking up Ingrid looks up too I bet he can see for miles up there she says its been there since 1843 he says walking on howd you know? she asks Mr Finn told us in history the other month Benny says I never heard him say that Ingrid says following behind Benny you were probably asleep Benny says smiling no I wasnt she replies just dont like history I find it bores me they climb the steps into the National Portrait Gallery and spend an hour or so looking around at the various portraits afterwards they come out and Benny says what about a glass of milk and cake in Leicester Square? is it far? she asks no just around the corner he says so they walk around and into Leicester Square my old man brings me here sometimes Benny says usually Sundays and we have a look around then we have a drink some place and have a go on the machines in the pinball alleys  my dad doesnt take me anywhere Ingrid says taking in the bright neon lights and the crowds of people passing them by I came with Mum once when she did evening cleaning at one of the offices up here Ingrid says remembering my mum works up here too cleaning some evenings Benny says they go into a milk bar and sit down at a table a waitress comes over to them and asks them what they wanted to drink or eat Benny tells her and she walks away he looks at Ingrid sitting in the chair he noticed she winced when she sat down whats up? your old man been hitting you again? he asks her why how did you know? she says looking at him blushing slightly saw how you sat and winced he replies he was in a bad mood and said I was too noisy and now that my brother and sister have left home he finds it easier to pick on me and Mum too Ingrid says you should tell someone Benny says Ingrid shakes her head Mum says Ill be taken away and wont see her anymore and I dont want to go in a home away from her so I say nothing and you mustnt either she  says eyeing Benny anxiously whod believe me he says looking at her wishing he could save her from the beatings she gets but he knows no one would believe him the waitress beings their milks and two biscuits and goes off after putting them on the table I saw your mum had a back eye the other week and my mum said she told her she walked into a door some ****** door that must be Benny says she must walk into that door on a regular basis Ingrid begins to sip the milk through a straw the waitress had provided she says nothing but looks at the glass and the sound of other people talking and laughing Benny sips his milk also thinking of the last time hed seen Ingrids old man passed him on the stairs and her old man eyed him coldly but said nothing after he had gone downstairs Benny gave him the ******* gesture Ingrid is glad to be out of the flat and the Square but shes anxious about his return that night after work and what he will ask her and she finds it hard to lie to him and if she says shes been to art gallery and the West End hell whack her for going and for going with Benny and Mumll say nothing then hell thump her for letting me go off and Ill feel guilty for getting Mum into trouble you let a nine year old girl out into the West End with that Benny kid? thump thump Ingrid can see it all now as she sips her milk Benny sips his milk eyeing Ingrid opposite looking anxious her mind on something else her eyes through her glasses enlarged what are you thinking about? he asks she looks at him nothing she replies its impossible for the human brain not to  think about something unless its died of course and I assume your brain hasnt died he says smiling Daddy says Im brain-dead sometimes she says but I wasnt thinking of anything in particular she lies looking at Bennys hair and the quiff and his hazel eyes and that way he has of studying her you dont lie too good he says lying about what? she says trying not to look too guilty Im not lying what were you really thinking about then? he asks she looks away from him and sips more of the milk I bet youre worrying about your old man finding out about us going up West and you know you cant lie to save your life Benny says I wish I could lie but I just blush or my eyes give me away Daddy always looks at my eyes he says they give me away before my mouth does then Im for it and he knows it and Mum gets it also then whether she knows about me or not its a matter of creative truth telling Benny says she looks at him and she frowns whats that? she says well keep in mind something who have said or done and put it in place of something you have done or said which you know you shouldnt have done he says but we have been here she says how can I put anything in its place? we will Benny says where? she asks well go to the church on the way home and you can go in there on your own and pray or something look at the coloured glass windows and flowers and then tell your old man that if he asks where youve been and done they finish their drinks and biscuits and go back to Trafalgar Square and get a bus back to the Elephant and Castle and Benny and Ingrid go to the church at the top of Meadow Row right now you go in on your own and sit and pray and have good look at the things inside like the coloured glass windows and the altar and then if your old man asks you can tell him the truth Benny says Ingrid goes in the church and Benny waits outside and as he does so he spots Ingrids old man go by on the other side of Meadow Row but he doesnt see Benny he just walks down the Row his features grim and Benny thinks of tiny demons following him.
A BOY AND GIRL IN LONDON IN 1958.
jeffrey robin Dec 2010
here

amid the broken

amid those who
never had a chance
to start

here

--------

the poets waste themselves
on self-love

ignoring

self-discovery

--------

broken poets

never starting

amid the loveless world

to feel

what their words might mean

had they any

sincerity

----------

simple love

is the love that doesnt die

if it died

it wasnt love

YOU MUST KNOW THAT

MUSTNT YOU?

------

here

the broken promises made

from indecipherable sentences

using meaningless words

spoken aloud to no-one

by

liars and thieves

----

come

let's leave
dont get weirded out
this is safe for work
you see im entertaining tomorrow
a thorough cleaning is in order
through and through
first things first
a proper dusting
right after the coveted sharpie box
shelf comes "first"
books records bric-a-brac and all
****
ive been meaning to listen to this album
signed and everything
lets put that on for some dusting music
table turns
check
the needles effective
i can hear the shallow resonance
hmm no audio
lets unplug all the cables
check the power supply
and the pre-amp
turn it all off then on again
****
let me take this apart real quick
****
i need some parts
i need to call stanton
OPERATOR! OPERATOR!
30 minutes later im told they dont have it
WHELP
back to dusting
stepping over stanton parts
I THOUGHT I LOST THIS MOVIE
i can play it in the background
whilst im cleaning
THE PROJECTORS BROKEN
let me take that apart real quick
hope i dont get the parts
of the two aberrations crossed
that mustnt happen
wink
and then the re-framing project
and then organizing my music collection
and then just one poem
color code my closet
rewrite my resume
clip my toenails
and my nose hair
four more poems
annnnnnnnnnd
mess

"oh hey welcome, drinks are over there
just dont step on my record player"

and heres where it gets crazy smart
i tear EVERYTHING off the walls
draw all over all the stuffs
with those ****** sharpies that started it all
turn the whole ******* place
into a performance art piece
i call it
"fix it: I DARE YOU!"
the party title is a work in progress. but seriously, i should clean my room(s)
A  Mar 2014
Non responsive
A Mar 2014
I detest what you've made me become 
you ******* hate me 
I just don't understand why 
and I try 
oh do I ******* try 
but to communicate the recipient mustnt be a brick wall
A week ago you loved me
now I'm beneath your hellos however have enough energy to talk about me 
while I still can't fathom how I can't call you up about the thing I just saw that I knew would make you laugh 
the thought of that incapability handicaps me.
I don't even try to watch the same channels anymore because I know those situations where I'll lift myself from the couch only to collapse back down because you don't even want to see my number on your caller ID
I try not to but I cry. 
I cleanse my body from this pressure that has harden me from the inside out 
I feel so deeply I turned the feelings you've infected me with into water 
I begin to breathe 
To realize I can't feel
youve seen me and want none of it.
Flamma Supr3me Feb 2015
You must think for yourself,
others cannot live for you.
The others will search for your help,
and soon begin to adore you.

You are a great being son,
thats what his mother told him.
Youre meant to do things never done,
Remember the future is never dim.

The flow of Imagination is all he had,
he was growing up a king,
His lfe was set so he was never sad,
Yet he never understood the meaning.

As his fathers time had finally past,
the boy must become a man.
Son i dont know how long I'll last,
but in you i forever can.

The boy knows without him he wouldnt be who he is today,
He is scared amidst it all,
as he prepares his speech to say.
He walks down the aisle and to their knees they fall.

The time has come to rise up.
Shake off the encompassing webs.
Deny yourself what was once gossip
Seperate from the living dead.

His speech began and the crowd went wild,
not restless as hed assumed.
He no longer is the helpless child,
valiantly he resumes.

His goal is to conquer all,
not for the money or endless trees.
He is the greatest ruler youve ever saw.
He brings ****** peace.

The world united is all he wants.
He will not stop till he gets it.
The words he speaks dont seem to flaunt,
however his demeanor speaks it.

Then one day he bears a child.
He could never expect it.
His heart sudenly tender and mild.
So upset of the bloodshed he directed.

The world is one but not through war,
Thats what he finally realized.
The pain and suffering went to far.
There was a new look in his eyes.

He taught his son all he could about the circle of life,
His son ignored and did not listen,
He didnt have to go through strife,
Never had a brow glisten.

His old man was crazy thats what they said,
the naysayers coming forth by the hundreds,
All through his gain they wanted to be paid,
but he no longer felt any hatred.

His son decides one day his fathers time has come,
he prepares mentally all day,
his fathers progress mustnt be undone.
He will step in his fathers way.

As he comes up behind his father,
knife up to his throat.
He tells his father not to bother,
then he begins to gloat.

My empire will triple yours in money and power,
I will forever be respected by my servants.
Now father comes my hour,
Let everyone be observant.

My son just let me utter first a phrase,
hopefully it teaches you something.
If forever you count the riches paid,
your life will mean nothing.

I love you my son,
Just do one favor i plead.
No father the deed is done.
I now shall watch you bleed.
ns ezra  Jun 2013
two lambs
ns ezra Jun 2013
i know you do crack with the kids down the road
and i know you smoke when im not around
your nails are turning to clay, your mouth
is going grey; you must think me such a fool
you must really want to laugh
watching me hide from all your friends
the boys with big hands, bigger fists
the girls who flush my pills
can you see the way i tremble?
can you smell the burns
between my thighs?
i caught you looking yesterday
it mustnt come as a surprise
you must have known how sick i was
you met me in a waiting room, didnt you
did you? i cant remember now
i suppose it doesnt matter
i suppose none of this does
hey your train leaves soon
id almost like to walk you there
id maybe like to say goodbye
id like to cry alongside you
but no—no i know i couldnt
its the worst thing of all
the last loss: oh
you must think
i want you
to go
jeffrey robin Nov 2010
so tired
can ye not come thru
can ye not be here
by my side?

--

broken bodies
dreams still live
so empty
yet
i know
what is needed
i am here

---

fallen
so alone
still strong
i mustnt die
i know
what is needed now

---

we are
sure
we know
tired
almost dead
almost re-born
nowhere to stay
nowhere to go

-----

just a bit tired
come
be by my side
if only
for a little while
silvervi  Jan 2019
Anxious
silvervi Jan 2019
To lose yourself
Is scary

As not to know
The way

You see a million directions
And you're afraid to choose

You're overanalyzing
Lose touch to any feeling

You're transparent like a ghost
There's no sense in your existence

You see no sense at all.

Like a trombone
The sound of pain in mind
Your brain gets hurt
You're stuck

Can barely breath
Why breath at all?
If you're a ghost

You're scaring, hurting others.
What a shame.

Who will be ever able to love you?
It mustnt be true, it must be a game.
It's a process though. In darkness you can see the light even better, even if it's a tiny spot somewhere far away. Keep holding on to it.
adam S  May 2015
hero
adam S May 2015
the unyielding flame roars alive, my body consumed
i look forward my resolve born a new once again
i look at this world with fresh hope and fresh zeal
once again i rise for in all of us lays a hero
i feel the call to rise up and to display my might

but alas in a world where people follow foolish ideas
not knowing the harm they cast with an innocent smile
yet again and again i shall rise to any ocassion nothing can repel
these flames i hold dear
i wish to be this worlds ally and in that i may become its greatest enemy

as the battle rages againa nd again in my mind i cannot find a sutiable tactic
and that is fine as long as my resolve stays strong i cannot be defeated
i shall power this world with a zeal unknown and most hidden
for when your darkest day comes call upon the tide of battle and i will show
for a hero is always late to battle

i may be villianised and attacked yet i will not yield i mustnt ever yield!
i will face anything that you cannot, i will not allow my heart to harden.
my heart will be my shield and although it will be beaten again and again
i will not be hisheartened i shall continue to rise to new hights
my path may not be of joy, however i will make it better for others i promsie so


allow me to bear your burdens, leave then behind and proceed i shall clear the way
my armour may be damaged my sword may have become dull but i will not yield
nothing shall place fear within me, nor shall i allow it to you
for those who cast harm upon this world i shall not permit it
for in the end i shall become a hero within this world

for a man like me there is no heaven because challenge is the prize i want
universe as your servant allow me to grow continuiously do not let my journey end
for when the final liberation comes i will return and although my mind may be wiped clear
my heart and my core will not change i am and forever will be a knight
and with that i peldge undying support

so now is the time to rise to take a stand to do what is right
for all things must face the light to grow, so grow with me brothers and sisters
i shall not leave any behind, but i will take the lead
for together we can cast what is right and in my death when it arrives
people will not have the right to say no hero existed

— The End —