Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
is Nov 2015

red - her lips tasted of wine and blood and all the pain she felt in her heart. she was driven by wild passion and survived solely on her intensity and strength. each breath she took was like fire; so absolute, so empowered.
orange - her hair was crafted from the bright ashes of a phoenix, kindled with streaks of gold. she always seemed to be her own lick of flame from the embers that burned in her heart to the coals that touched her soul.
yellow - her smile was light at your darkest hour, sunshine after a rainstorm. inspired by everything and nothing at all. she was the sun personified, the epitome of radiance.
green - her eyes were so deep and magnificent and ethereal, while still lit with puerility. she could look at you with those eyes and show you that she cared so passionately for you, no matter your mistakes or your faults.
blue - her skin drowned in an ocean of tears, storm after storm, each wave wracked her body. she trembled with heartrending sobs, each breath heavier than the last. her sorrow painted the depths of her, unseen to those who had not genuinely looked into her eyes.
purple - her organs were stained an ugly shade by the darkness she consumed. her hunger was insatiable. she filled her mouth with poison and swallowed it with a smile on her face. the air traveled from her bruised lungs, through her macerated throat, and out her smiling, stained lips.
Eric N Whittier Oct 2010
Sometimes I need to put a table on my head
And think back to childhood
And cry all alone under a blanket
The world is full of terrors
Darkness knows no bounds
I wish it would all go away
But the tears feel
so good to be alive
So good to not feel nothing
What had happened?
When did everything fall away?
Dont tell me my love isnt real.
Sacred in my solitude
Maybe you just dont know
Havent learned how to feel this good
Maybe I havent been able to hold onto    
It
Maybes thats where my dreams went
But there is more than that
So long I tried to run
Because like nothing else love is scary and it hurts

More than anything
Heart           r
   end
           in              g

So now here I am
Alone again
Wishing I held you
There is this ache within me
That longs to hold you again
And its that which keeps me up all night
Although I guess the coffee helps
Copyright Eric Whittier Oct 2010
Rangzeb Hussain Mar 2010
Long ago in shadows when the world was in magic robed,
Thus begins this tragic tale from times old,
A Mother and a bright girl did have a cottage near a hill,
On the edge of a creeping forest did they live.

Poor they were yet happy too with songs at dawn,
Nor did their stomachs in hunger churn or yawn,
Life was hard but they got by with chickens hatching hatching,
Eyes in the night always watching watching.

The Mother did always caution her delightful daughter,
“Freia, don’t be a lamb to the slaughter,
Wrap your apple blossom face from the dead eyes of dogs,
Beware the men who haunt the forest fog.”

The bright days were dreamed away in peace and solitude,
No neighbours did intrude,
Time slipped away over the misty mountains and innocent lambs,
The years ran on, so silently they ran.

One day in late autumn when Freia had maidenhood reached,
She was asked to gather wood for heat,
The days were getting shorter and the spiked nights were colder,
Shadows scratched by their door.

“Give me my red scarf quick for I want to be a girl good!
For you I will get sticks of tinder wood!”
But before she let go her dancing daughter dear
The Mother did speak of fear.

“Freia, hush and listen! Return quickly for I am in fear soaking,
Watch out for the wet croaking Water-Goblin
Who reigns and dines beneath the river and hides in woodbine,
Take heed, Lady Night upon the sky shows her signs.”

“Never fear, dear Mother wise of mine,” said Freia,
“Blind Mistress Night, ha!
She will never ever catch or lay her black claws upon me,
Just wait and see! Back I will be.”

Freia skipped and slipped into the forest loud with sound,
She was collecting wood from the ground
When an idea came darting and burrowed into her curious mind,
“There’s no Water-Goblin! It’s a tale to scare and blind.”

And to prove her Mother wrong about tales tall and long
She went to the riverbank to sing a song,
The place was dark and no bird sang in the gloomy twilight,
Bright bones upon the bank caught her sight.

A frosty wind licked her and goose-pimples did appear,
Her spine chilled and shivered,
She tried to brush off the terror in which she was crippled,
Upon the river her eyes spied a ripple.

Something was swimming and straight to her heading!
Her legs grew heavy and she stopped humming,
She stayed rooted as up her legs crawled spidery lice,
She stood like a statue carved out of ice.

Bubbles were breaking above the tar-like water ring,
The gap closing between her and the thing,
“O, why did I to this dead river come running and singing?
How I wish I was at home skipping!”

It was as if some magic older than time kept her frozen,
Freia had thus been chosen,
The gap between her and the creature was fast closing,
If only she was at home safely dozing!

She tried to shout but only dry silence puffed out,
Her eyes bulged, she was clouded in doubt,
Tears fell upon her cheeks but she still could not scream,
Cruel, O how wrong everything now seemed!

Something dark, something bleeding green greed
Crept from the water with fluid speed,
The creature from the river wrapped a long strong arm
And held Freia’s gentle palms.

“Mine!” it gurgled through gnashing sharp teeth.
“Please, no!” spoke Freia in fever’s heat.
“Bride you will be!” the scaly creature hugged and hissed,
With jagged lips he did upon Freia plant a kiss.

The Water-Goblin, for indeed it was he,
Dragged away Freia by the knee,
Into the cold and dank river he waded,
O, how his touch she hated!

“I’ll drown!” Freia screamed, “To the shore take me!”
“Please, no!” she tried to sense make him see,
“I’m sure to slip and sink and in the water drown and weep!”
“Will not,” spoke he, “Magic bubble I shall for you weave!”

He spun his murky magic and just as he had promised and hissed,
A large air bubble circled Freia’s body and hips,
He lowered her ever deeper into his Netherworld Kingdom,
Up above the sun into the horizon did drown.

The green-eyed Water-Goblin a wedding banquet did hold,
It was a hideous party truth be told,
The guests he had invited made Freia’s skin crawl,
Demons of all kinds smiled and prowled.

The poor girl dizzily danced with the greedy groom,
Her speech slurred and darkness loomed,
Her pulse quickened and her breath came in bursts short,
Her husband’s nails did pinch and hurt.

A year and a day passed away like a carnivorous nightmare
And Freia birthed a baby golden haired,
“Pretty child,” grunted the Water-Goblin, “Is it a boy?”
“No, it’s a girl,” spoke Freia with joy.

Freia enjoyed the happiness by and by tick,
But soon she became homesick,
She wished to see her Mother and to her show the baby,
In that watery Kingdom she was but a trophy.

“Please let me visit my mother?” she kept pleading.
“Never!” he kept repeating.
“Please?” Freia was all honey, clever and charming.
“Never ever!” he was no more laughing.

And so it went on, and on, each and every day,
The Water-Goblin did for an end pray,
“Wife go then,” he one day gave in and readily flipped,
“Back you must come!” he spat through rotted lips.  

“Go now,” he gestured with claws ******
And at the child in the crib he pointed,
“The baby tender and sweet will with me stay,
Come back or else she pays.”

Freia begged, “To my dear Mother I want to baby display.”
“Hark and hear!” he kicked the cot of clay,
“Listen to my dread law. The child here plays.
Return to me by dark of this day.”

He took her to the surface and released her from the spell
Which kept her prisoner in the river red,
She went away yet still she heard a warning burning in her ears,
“Be back before dark or else they be tears!”

When to the old cottage she arrived she wiped her tears,
Her Mother was sitting in the rocking chair,
In the very air floated cobwebs, dust and impending doom,
The room was cloaked in layers of grainy gloom.

Freia rushed to her Mother feeling sad and weak,
It had been a year since they last did speak,
Mother and daughter warmly hugged and held each other fast,
“O, my doll, you return at last from the past!”

Freia did to her Mother tell her tale from beginning to end,
She was broken and needed to mend,
To her Mother she told about her beautiful baby,
Outside, the light was fast fading.

“I must now go back to my darling child before dark
Or else my dread lord will bark
And wreck vengeance most sharp upon my precious pearl,
O, how I miss my darling girl!”

“But don’t you see?” began the wise Mother true,
“The Water-Goblin has no magic over you.
It is said that whosoever returns to dry land can the spell break
If they keep the Water-Goblin at bay till daybreak.”

“Will the vile Water-Goblin free me and my child sweet?
And will he shift this curse? O, do speak!”
“Yes! You and the baby will be safe,” the Mother explained,
“The Water-Goblin will crack and be in pain.”

“Now we wait for the night of shadows long,” said the Mother poor
As she bolted the door,
“Go and bar the kitchen windows, I begin to feel sick,
Lock also the house on this side, be quick!”

No sooner had they barred the door of the cottage old
When the wind howled down the valley cold,
Night shrouded the land and black things moved outside,
They heard the rain pelting the hillside.

The storm with titanic volcanic fury spoke,
Everything fled even hope,
The cottage door with demonic force did vibrate,
Something was tearing the cottage.

“Has he come for me?” Freia shook in her Mother’s arms,
“Has my Master come to inflict harm?”
“No!” shouted her Mother over the thunderclaps,
“It’s the storm perhaps.”

Scratching was heard and they began to fearfully pray,
The panel above the doorway shattered,
Sharp shards of glass everywhere cascaded and scattered,
“Come back!” the thing outside banged and battered.

“It’s the wind. Only the wind, darling dear,” the Mother cleared
Her frightened daughter’s eyes full of fear,
The noise and the angry threats of the unseen creature
Drove darts of icy terror into their features.

“When will this nightmare end?” asked Freia with concern.
Replied the Mother, “Dawn is about to be born.
This Water-Goblin has to go back to his Kingdom before sunrise
Or else he will lose his life and prize.”

Crash! Something broke, splinters of wood in the air flew,
Cracked claws clawed across morning dew,
A hairy paw with nails long and sharp shot through the opening
Above the door and for the lock began searching.

A heartrending howl of frustration then was heard,
Without warning the probing fist did disappear
And there was an unnatural silence in the morning land,
The Hour of the dead Wolf was at hand.

Bang! Something outside the door had horribly burst,
Something had been flung with frightful force
But the cottage door was strong and held firm and fast
The Mother dryly spoke, “The terror has passed.”

“Has it?” said Freia as she with caution went to unhook the lock,
The handle was cold and her heart still in shock,
Her brow and hands wet with the nightmare’s perspiration,
She paused before the door in desperation.

Something lay on the ground before the door all blood and bone,
The sight would bring tears even to a stone,
Freia saw what the Water-Goblin had used to batter the door with,
O, how she wished to stitch her eyelids!

For there lay the lifeless body of her baby on the earth,
This was the baby to whom she had given birth,
Only a small finger remained of the golden curled girl,
The Water-Goblin’s curse had done the worst.



©Rangzeb Hussain
lilpoiein Oct 2013
He presses my heart
I couldn't breathe
As much

Irregular heartbeat
Suppressing pain
At my chest

I wonder if I'm going to die
At this rate of my breathing condition

Taking a few deeper breath
Hoping to take in some air

My breathing is still the same
My Irregular heartbeat
Suppressing pain
At my chest

It makes me hard to be
awake neither to stay asleep

In my sleep and when I'm awake
I could count my irregular heartbeat

I wonder when am I going to die
As I struggle in heartrending
Awake and neither asleep
Rangzeb Hussain Jul 2010
VI

“Hearken, all ye there!”

Seis Seis Seis Seis Seis Seis

It began, as these things tend to do, with a quartz encrusted howl,
Lamenting under the crystalline shadows of Leda’s heartrending growl,
Her ravished moon bled and sank into the vocal cords of guilt coated cowards,
“Come back, come back! Oh, frivolous sanity thou art truly unjust, most unkind!”
Right here in this lonely place did my Darling dear spill devotion onto spiced dust,
She swayed on the rickety ridge surveying her sapphire kingdom’s splintered trust,
There it lay glittering, her city of cities, nothing now but a jeweled corpse.

V

“Know ye not of the oft-told tale of the drinking-well at World’s End?”

Cinco Cinco Cinco Cinco Cinco

My Lady who did fire the lyre of Orpheus, she weeps there in the misty chilled cold,
Wild it is, all about her the night wind nibbles at the skin clothing her fractured soul,
Cacophonic waves of regret silently scurry to labyrinths entombed with truths bold,
“Come back, come back! Oh, to my tempestuous ***** hasten with thy canticles!”
The symphonic fingers of fog pluck a requiem upon her autumn flavoured hair,
My Queen is attired for her banquet at tables far beyond Persephone’s desolate tears,
On the precipice her figure rises for the final faithful leap into Styx’s stratosphere.

IV

“Behold now the dread eyes of Hades, see how they hunger blood at the boil!”

Cuatro Cuatro Cuatro Cuatro

Carnivorous tasted memory plagues the betrayed Minotaur’s desired deliriums,
On these haunted shores I clutched her close and eagerly inhaled love’s elusive serum,
Legend has it a suicide was here on this very cliff-top, ‘twas a true Roman centurion,
“Come back, come back! Oh, let us under Demeter’s enchanted orchards lie!”
My obsidian-eyed Beauty gathers her eggs and over the fearful edge she unfurls them,
Closer to the dead of Euphrates she steps, I to madness hurtle as one condemned,
Bind savage Cerberus for the solitary reign of the wolf is fate for all hanged men.

III

“Prometheus thou hast drunk Pandora’s poisons, what sayest now the Titans?”

Tres Tres Tres

Golden fleeced days into the fleshy ground of Morpheus’s realm did seep away,
How well spent they were not even immortal Calypso shall decipher nor say,
Would that mine myopic ears had been shorn and tossed into Pompeii’s crisp clay,
“Come back, come back! Oh, gentle Maid no more, I beg thee stay awhile yet!”
What was it? Was it me? No, no, it could not be me for I was Achilles buried asleep,
How little we then knew, we two did partake of the stinging, you the wasp I the bee,
Mayhap ‘twas this unlocked the plumed towers to thy curled universe tunneled deep?

II

“Therefore did the Serpent spake and pronounce a judgment most nefarious!”

Dos Dos

She thinks back, my Lady fairer than Medea, she remembers a time happier,
Really there was, hear yet my credo, once upon-a-time there was no doubting terror,
But then a thing did into our guarded haven breach and wreathe about my treasure,
“Come back, come back! Oh, let me slake my thirst with thy honeyed spirit!”
My flesh did crawl, my fangs grew sharp, my spittle ran down and my fur stood taut,
The jawbone stiffened and all the while I burnt like an infernal phoenix caught,
Oh, my sweetly crazed fruit, did I for real the horror upon you wrought?

I

“Would that thou didst offer me thy riches upon the hour of the violet twilight...”

Uno

Wolfsbane moon, high above it rose in that final cracking of sacramental bones,
My Lady much wrong did you I, forever for this will the beast in me atone,
Now, at this baleful hour has the wolf left you on the edge of an embryonic cyclone,
“And so to the Elysian Fields where insanity fertilizes the soul do I embark...”
You cross the Rubicon and glide into the obliterating arms of Plutonic eternity,
The wolf, me, is left clawing your hooded red robe with absolutely no certainty,
I see you sailing upon Neptune’s trident, forever adrift on oceans of eternal cruelty.

N

“Seekest thou sanctuary in the hinterlands where the man with one eye is King?”

Cero...

pretium libertas est nex**



©Rangzeb Hussain
Ovi-Odiete Jul 2016
Bewildered and haunted through flashes of memories that relive themselves
I sit and ponder and look into the sky
there is no pain greater than been lost in SELF
battling with a STRONG shadow called SADNESS
she stalks and haunts and bring you moments of agony
she comes along with her sister ANGUISH
and they taunt you,
galvanising and pinpointing your mind to the PAST you left behind






OH SADNESS!!!!!
have you not rendered men a roaming wretch for years?
are you not content with the tears you have drank from your millions of subscribers?
are you not pained because of happiness and her many gifts?
when will you leave the vulnerable ones and stop feeding on their weaknesses?
for how long will you continue to taunt MEN with their horrible past and perceived failure?







You are hopeless and weak and so you feed on people's misery alongside with your heartrending sister called ANGUISH
Leave us alone,
for we do not want to commune with you
you are meant to die alone,
but you have garnered so many souls as your followers
reminding them of their most terrible past
conjuring pieces of AGONY
and feeding them with misery's venom
you are a witch SADNESS
and you dwell in the dark
you mesmerise us with beautiful tragedies and allure us into your cavernous seeking kingdom

ARISE
eschew sadness
before she infects you with her incurable disease
SADNESS has no home
and so she roams*

Ovi Odiete© 2016  All Rights reserved.
Poet's Notes about The Poem

Sadness engulfs the heart and mind and all that is left is gloom.

I was inspired by an intelligent and advanced Poet from Writer's Cafe called Sheila Bowler Kline who wrote a heart moving poem titled MISERY and so I began writing. I must say she is gifted and write from the heart. Here is the poem below written by her and published on Writers Cafe





MISERY

BY SHEILA KLINE © 2016


Not a poem, not a story..........just random thoughts about MISERY! Oh, how it seems to permeate the soul of this writer far too often! Shake it off, stomp on it, run it away yet it ever finds a way of coming back far too often!
Perhaps a bit macabre, but then again, I am passionate about that which I feel within the depths of my marrow!


Misery

O' Misery, why do you plague me with your incessant railing every conscious moment of the day and suffocating hour of the night?

Are you not galvanized enough by tending to the dead who beg to return to the land of the living—skipping and frolicking with fate that swings like a pendulum ‘cross tombstones glistening under a moon made fat by the ingestion of a cycle of the universe?

You torment the living with your unwelcome presence. You take residence with the weak who suffer, slurping their lifeblood to quench your perpetual thirst. You craft a vacuum in man's psyche where joy once flourished as you wound your victim with anguish, making certain to cauterize lacerations that ooze any inkling of happiness.

You count the seconds, keeping tally of moments of vitality ready to unleash a counter attack to hasten the time of their demise. Weakness empowers you like rotting carcasses strewn across the Battlefield of Life strengthens the very soil they now litter.

You are wretched, toting gloom in a haversack of tricks. You were destined to bring grief to man before you were conceived. Calamity is your self-designated birthright. You arrogantly swagger through unending tunnels of doom to cavort in a sarcophagus unsealed by your penchant for woe.

The only light is that of your pride reflecting from the bleached bones of those who have been snuffed out by your doggedness to award them residence in your bastion of suffering. A lantern may flicker yet your foul breath smothers it before it lights the tinder and thus a flame of hope.

Those you infect with your virus of despondency pass it on one to another in a never ending stream of tragedy and despair. Misery, you are a driven contagious force that cannot stop as you have an insatiable appetite to commune with your casualties - "Misery loves company".

Sheila Bowyer Kline©2016


"If misery loves company, misery has company enough." - Henry David Thoreau
Inspiration grips my soul
And gives my mind no peace;
I try and try to let it go,
But silence baffles me.

Sometimes in the darkest night
It's dreams that haunt my eyes
And sometimes, inspiration's height
Looks about agony's size.

Ideas sometimes look like pain
And memories that hurt me;
And beautiful though my song may be,
Perhaps its roots concern me.

But art, it lies within the choice
To make a lie show truth
And find the love inside the voice
Of your heartrending youth.

Don't build your statues with ashes:
Compress them into stone,
And watch as sorrow clashes
With love that builds a home.

Darkness is no shelter,
But is an invitation
For light to burn the better
As fire: my inspiration.
Pliny the Elder said: "The depth of darkness to which you can descend and still live is an exact measure of the height to which you can aspire to reach."
scar Jun 2015
Grim drops slowly through the window
His front door's broken, the lock is gone
On the way home from school he saw an omen
It told him tonight would be long.

Grim shouts his mother get your lazy **** over here
And Grim shouts his father get in here and bring me a beer.

Grim drops his schoolbag and walks to the kitchen
And plonks down a beer on the table for father to drink
With his TV show watching the Simpsons
As mother lies hazily under the influence
Grim leaks slowly up the staircase
Into his room with the chain on the door

He pours himself into bed, lies on his back
He looks at the clock and he's sure
Eleven eleven, it's one one one one
It's the omen his demons have told him about

Wish on a star they said, and if that doesn't work
Wait til the clock pulls you out of all doubt.

Grim waits for nightfall
He doesn't have dinner
He's been getting thinner
But no one has seen.

He seeps from the bedroom
Down stairs and through hallways
He knows he is going where he hasn't been.

Grim please don't do it his friends would all say
(If he had any friends but he doesn't)

You know teachers despair of him
Teenagers laugh at him
Old ladies scared of him

GO ****** GO

Grim sets his face to determined
He runs down the path to the cliff
He launches himself from the edge and he flies

For a wonderful moment
A heartrending moment
A glorious screamingly awesomest moment

And then...

Then all is Grim.
Julian Feb 2017
In the cavernous expanse gilded out of silicon robes of Greece flattened into the diminutive spaces between crags and rock, the swimmers of the natatorium embrace to plunge in transparency where they erred in covert chivalry
Knighted partially by association but yet unofficially born of sentiments rebarbative to the well-heeled, I linger like tar heels lamenting that the supernova eventually bequeaths the death of the ultimate chapel hill a shining city on a valley masquerading as a hill
From past and repast, the nurture of former presidents calumniates if also embraces the possibility of unfettered liberty and prosperous futurity, they simper in silent lugubrious reflection at lives shortened by liberty prolonged, of hearts opened but death devolved
Latitude and the caress of brazen attitudes corners the ***** in a tightened alcove of a restrictive forest of livid and limpid dastardly deeds, the arm of hunched idiots grazing with dumbfound idiocy at their own protective duty to shepherd the forest only for the singular trees as though disease itself is only a tease in a flirtation too exposed to believe
I joust with giants in a town that brooks lions and lyon estates with too many GrayZe superintending too many fain and valiant graves littering the stream besides the Pennsylvania forest in a past sunken in intrigue slipping in and out of an ethereal time invented by a harvest moon too attuned to be a lunatic any time soon
Whither is the outcome of a Shakespearean demise of prattle becoming the pasture of specious but solid skies, gleaming that a science fiction theater isn’t hailing a fuhrer or jingoistic furor any time soon hopefully I do too croon.
Militant tapestries of unhinged madmen craven in their disregard for every bent temptation, we witness the downfall of scrounged indecency and lonely hearted thieves contemned as they condemn perdition upon an unsuspecting victim
The victim is the hope of galvanized promise, a regal flutter of liberty tracing the skies elaborately for the flight plan most likely volitant and most destined to succeed
Corporate heads shake hands with desperate beds that Damocles himself wishes blood himself was yet shed or never shed but cutthroat collapse is avoidable with the recrudescence of provident relapse and rejoinder, asunder the ships may seem but now aimed so directly like a laser pointer
Titanic is a father to founding fathers only in the regress of avoidant times, sheepish of the whispered grime of inutterable blithe sublime time, limpid in partial acknowledgment of a wretched fate as avoidable as possible with the proper introduction and the right heeded date of a love better than choice wine and the wineskins of an indian province live as well just as much in a Skinnerian time.
Read the palimpsest, pittance proferred for every skeptical and undeclared bet that skewers the coffers of a criminal ring of Barnum Brothers in bed with burned asylum, a sanitarium wider and menacing like the most minatory lion
But the jaws of these aliens in time, whether specious or not thrill only those susceptible to the flattery of swank and the travesty to which we thank our deliverance and suspected exoneration
Flanking the outstripped malls that sprawl in the orbit of cities engorged like a skyscraping promise littered by Walled Ease and regaled bleats that belay down the cliffs of rigid insurrection only partially courageous to noble and partial inflections.

The courage of a wistful day slipping into the fathomless depths of dudgeon and pain the dungeons clamoring of insanity willfully reign, we clip the newspapers to the walls and scrawl our loves into the fallen scrawl.

Crimson red beneath the spangled spars, the author of debauchery immemorial that swills and wassails its own heartrending blues. And this movie squandered in limelight but buttressed by blithe regards for morally debased frights. Sting me the police and see the wasps nest infest your hollow diatribe to the extent you are hobbled in the depths, ennobled aboveground but nevertheless widely pitied.
The mathematics of love and loss, cravings for distrusted sacraments on a blue bus swiveling though the recesses of aleatory or controlled time. But then I lament that fully loved and fully lived is a fluff of sacerdotal emulation rather than the true authorship of heaven blanketing the earth.
Polished polity renegades and the rumpus of crumbled heaped ashes in a cremated time, where sand itself is eternal and sentience is somehow the door to nothing but despair, in their blinkered hubris that scales the lizards back in order to be lifted by olfactory graft.
In that light I see a bright whisked wind carrying the secrecy of portentous spared revelations and the spate of intermittent lightheardedness blows away my skepticism, but sides have been chosen and the bluster of the past emulating the culmination of an amenable future scares the birds from their chavish
Chiliads chill like excellency dissembled as the husk of an eternal monument of punctuated emphatic glory lingering above the ground with intransigent resistance to gravity and an slaver of better sincerity in the attempt to become beyond guileless tourists.
Dressed rankled blue swayed news, always operative in militant conformity to an eradicated sentience but simulatenously a wider sing song enlightenment. I struggle for words in this debased state of pitiable futures plastered all over every billboard that ever matters rather than the closure of closed doors trampled by intermittent dreams and seamless cows becoming the heifers of unified peace.
Smaller that the ants the infest the hills but more glorified than the quiet pristine ponds that outskirt the skirts that need less descent and more ascendancy.

Blitzkreig of cosmic wars swelters the torrid desiccation of a languor existing in human platitude but defiled of human gratitude. We swiftly wait for the erosion of sanity to become the author of a novella of craven deeds and bolted brimstone, serenading a rush towards sensation and an abandonment of rivers libation
Beneath which rivers flow, scrounged glowers endemic to a ruddy blush of sun-stricken grace, I clasp every remedy and every catholicon becomes more ecumenical and more rabid with stricken gaze of disordered streets in festivity but inured of nothing but lazy passions rather than sought rations
Dickens and hard hammers scribble the parched concrete with Chinese depths masqueraded as a suburban muse for canned applause and raucous crews relishing everything crude.
In the refinement the poet slings his garment over his shoulders and buys coffee for his ***** queen, and how to outfox such gallantry and how to temper so much enthusiasm. Only by the skullduggery of dead hands anointed with Greenwich bands.
Ian Vehrmt Sep 2010
"Awake, my darling;
Open your eyes.
The light that marred the sky this morning?
Gone; met its demise.

But you and I remain,
With us the moon.
Oh - I talk with you in vain this early,
And you might wake up too soon.

For you and I are but the same
And I should wish for you to sleep much longer
If my self is to stay sane,
And if yours is to grow stronger.

Who's to say man's not a beast,
But some sort of rambling fool?
I shall tell you, at the least
That my nature is quite cruel.

Or your nature, better said;
When you'll rise this evening
From your cold and frozen bed
Pick a flower as your prize.

For when morning breaks
And I'll awake atop the tower
With this body, heavy from aches
I should like to hold a flower.

It'd stop then my surprise
At the numerous, heartrending,
Desperate, shallow cries
All accusing me for the ending of their worthless, empty lives."
Joe Cole Mar 2014
Where do I start?... Its taken me over fourty years to write this


Half a bottle of scotch taken each night to drown out the fears
the heartrending sights
Yeah half a bottle is just about right to dull the dreams and the nightmares that still linger
PTSD they call it this day, councelling given to help them get through
what they did see, things they did do
I remember clearly after such a time being told I wasn't a soldier I wasnt a man for being sick with fear, tears in my eyes at the bloodied remains close to my side.
Yeah well I was a soldier but not yet a man, at 19 my life had hardly begun but I still had to survive at the point of a gun
Yeah half a bottle of scotch is the crutch I have found because I'm still alive... Not just another name on a hole in the ground
thousands of miles from home.
Patrolling the paths in the in a land burnt and harsh not knowing what would come, the bullet the bomb or mayber the mine placed or shot by the oft unseen had
OK so I still did my bit in spreading the ****.... Yes I've had their blood on my hands but I still regret the things that I did in that harsh barren land.
Did I hate them? Those men who killed the ones I called friends. No they were only doing what they thought was right in protecting their home and their lands
Yeah so half a bottle of scotch is the friend I now have, it helps to stifle the dreams of the places I saw, the things that I saw and also the things that I did.
Don't check this for litary correctness or punctuation because about them I just dont care. Injust felt its time for you to know the real me

Joe
Michelle Feb 2013
If there was a way that I could turn
The pages back to that single moment,
I would, but for now, I simply yearn.

Your hands lay below mine,
Gently warming all of the heartache
That I had so recently left behind.

My head lay on your shoulder,
My eyes grazed your sun-kissed face.
Beauty lies not only in the beholder.

I still remember the strength
I felt in your tender embrace,
Each breath in unison and faith.

For a moment, we both had earned
A break from worries and tears,
A step back from hard lessons learned.

You stirred. I reluctantly moved
My loving eyes from your lips,
A quiet smile as a gift was proved.

You softly whispered my name,
A much sweeter sound when from
The mouth that set my soul aflame.

A tear slipped from my eye,
Speaking thousands of volumes
No one else would ever understand.

As your heartrending gaze held
My eyes, you tenderly put your lips
Over the glass tear that wouldn't be withheld.

As time passed we shared our love
That utterly surpassed our beings
Our hearts flying upwards as a dove.

Our bodies lay under the willow tree,
The sun was setting. We were finally free.


© 2/25/13
Please give me your thoughts, comments, inspirations, or whatever other piece you wish to leave me with.
Joe Cole Aug 2014
70 miles an hour and the crash called
Said now is your time and I am the wall
To smash you and trash you, turn you into pulp
And the mini bus driver just thought it a joke

I'd just overtaken that bus full of guys
Now the truck getting nearer, I'm nearly alongside
No warning atall and the minibus was there
Filling my windscreen with a heartrending scare

There never was room for him to get up ahead
I thought this was it, 3 of us will be dead
The two dogs as well there would have met the same fate
I don't know how but I stood on the brake

Into the traffic there on my right
I managed to avoid them kept the barrier in sight
Now the rear of the bus less than a foot from my front
The crash barrier about six inches to my right

I stayed in control but I still don't know how
My wife was in tears mother in law white
I'll never know why we're still alive
Someone or something made sure we survived
This actually occurred on the M5 in Devon this morning while traveling home from my holiday
K Balachandran Jun 2012
She would sit with me,
holding my hand-
at scary moments;
when i stand on the brink.
Walked beside me with firm foot steps,
when i trudged slushy paths,
and  treacherous mine fields.
Her watchful eyes followed
when i climbed steep heights,
told me all that to be said,
the way she only could,
She brought me in one piece,
out of nightmares,
her gibberish endearments
gave me goosebumps,
none did ever see her cathartic dance
with me at times, i needed her most.

Secret lover she was, i thought
of my haunted soul,
how would i know
about the curse
that made her so, for ever!
Burned out and down
her i addressed each morning,
as if she can absolve me from all my sins.

She would remove hemlock, from my blood,
this life has made me drink,
to corrupt, and eliminate;
inch by inch,
sink my beleaguered ship.
She made me forget a love gone sour,
she'd take my hand in hers and kiss it till i snore.

She soothed my mind finely, more than any shrink,
her peppermint lips tasted, witchcraft and spice.
She was the only one who knew my secret,
at the dead of night, in clouds
when moon stealthily hide,
I change and become a werewolf.


A mad dog of a wish, selfishly
made  me take  that false step,
uncontrollable by my wish, i spoke forbidden words.
The spell was broken once and for all,
all i could remember was her heartrending sobs,

I stand here,
at my lonely window, overlooking-
this city of forgetfulness and pain,
in wicked words challenging me
to meet her again.
O
Remember Herman Hesse's novel "Steppenwolf"--
                                           Lonesome wolf of the steppes
Willson Aug 2013
Summer breeze, autumn wind.
Beautiful are the memories we had.
Boring Mondays, romantic Saturdays.
Meaningful are the days we had been through.

Never have I passed my day,
Without thinking of our glorious days.
How you held my hands so tenderly.
How your smiles made me smile.
How pure and sincere our love is.

But there will come a day.
A day when we will be apart,
And not be able to see one another anymore.
The day I don't want to dream or even think of.
The day when I have to leave you.

When you happen to read this later on,
I'll still be here, right beside you.
Holding your right hand,
Wrapping my arm on your shoulder,
Carrying you home in the cold winter night.

Whenever you close your eyes,
You will see me right in front of you,
Listening to you recount your adventures.
Letting you rest your head on my chest.

On the day when I leave.
I want you to keep this in your heart.
That seeing you cry
Was always the most heartrending scene ever,
And it will always be.

Whenever you think of me, I wish to see a smile instead of tears on your beautiful face.
Simply because I have made you happy.

I loved you,
I love you,
and will always love you...
Marshal Gebbie Feb 2016
Portends of heartrending fancy
Cast of mind relapsed to one,
Image of what could have been
Had one completed, all begun.
Back through thoughts of distant ventures
Collapsed now with fall of time
Lost to mist as misadventures,
Disavowing child of mine.

Stranger still, with mind-set fading
Inheriting onset of pain
Forgotten now with cost evading
That, once proffered, lost to gain.
Caustic fortune teller ranting
Screaming forth “I told you so”
Where, in fact, advice dispersed
When, then, I told him where to go!
To and fro we swung to compass
Spun to reason’s child of chance
Life ambition’s lost accomplice
Fool adrift in fortune’s dance.

M.
Taranaki NZ
1 February 2016
Kerry Peterson Apr 2013
SURELY

Surely, bullets rend and wreck.
Ripping through reality,
Rendering innocence lost.
They silence playful voices,
Still small, active hands,
Before their young words or work
Can finish growing.
Words and work that might have had healing in them
For this old world.

Bullets tear through a family,
Leave them struggling to breathe.
Grief knocks the wind clean out.
Familiar words like “we” and “us”
Are fractured beyond recognition.
Little things like pajamas and backpacks,
Once common and constant,
Lie about tragically unused,
Becoming heartrending monuments to the innocent.


Surely, we can put a stop to this.
Can we find no way to shelter
These, our little ones, our future?
Those who invest such trust in us,
Who simply are where they are
Because we told them so.
Surely, we can find a way.

And whether or not we can determine or agree upon
Much about the nature
Of the flawed and lost who rain down this terror,
Can we not gather in and heal these hard broken
Before they wander to such realms of disconnect, delusion
That they cease to discern the sacredness of existence?
Surely, we can.

In such a wounded world as this,
So in need of shelter and security,
God protect the playful voices
And the small, active hands.
Watch over the innocent.
Help us.
Surely, we can do better.
Surely, we must.
I wrote this after the tragic elementary chool shooting at Sandy Hook, in Connecticut.  I mean believe it with all my heart.
Melissa June Dec 2013
A beautiful spectacle appears
cascading colors, fill the sky
by the sun's rays, the tears
captured, by an angels cry

The skies canvas, painted
draped with beautiful light
by vibrant colors sainted
the heavens gift, in our sight

A heartrending illustration
of beauty, for us is drawn
across the sky, the creation
from tear drops, we gaze upon

Arched above, by weeping eyes
tears rained down, to show
through the clouds, to rise
an angels sorrowful rainbow.
Stellar Jul 2014
I**  want  you
the way the thunder wants to be heard
the way tears want to spill out from my eyes
after a heartrending death of a friend
the way words want to be spoken, written and read
I  want  you
to devour my entirety
'til I can no longer find my escape
'til my soul unfastens from my flesh
elja Aug 2019
wars have been thought,
battles have been fought.

agonising whines,
in heartrending times.

a bewildering trench,
led by a fair *****.

no compass,
no torch, i am indeed luckless.

my heart has been a target,
of a far-reaching bullet.

the ***** who has the key
to my heart, is dear to me

only can she open up
the heart that has been under lock.
unrequited love does feel like a never ending battle.
Just Jess Aug 2017
To the beat of a piano he stole
her heart.
In the same melody
and measure, he broke and left
it crumpled - crushed - crescendo.
Nothing but brittle - bruised - broken.
Out of tune.
Missing keys.

Mixing tears with toothpaste
and listening to a heartrending piano play.
Salt and ivory.
Colgate and ebony.
Repeat. With
Rhythm. There are
no words to this song.
Say something.
Silence - fortissimo.

Toothpaste and tears
trickle down the drain.
At the conductor's swift notion -
she remembers herself with love -
Adagio -
Then steps off her tear-stained
stage of a soapbox.
Al niente.
Awake Manimeth ... wake up !!
fire goes out on the horizon
the horizon line curve your hands as if your two
absorbed will press tu face burning fire,
burning your nose in your clasping his temples into the void ...

this, you utter your conscience gema rance decorating your
mind since the beginning of their training,
then manimeth sat with his face to the sun;
this stroked his hands and fell on his altar,

saying...:

" i meditate on my heart that wants slow its beat,
you want to beat my mind as heart deserter.
hold my senses whose hands beating,
without it is felt by my conscience.


they slip jewels of the universe for my thoughts
looking sit shore maze of ideas ...
ideas for those of the shores of the sit of edge
invisible planet to me now situate them
away from an image as the desert rushing the
cosmos ... "

that over Sun ...., look wheel by tiger eye iris
as a party lights,
transparent wheel and bouncing off the moon brains out. those are crushed envious by evil,
believed to enjoy bliss of pardon for their sins ven slips on themselves not falling the storms of flower seeds on themselves.

my locked tongue  snaked
my fingers clubbed ...
but the surge of infinity breath of faith  
embrace a creed,
illogical swings embrace the path that is pursued by the logical paths.

Look at that hunt ... !!
accecivity is rotating in your arms portals
it is your illogical outfit uncover your personality,
sheltering beautiful but your radio influence
**** about feeling kingdom kindness of you and your evil,
in a dialogue on allowing a ***** sheet for you
you are feeling for your pleasure human luck
it levitating or for response to where can
losing my world comfort foliage of my true
world...

but me accecivity headlines
enrich my delicate sides harmless.
the accecivity during a month ago pain
in my sides of my increasing progression winds,
without passive dominate chastise my sorrow.

but my altar in his platform
admit my dreams of eternity making my
fire, sun and moon as a whole,
and these three elements astrophysics  be myself wish
light ends but not born.


Manimeth wake, the offense !! here she comes
flinch you comes your depth impure
it comes from the **** that is cut your belly,
is torn of your life as a minute  
pressed to become the second of your life
by leaving your altar for the occupy another.


Wake araise up manimeth,
he opened his eyes and saw all the brown,
vio his hands embodied in flowers,
vegetative as psychic strength dermis and growing herbs.

your eyes dwarfed compassed
basin as lost their eyes suns
galactic orbits looking to occupy.

Manimeth but is illuminated,
and then quantifies wind gusts
they occupy your space that as wind dies
your roam in between ,
as rivers of light with new species of light protecting
messages for detainees interfered.

winds here are understood,
go there for you receive them
willfully why he decided
traveling my words mounted on the wind
to arrive to you.


In the oven,
where the hosts of devolution swept
violent with feeling my beloved ...
it is hence the examination of my self-awareness  
mammalian waves as you want all breastfeeding order by continuing creation of new exams
of worlds in creation
in lines and creating stable appearance worlds ...
floating stable wishes ...

i crossed as parchment
bowling for that wind fragile,
carrying my heart fire sealing
for the whole universe my doubts,
heartrending voice screaming like
inertial manimeth running away from me,
only leaving me sitting in my altar jeweled
only with my hands in flower converted
and my mind as ethereal form compressing
worlds now meditate in my heart ...


Jose Luis  Carreño Troncoso
August 8, 2002
TANTRIC MANIMETH MEDITATION KUNDALINI
Sharon Talbot Jan 2019
What is our maker, why does it put us here to die
What is Life if it must end,
What of our sense of beauty,
Of mesmeric minster air?
Or the way light bends on a summer afternoon,
The way the mourning dove croons,
If it must be taken all away,
When some of us must go and some of us to stay?

What is the love we feel,
For one another—deep, fearsome and real?
Why put it there for us to overcome,
Since the tension of love is not for some.
Or why take it into our hearts,
Only to wrench and stab us as we part?

Especially those who love only a few?
They open themselves to one or two—
Pour every part of their being into one soul,
Ignoring those who can't make us whole,
If only to watch it drain, or disappear as they depart?
Taking with them all our mind and heart?

Why do we expect an explanation
Of this cruel phenomenon,
The findings, trials and accommodation
That we build our lives upon?

And yet, with hope, however weak,
Stanching up our wavering hearts,
We tell ourselves we’ve found what we seek,
Something deeper than knowledge or art,
Until we are torn apart.

No religion can explain it.
Psychology tries and fails to name it.
We are creatures of mist and desire,
Of logic and deliberation,
Whose desperate brains whisper “Find a cure!”
And we wait only to have experts demur.

But deep within our harrowed souls,
We know that, for only a few,
Does this equation work,
And for the rest of us, it pales.
We plummet toward the hangman’s ****
And yet thank him for his gruesome work.

For our few bittersweet tales of life,
And that relief we feel comes at last,
Though we’ve no reason to believe it so.
We merely seek an end to the heartrending past,
Even if it just marks us as life slows.
And watches us as we go.

Does anyone care what happens to the lonely,
Or especially the aggrieved?
I doubt they do; they care about only
Themselves, their desires and taking leave.
Then they swiftly exit, and discard us—the bereaved.

Sharon Talbot
August 11, 2015
Thoughts about impending death.
wordvango Feb 2017
I do feel good doing good
makes a tear come to my eye but a
tear of happiness when I say something
nice to the old man brutally scowling
and smile at his Harumph
when I deliver a valentine to
that old woman down the road with the hundred cats
a valentine of a bag of feed for her brood
good I feel when I put another man's shoes on
look through his eyes for a second
walk 100  feet in them
good when I see a mom that really cares
for her children
the smiling health care workers
overcome by heartrending stories and
dead patients
and they keep doing it
the  teachers
who daily come up with clever ways to teach our future
with limited  resources
the garbage man
mundane and stinky task who smiles
as he totes the refuse
from here
the baker the police the
calm helpful  voice
on the help line for my cable company,
almost apologetic for the latest outage,
the workers who after a storm go out and repair our lifelines in bad
weather,
any of you retail clerks , who smile through the increasing workload week after week within shorter hours,
the receptionist
at any office.
It takes patience..
Emeka Mokeme Sep 2018
I know your heart,
believe me,
I know.
I know the elation
and the joy inside
the heart when
everything seems alright.
I also know the joy and
understand the pain of
that feeling of loneliness
that overwhelms you.
I know the anguish
of your heart and I know
that you are hurting.
I know the confusion
that visits the heart
when finances dwindle
by reason of illness.
I know those sleepless
nights alone in the dark cold
nights at the park when you
don't have a place to dwell in.
I know your fear and
I have seen what it can do.
I know the unbearable
heartrending tears that flows
throughout the night when you
think the world has caved in on
you and life is not fair.
I know the hopelessness
of the one who is so helpless.
How you wish you can disappear
and not be noticed even when you
are in the crowd or
with your loved ones.
I know at the moment you wish
for death that will not come
so soon for a reason because,
beloved child of God,
you are highly favored,
Weep not again,
heaven has heard your cry.
Help and comfort,
solace and Providence from the
culmination of your past efforts are
here to bring to you desired good.
Thank goodness gifts and support are rendered.
Arise and shine again.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
Emeka Mokeme Nov 2019
Why are you here,
i still keep
asking myself.

I know you are
not here to give
me some roses.

I know you are
not here to listen
to what i have to say.

I know how
it feels when
you are not wanted.

Is rejection
a part of love,
is it really
a part of life.

It is full
of horrible and
heartrending pain.

The kind of pain
my heart never
deserves or desire.

Like a broken rib
it hurts even more
when you breathe.

Only you can feel
the pain just like  
a sore thumb.

With shame
you hide behind
your skin.

Even with your
clothes on,
you still feel naked.

Confused as the
tortoise taken out
from its first habitat.

He's forever miserable,
because he can't
find its way home.
©2019,Emeka Mokeme.

— The End —