Jul 21 B
Ben Jones
At the back of the stage in a gloomy wee room
Where the cockroaches eat what the rats don’t consume
There’s a table enveloped in paper and grime
On a carpet now lost to a happier time
With a cast iron typewriter, rusted with age
In the gloomy wee room at the back of the stage

And under a lampshade of nicotine brown
Sits a comical legend of zero renown
How he plugs at the keys of his rattling beast
The years of persistence have left him decreased
Now he’s stuck in the shade of his hovering doom
At the back of the stage in a gloomy wee room

His words are for others and too, the applause
Though a standing ovation might cause him to pause
He hasn’t the courage to speak them aloud
For he’s lacking the bottle and shy of a crowd
So he captures the laughter in lines on his page
In a gloomy wee room at the back of the stage
  Jul 21 B
What4221
Everything I write is too passionate in the wrong direction
My words don't flow like I want them to
Breaking apart over rapids instead of floating into the ocean

The dictionary doesn't help
And all elegance is coincidence
Because they always said I was a tom boy
And I would never fit in
And so the words they sprayed at me
Are all the ones in my mind

So,
I'm sorry I can't express myself right.

(They still look at me oddly whenever I dress up)

(I wish I could change myself without their derision)

(This dress was my decision)

And once again I'm veering directly off track
Talking about where my sleep addled mind always leads
-
Narcissism?
Definitely.
-
It always circles around to me

Can I be blamed when the nightmares tug at my hands
And pull me
Screaming silently
With tears on my face
Back to wakefulness every few hours?

But I'm sorry
Again
Writing a poem like the page will listen
Because my salary can't afford therapy
And my friends think I'm okay.

Words and jumbled thoughts after a fumbled night in the dark like I won't regret it in the morning

Maybe this is what is meant
By 'it's just a desperate plea for attention'
(I didn't talk to you for fame)
(I just want to know I'm not the one to blame)

-(I'm not alone?)-

But this blank canvas
Had no form of degree
So I'll cease
Desist
And just let these hollow words
Be.
  Jul 15 B
Pagan Paul
Take a peek inside his poems
if you really want to know him.
He hides himself deep, immersed
a tiny piece in every verse.

Take a peek and take your time
savour the moment of every line.
Relish the thought of what lies there
and appreciate his soul laid bare.

© Pagan Paul (31/08/16)
.
  Jul 15 B
TSPoetry
Clouds condemn the sky line
fear has taken root
Im drowning in the vineyards
but can't see thru the soot
 
these grounds have become uneven
there doesn't seem to be anyone around
come harbour these rains before me
before they wash me six feet down
 
I beg for your sun to save me
as you tiptoe upon your beach
if I hold my hand out here for you
would it still be out of reach
  Jul 11 B
cecilia
you said
you were afraid
to lose me
and then you
faced your fears
and left
  Jun 11 B
venus
your
eyes they
hold the words
you haven't told me.
they
hold secrets.
ones
you're scared
of letting me
hold.
but
it's okay
because my eyes
hold lots of secrets
too.
  May 27 B
emnabee
The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.
A little escape from the madness.
Or maybe, into.
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