Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
 Jun 2016 Shacklebolt
Stan Patty
Racing a dry leaf
Down a wind-swept, winding road.
The moon bears witness.

Ahead, in the glimpses of light
Pushing through the clouds
Small trails in the dew.

Dark, tangled foliage
Arches over patches of
Road, obscuring forest
Sounds.

A jagged tree trunk
Marks the entrance to the glen.
Leaves cover the path, undisturbed.  

Within the valley, a sudden cloud of birds swirls in the
Cool evening wind.  Rushing of wings.  
They soon settle back in the glen, masked in darkness.
 Jun 2016 Shacklebolt
PR Charles
Cold rigid steel ****** its way inside
My Skin; Quarrying away drops of blood.
I wonder where it all went wrong
Was I not kind? Not generous?
Did I not make you smile
Is it fair
That the ones closest to you
Can hurt you the most.
I trusted you alone
And you stabbed me in the back
 Jun 2016 Shacklebolt
Bee Ethel
dark and sifting strands
crisscross the path they follow
tussled to a grin
 Jun 2016 Shacklebolt
Kate Lion
You are the unbearable sort of thing that I wouldn’t want to wear on my feet, even with boots laced up to the knees, because wearing you would force me to cover my polka-dotted toes,
And anyone who would want to compromise my innocence like that is horribly patterned and dull,
                                              
Like the lone argyle sock with the tag still attached that I hate, gathering dust on that shelf in the rain, where the rest of my unwelcome thoughts have found place
                                                           ­     The ones that can’t cover my insecurities
                                                    ­                            Or don’t flatter my figure at all
              
                There’s an obvious scab on my ankle that won’t heal
                Embarrassing, really
                It came from my unwavering faith in open-toed stilettos
                                You saw it just the other day
                                And I blushed as I tried to pull my pant leg over the sore, but you knew (I think)

Oh, the puzzling urge I have to be made over by the brains of your outfits!
                                                So I can open a closet of conversation topics that would suit both of us just fine

I think
                                                I have shed 18 years of ideas in the past two weeks
                                                I starved myself until I could fit into the apparel of your approval
                                                Which I claw through my closets but still cannot find
                                                But I know that somewhere in my brain beneath an empty toilet paper roll or stuck on a dead branch of ideas is a match to your unbearable pattern-
              
Perhaps if I’d kept my opinions more alphabetized, I would’ve found it sooner
                Blast, my scattered brain that can’t seem to produce any fashion but faux pas for you
                Logic and emotion were never meant to mix like this- trust me, I know well
Give me a summer to rearrange myself, hmm?
                Or will I have no use of you then…

If only I’d started to realize sooner
We’d be peeling oranges and discussing the oldest styles of thought, you and I
                Beneath an umbrella in the rain
                                You wouldn’t be able to see that odd scab on my ankle
                                Because I would have the other lone argyle sock with the tag still attached that I hate-

I feel that perhaps
you are only unbearable because I wish you complimented me better, that perhaps the reason I’m starving myself of all reason is because I’d like nothing more than to openly say
that I hate you, my lone, little argyle sock
                                                but that is only
                                                because right now, I could never possibly hope to wear you
Pastel the sky and land
with green pointillist patterns in the fore
one black crow on the tree
that's all that I can see today
as the sun gets up

we're promised thunder later on
but most things are lying still
only leaves on the hanging branches
slightly sway
prelude to this hot day

Margaret Ann Waddicor 7th June 2016
Just the view again.
 Jun 2016 Shacklebolt
Free Bird
Always pay attention
When someone else is speaking
If it didn't mean something to them
They wouldn’t talk about it at all

Always listen closely
For the answers you are seeking,
May be closer than you think
Found in the ramblings of that call

Imagine if you will
A world where everyone cared
Where they leaned ear in intently
Instead of filling our heads with doubt

Maybe we'd all be happier;
Collectively less scared
We could solve all of life's problems
If we just heard everybody out

You see confidence builds greatness
Yet we continue to put each other down
Jealousy and rage keep us from turning the page
Even when the story could teach us something profound
Next page