Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Locked In

Closing my eyes, I drift away,
A memory of old, I hope to replay,
That special birthday, or event,
My mother’s cooking, a homely scent,
~~~
The trip to wales, our broken car,
Hysteria of life, the passing star,
Imagination, running free,
Brothers and Sisters, close as can be,
~~~
My first crush, and broken tears,
The dreams I have, roll back the years,
Christmas at home, a day in the park,
Long summer gone, a new life starts,
~~~
A walk down the aisle, my vow to keep,
A young child cries, her father weeps,
Home replaced home, our family grew,
One child family, soon became two,
~~~
Holidays abroad, children at school,
Bed before eight, that was the rule,
Two graduations, and career breaks,
Comforting daughters, boyfriend mistakes,
~~~
Tragedy returns, my eyes awoken,
Crying deep inside, no words spoken,
Family gather round, my body is dead,
The soul occupies, the thoughts in my head,
~~~
Holding my hand, hysterical tears,
Support switched off, as my time nears,
I close my eyes, feeling no pain,
Dreaming of when...
I will see them again.
 Jan 2016 Ezra the Poet
Amanda
human
 Jan 2016 Ezra the Poet
Amanda
I drew specimens carrying XY chromosomes as sharp, angular.

But really you're this
gorgeous, warm, breathing breadth of muscle,
tendons & bones.
 Jan 2016 Ezra the Poet
chris
h.g
 Jan 2016 Ezra the Poet
chris
h.g
we are different.
but we shouldn't be trying to fit into society.
society should aspire to be more like us.
-katniss
I am a drifter of the heart
finding new towns.
Feeling that this is the place
the one I need.
But always moving on.
it's inevitable
it's written in my poetry
like a sailor's death
is weaved into
his sweater
knitted by his wife.
I know I will leave..
you asked me to
settle with you
raise a family
and build a home.
I love you
I will try
I will try I promise.
but deep in my chest.
my restless heart
refuses to unpack its bags.
word travels & *** sells
             /stomping gravel lest I dwell/
fires burn & hearts ache
           /a dream yearned and willed awake/
a ponds ripple & a banshees scream
           /it looked simple, reality is obscene/
flesh twists & seasons change
          /a list of reasons to rearrange/    

flowers wilt & the sun sets
         /baby lullabies and cold sweats/
wood knocks & doors close
        /deadbolts lock and war grows/
secrets whisper & snow falls
        /dark drifters and phone calls/
chapters start & stories end
        /laughter, death and grow again/
just ******* around with the beat of writing, nothing serious.
 Jan 2016 Ezra the Poet
Batool
He wanted to be found
and to never get discovered
He wanted to be solved
using an equation
that no one could ever
figure out
He wanted to be an answer
no mind could ever
fathom
He wanted to be sorted out
so that he'll be an
organized mess
He wanted to be known
by the world
without they knowing
who he is
He wanted to make her
fall for him
with her heart oblivious
of this fact
He wanted to be a fact
yet to remain a mystery !!
Like Debussy's arabesque we danced,
your feet too slow, and mine too fast,
in different times, yet
intertwined,
we cascaded like the notes
brushed by gentle fingers;
Debussy's Première Arabesque - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KL1KbhztBGg
Slamming doors are our earthquakes
they are the faults that quake
and when they shift
I can feel our world quiver.

The home we've built
is almost shambles
the plaster lining our walls
crumbles and becomes the dust on our shelves.

The fights we share
are the shifting foundation,
where cracks stagger our steps
and cause us to share blows
dancing a silhouette
of arguments.

Pieces of people
that we never used to be--
are the imaginary characters to our fairy tales  
because there is no way
we could see either of as beautiful--
when we are only seeing
an outline of who we used to be.

Caricatures so misshapened
that they are etched into our bedroom
the sleeping place we used to share our dreams
and instead we scream our nightmares

collapsing from exhaustion
only to cuddle with extra pillows
building forts on each side of the bed
to at least have something comfort us.  

Our harmony finally makes it's ******
it is not the smash of earthquakes
but the sickening silence of loneliness
because we've become isolated.

no longer stomping out natural-disastres
instead we accept our indifference
and we quietly leave the door open--
because there's no need to close doors
in a house we no longer live in.
I was talking to my friend and I spoke about slamming doors.  This idea of rhythm and life lingering in why we slam doors resonated with me so I wrote this.  Slammed doors is our passion for those who/what we care about.
 Jan 2016 Ezra the Poet
Ken
K
 Jan 2016 Ezra the Poet
Ken
K
She sits alone with two antique clocks
one of water, the other of sand
I dare ask if she likes watches
Only the older, she replies,
they hold the infinity of time specious
In her words an elemental charm
and the risk of all enigmas
Then in contralto voice she adds
and now my name is simply K
and I think of Kafka's leopards
breaking into the temple to drink
from the sacrificial amphorae
My soul writes in ancient dialect
feeling hers close with mine
while I watch her body
from eternity in ****** key
a window of flavoured amethyst fire
progressive surrender
the crossing of a desert
the dropping of clothes and masks
the thin veil remains yet unbreached
the original time of the first blood
still under the anvil of desire
so rarely given the offer of this grace
the membrane of the soul to be loved
with pain, with pleasure, with totality
we,
as potentially conscious beings,
do incur such fantastic Purgatory
and yet we seem
indeed so very keen
to choose to wallow in
vain and irksome squalor-
a comfortable yet blind stupor
when it comes to
the very real causality
wrought of our intention:

yes, you read right:
i said "potentially conscious."
Next page