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Mar 2018 · 234
I want to scream
I only want to scream
till my throat, so raw it bleeds
Anger mopes buried deep
it molds to me, as I breath
Choking slowly, I thirst to scream
let out the need
and then repeat
and then repeat
let out the need
I only thirst to scream
choking slowly, it molds to me
as I breath
Anger mopes buried deep
till my throat, so raw it bleeds

When you can't hold in your anger, and all you want to do is....
Mar 2018 · 368
Her sun-kissed face was painted shy.
Closed eyed, her lashes shimmer.
Redden lips pucker,
our feelings glimmer.

Limbs brush, grind then speak.
I place my hand under cheak
and spank the skin with my own.

Our cloaks of royal stitching
mingle exposing, panels of flesh
Twined minds wrapped
a couple meshed.
I was trying my hand at subtle adult, inspired by love.
Mar 2018 · 183
Is paradise an afterlife, or is it a feeling?
A release of being, freedom  
a soul unwrapped?

Is paradise a pasture, litter with green luster,
forbidden fruit, collecting in heaps of loot?
A sanctuary?

Is paradise a common place?
A corner of space, where again I will see your face?
A haven?

I only hope, the after life has rope
Incase it's not what we expected.

I hope you're there, aware
of who I am
The many questions we ask about what comes next.
Mar 2018 · 155
Wishing to Dream
My bed is warm
huddled under comfort
I fear the frigid air as it dances above,
coxing me back to daylight.

The light swaggers through the cracks in the blinds
chasing away dreams for filled
sweet memories fade into shadow

I squeeze shut my eyes
praying to the gate keeper, Mr. Sandman.
sail me back among the sea of dreams
to the shores of my subconscious
where beautiful wishes roam
free for the taking

If lady night would only be my wife
I could forever sail the stars, suspended in heaven
forever content with dreams come true

My bed is warm
the room has iced, crystallizing my deepest desires
keeping them in stone

If all my dreams have come true, what is the use of getting up?
I watch visions float by in the frigid air
only to disappear in the light of day
What is life, if not a waking nightmare, and I the zoombie
Mr. Sandman has forsaken me
Sometimes all i want to do is dream.What's the point of waking if the dreams are better than real life?
Mar 2018 · 300
You never came.
Steel seams once welded
safety torn and matted
scattered among the blood

I waited, perched
facing the pound
silhouettes of people dance

Lights of blue flash next to red
hurried bodies take in the flesh
torn and matted among the blood

Pebbles tossed create ripples
one action has lingered effects
silhouettes and shadows dance

As I wait,
uniforms investigate, the damage
the glass shards mingle among ****** hair
the scent of burning floats aware

I turn to the breeze
Imaging your hair twined to the wind, dancing
I wait for your embrace
but you never came
I was imaging a lover waiting in the park for her lover, that never came.
Mar 2018 · 209
We have discussed ****** many times.
The conversation is casual
there is no sincerity there.
We talked of stealing, cheating
blowing **** up
But really it's all just talk.
The real bad **** we keep in thought
the type of mental crap
I'd say to get locked up.

We want to ****, but without the mess.
We want everything without the bill.
I want cake for every meal.
It's mental
It's human
It's us
We're only slightly messed up.
I'm glad our thoughts aren't  admissible in court.
Mar 2018 · 288
The Strange Mother
The stranger
with the face of my mother
begs for love
abandoned by the door
She's lonely and lovely
I want to help, but she is no one
I can't give her anymore

She looks hurt I don't know her
She looks to the left
her cheeks wet
I feel a tiny stab
Something so familer in her face
But I don't know her
I can't give her anymore

She turns to go, head bowed low
I step forward with regret
Can she be her, mother?
How does one know?

I had a parent once
Someone was there
now there's a stranger
with the face of my mother
crying at my door
My mother and I have an interesting relationship. This was inspired by a combination of feelings towards her a dream and a scene that happened long ago.
Mar 2018 · 226
Only you remember, see the lie
Eventually morality fades
The clouds of jealousy roll through
planning to invade your quiet seashore
Eventually those voices latch
like vampires ******* out your good nature

Eventually you must face the dentist
pulling out hopes like rotten teeth
yanking wishes, drilling, inflicting

How do you escape the folly of sin?
Is it on a tavern stool, liquor in hand?
Or do you bury yourself in the flesh?
Continue sinning, waiting for death?

Frightened you choose to run
take the boat out to sea
find a oyster to meal
Hide from the shadows chasing
The deep lays beneath
Fate creeps

Years later you feel defeat
a detour to the graveyard
The undertaker, beaming with hospitality
waiting to paint your finale face
Here you sleep
The darkness
Your truest friend
Mar 2018 · 99
Thinking of you
I sit with my pain, thinking of you
Nestled between heartache and joy
I find my memory, fades
Your face just a blur
Your voice like the tide

I sit with my pen, thinking of you
with thoughts, but no words
Grief chokes the mind
Your face just a dream
Your voice like a drum

I sit with my pride, thinking of you
In another space and time
When my mind was new
Your face just a place
Your voice like a song

I sit with my plight, thinking of you
forgiveness is hard to give
letting go takes it's toll
Your face just a reminder
Your voice like a scar
About holding grudges , not wanting to forgive.
Mar 2018 · 152
Her Own Chains
Each link of steely metal
worn, not in fashion
worn in purgatory
each link has it's purpose
to weigh her down
to crush her small

Locked chains draped round
the tiny waist, the delicate fist
Heavy chains placed so well
Worn not by choice
Worn not in sin
But given

A sentencing carried out
Guilty found
She's the judge
There is no jury
Bound to carry
Each link, each pain
A woman bound
To her own chains
A woman in chains. Much of what binds us is of our own making.
Mar 2018 · 183
Simply you
I simply want your embrace.
Your arms wrapped around my frame
the heat of your blood pumping
the soft texture of your skin
the musky smell of your neck
I do not need words
I do not need that look
just your embrace.

So often as the day grows
my resolve dies
situations frustrate the mind
hardships puncture the heart
and my mood fowls

It is then
I simply crave you
the balm for a wound
that has never healed
It is then
I simply need you
holding me together
Untill the end
Safety can be in the arms of a loved one. Love can be simple.
Mar 2018 · 276
Liquid Moment
To catch a piece of the sea
is to watch it slip away
like a liquid moment

The feeling of floating
carried gently by the churing blues
is to feel your first kiss
wet and fleeting
or the first snowfall
cold and haunting

The cool greens brush the skin
in elegant dowsing
as the waters push passed
in hurried rushing

The liquid fingers wrestle with your bobbing frame
touching and washing
Underwater, sounds disappear
the waves a thick elixir
rhythmically soothing

There is a peaceful calm,
the tides a natural balm
like a holy water baptizing
cleansing the past mistakes
in salty droplets

I could drift, like seaweed
dipping and diving
sailing the water's surface
washing up on shores unknown
I could stay in this pool,
this endless puddle
feeling the waters
suspended reflections
in liquid moment
the feeling of water
Mar 2018 · 305
I lay in darkness
If I lay still enough
here in this pitch black vacuum
they call my room.
If I lay still enough
will I disappear?
Fade into the background
mist into memory.

The dark is not that bad
If you imagine it a sun
evaporate that you can't contain
The dark is soothing
If you think of it as medicine
as solace.
A pocket of space
where nothing exists
And you with it

I can lay here, calm
Not afraid of monsters lurking
The only real monsters live inside
They speak too loud.
The darkness crushes all
And I let it

In my pitch black room
I don't exist
And no one can say goodbye
Sometimes you just want to disappear.
Mar 2018 · 319
Is a genie blue?
such myths are unclear.
Will a genie grant your wishes?
ridiculous or pure.

In a bottled prison,
will a genie stay?
lounging in cramped conditions
will a genie grey?

Be mindful what is wished
watch each word that is missed
Genies tend to twist a promise.
magic fogs ellipse

Dizzy are these questions
certain I must be,
before I set to seek
a genie just for me.
I was given a word and asked to write a short poem. My word was genie.
Mar 2018 · 161
I spun a beautiful web of silver
delicate with lovely symmetry
Spun to catch your fleeting heart
instead the rains came
and left me tiny droplets
reflecting the tears of your absence

often intentions catch the unintended
no matter the mistake
find joy in the bounty
find beauty in the break
Webs are meant to catch, and sometimes they catch things never intended.
Mar 2018 · 205
B is for...
Bubbles bubble boiling brew
bumblebees and bullies too
busted bridle, bridges burn
buggie babies bob and burp
brush and beast brawl and boast
badly bruised burnt like toast
buttered bread, blueberry blue
better biscuits bake a new
boarder barriers bend and break
bested by a bigger quake
bald barbarians blunder business
bark and berate the only witness
bitter battle burns the brain
blurting out this blissful game
I love writing tongue twisters. It's so fun...try one yourself. It's hard to rhyme them while only using words starting with the same letter. B words are easier, then let's say...K or V, but hey challenges are fun!
Mar 2018 · 246
Lesson 1
Have you ever reached
beneath the underneath
of a desk or table?
as you reached,
the lush wooden maple

Find no treat you'd like to keep
Nor gift you'd want to have
Nothing good,
I wouldn't encourage
one reach or grab.

Gum is there to meet your thumb
soaked in germs and goo
residue left mocking you
smells of grandpa's chew

May my learning be your warning
not to reach nor grab
beneath the underneaths
of a gummy trap
I think it's funny. Someone ask me once to write about the most important lesson I had learned. I thought it was a dumb prompt so I went the funny route.
Mar 2018 · 168
The Crossing
A strange creature stands guard.
His dark hood conceals a face beneath,
no features twitch
only death can speak.

A thin bone finger unfolds
from sleeves of black
pointing with a quiver
towards the crossing,
calling as he laughs.

Bent rotten wood and hanging limbs
create a canopy of haunting trim

My extremities shake violent,
fear suffocates the mind
A voice ever so silent
urges me across the line
I had a dream of a haunting bridge, and wrote a poem about it.
Mar 2018 · 118
I see in perfect circles
rings darkening my eyes
I rest in perfect slumber
while beneath starry skies

I turn in perfect anguish
so perfect are my aches
I live in perfect numbness
feeling nothing but the breaks

I wish in perfect prayers
to each and all the gods
I wail in perfect outrage
while I'm up against the odds

I think in perfect madness
never feeling like I'm here
I smile in perfect detachment
hoping I might disappear

I'm feeling imperfect
perfectly stuck
knee deep in the mud
down in on my luck
Mar 2018 · 247
I will
I will walk across threshholds long forgot
armed with the conviction, that kindness is not lost
I will stand tall against those who wish my fall
wielding a magic tucked inside my chest wall

I will not surrender, I will not bleed
once overcome a dark relenting need

I will cross thresholds never broke
I will shout the words no one ever spoke
rumbling low, a vibrating scream
echoing wide inside my dreams
Mar 2018 · 184
November's Last Night
The night fell swiftly, feeling heavy
darkly glowing, ghostly lit
The moon shone proudly, high and godly
bestowed with shine and silver tint

The Earth shifts coldly, colored boldly
across the world the seasons shift
The winds blow wild, their temper mild
as the last days, of November drift
Written at the end of November.
Mar 2018 · 242
I don't understand myself, nor love myself.
I'm stuck, trapped with a person I can't stand.
I guess that's adult life,
accepting your own misery,
citizens of this wasteland.
Mar 2018 · 287
The irony of a yellow room
I have never stood accused of a sunny disposition
yellow doesn't linger in my eyes
see the starkness of the darkness
glare at the plastered happiness

What gives this paint such power?
What warmth is mixed among the chemical reaction?

With in my mind I feel daisy meadows
burning in yellow
petals of white caught in the breeze
shivering stems of green

Banana skin skies
haloed in sunshine kisses
brighten the world
with a joyless disposition

In my room, the walls bleed the same
yellowy and rusty
I'm mocked by an optimistic face
reflecting in the shadow
of my yellow walls

Will the irony fade?
I had a yellow room growing up and I was often a sad kid and hated my walls they seemed to mock my moods.
Mar 2018 · 394
Your Ocean Eyes
I'm out chasing my own dreams,
in a nowhere field woven in figments,
pieces of us, stitched at the seams.

Fading sunsets by the water
I find, I wander,
back to your ocean eyes.

The promises they whisper
as the tide eclipses, to twist the iris.
Hues caress the picture
reflecting ocean green
Mar 2018 · 168
Blank Space
I left the candle wax to cry,
not wasting my own tears on emptiness
Blank space eats up all my comfort
too much space
too many hours, till morning

Sweet scents cling to cotton and pillows alike
venomous aromas you've left behind,
to suffocate my sleepless nights

The colors have left me too,
choosing the quickest exist.
Grey lingers the lone exile,
as black and white space defiles
our empty bed.
When my boyfriend was gone for a couple of nights I realized I hadn't slept alone in like 7 years so I wrote a sad poem.
Mar 2018 · 280
Ally Star
Sweet one, dear lost friend
you have moved to the sky, on a higher plain,
free of your darkest pains.
Nestled there, hugging the stars,
surrounded by colors you so foundly wore.

I wish we could have had more time,
time to laugh or share a pint.
But I know you're safe, settled in.
Dancing moonbeams and rocking out to the big bang

I know the grief will someday vanish.
Once time has healed our gaping wounds
the hole you've left will one day fill
with new and exciting thrills.

But when I hear a corn song,
or taste the bubble of a stella
I will think fondly of you and smile.
When a girl with curls of color crosses my path,
I'll turn and wonder if your her.
Maybe I'll yell "hey Ally Progar"
and she will stare like I'm crazy girl.

I want to thank you for the person you were,
for living life the way you want.
No reservations, with a giant heart
I wish you were here, and in some way you are,
never forgotten,
our shining Ally star.
I lost a friend to suicide on tuesday night and thought I would write something about her.
Mar 2018 · 115
Night Narrations
A clockwork night
Me and the gang out for the old drunkin howl,
The glory of violence oh brothers,
oh bliss.
The beautiful swell of bones breaking on cement
With idle hands the quiver comes quick.
What is a man to do when he craves the ultraviolance.
When the viddy no longer gives such desires with stark clarity.
The old vino runs red, true dear brothers,
but the reddest river streams hot from flesh.
The glory of stripping for the old in out,
then ripping above the screams,
Hear the music,
like the strings above the violin swell.
Sweet Ludwig knows the potency.
The fun my brothers, the thrill
On a night like this, oh bliss
Gitty we walk the edge.
Inspired by the film, A clock work orange., specifically the narrator, Alex.
Mar 2018 · 97
Two pains
Two kinds of pain
One sears the skin, crawls to the bone
Another is a slow burning, melting the soul

When you feel the first, it shocks
Yanking at the mind
Learning fast, you avoid repeating a second time

The other pain you feel like a steadfast blow
Its harsh and gripping and your life tends to slow

If given the choice, I would ask
could you break all my bones,
tear out my eyes
or pelt me with stone
For the pain may be terrible,
but nothing compared
To the tear of the heart
or the weight of the world.
Pains of the soul are much worse then the tearing of your flesh.
Mar 2018 · 187
A star swallowed
Feeling sad and small with tightly wound muscles, in balled fists
I lumber to the backyard.
The itch of my cage tickles the lungs as I slurp the cold march night.
My small yard hushes the creatures announcing my presance.
The wind tosses empty trees,
cracking the branches like drumsticks.
Above me the sky fully lit with the silvery lights,
stars so old they speak no words.

I find a small dim speck, precious.
I name her Sylvia, sweet Sylvia star.
I watch her twinkle, nestled in her corner of the sky, shinning.
Sylvia begins to swell with glow, and then slowly fade.
Her tiny sliver frame swallowed by the night.
Her long life burning out.
I smile up, silently thanking the universe for giving life.
as I smile at the star, sinking into the deepest pool,
the black well of Mother night.
Goodbye my star,
sleep tight.
“The night, like a well, was swallowing stars.”
Mar 2018 · 295
Basic Math
How long have you been struggling,
with the thoughts and theorems caged inside?
How obtuse the sudden angles
knifing us one stab at a time.
When the equation hangs unbalanced,
we look to correct the path behind
When the choice is always present,
to multiply or to divide.
The afternoon heat hung like a rising fever.
The old iron gates of the school yard wait to swing.
My feet planted near the outskirts.
Sweeping the sticky hair from my face,
alone I wait.

Chocolate melted in my pocket.
Minutes turn to hours.
A gallery of photographs has passed me by.
Panic snickers, searching for your face.
The waiting, the patience,
feeling more like a punch, than a verb.

The chocolate now a sticky ink, staining my pants.
I feel a voyager aboard a lost ship, floating,
hoping for shore.

Sudden without warning,
you grace my sight,
slow motion, near the gate door.
In one swing, you're here.
The wait long forgot,
hung on your beautiful stare.
Prose poem, using a random collection of words.

chocolate, voyager, gallery, sweeping, warning, iron, swing, old, planted, ink, fever, gates, punch, hung, pocket
Mar 2018 · 321
The Nightcap Wears Off.
The nightcap wears off.
My faded world comes in clear.
Pressed fingers tight to my temple,
help to steady the shipwrecked thoughts.
I see black spots, like blackened pieces of a once finely stitched tapestry.

Unsteady limbs claw at the heavy stench,
tipping then spilling a cup once full.

Behind stormy eyelids, lighting cracks through.
Maddening thoughts spawn, slimming the mind.
Mutant feelings bubble, distilled
ready to bottle.

If this scene had a soundtrack, the chords would howl.
The melodious truth could liquefy our yesterday smiles.
Sudden smacks from the bass come to rustle my withered petals.
Tragedy comes in many pauses.
Reach for your collar, and choke the nonsense.
Don't forget to kick the footstool,
hang the little man, guess the right letter's a vowel.

The smog of the gin, has long passed.
What is left, a hammering build.

The cup once full was my solace.
Solace smells a lot like *****.
From the bottom, I smile upward
To the new day, I flip the *******
and linger back to black.
A poem using all these words I was given at random
-pressed, pause, mutant, cup, hill, collar, eyelids, stormy, cap, footstool, petal, death, blackened,  shipwrecked, chords

I was going for dark, it lead me to a tale of a massive hangover.
Mar 2018 · 148
Colors of a Woman
The colors of your hair
burnt and tarnished brown
wrapped up in curls and tendrils
like oak branches twisted in a crown

My gaze I could not hinder
the vitality in your stare
heavy durable and textured
I'm irrevocably hooked and snared

The shades of your skin
flush rustic patterns dance
smooth but rugged finish
the mere possibility of a chance

If only once to touch and finger
through your oak branch hair
to brush against the oaken leather
exposed skin left out and bare

Across an expanse I can admire
in a small fleeting instance
As the light shifts your colors
worshiping forever from a distance
Mar 2018 · 157
Textured flame,
the air of burning dark
softly ashes drip, melt
dusty ivory and haggard looks
lonely bones like stepping stones
encased they lay

an avenue of haloed ground
features burnt
sing of January's frozen shroud
stagger on
agony claim
faint, and frail
tempest paved
Mar 2018 · 428
Beginning to end
Dawn was born in the beginning
Dusk born at the end
Only to circle back to dawn
For dusk to be born again

Circles, cycles turn and die
Then turn around to wave
Morning awakes to live
While night sleeps in her grave

Know the end is not the end
Only a simpler way to phrase
The birthing of a dawn
The beginning of future days.
A poem of circles
Mar 2018 · 326
Death by Moonstone
Nothing more precious than moonstone,
she'd say
Nothing more precious than moonstone.
Deep in her sleep, she'd mumble the phrase,
over and over as if in a craze
Nothing more precious...

What is moonstone to gold, I would think to myself
as her words sputtered broken but heartfelt.

I glance at the stone, placed by her bed
kept close and safe, tucked near her head
Moonstone silvery woven like thread
blinds me cold, steals my sight, knocks me dead.

Lovely lips part
the **** is her art.
Nothing more precious...
she brushes close, her breath chokes.
I finish her phrase, dying slow
my finale breath utters in madness
nothing more precious than moonstone, nothing more dangerous.
Feb 2018 · 121
Darkness lays heavy
Darkness lays heavy
upon my heart
as the bleak night seeps

no light in sight
not dim nor stark
my faith fades
here in the this dark

Dearest darkness
my only friend
shakes my faith
before I leap

he whispers close
Light will come
day will break
just please believe
Just please believe!
Feb 2018 · 163
You said once
We sleep with our feet
Touching sole to sole.
You said once, it was because our
"souls" attract.
I remember and cherish it
as a sweet thing you said.
My boyfriend told me today he likes to touch our feet sole to sole, as if we were soul to soul. I wrote this inspired by it.
Feb 2018 · 176
When I Leave.
I left only footprints, leading
I could not give you anymore.
I turn to watch,
your face a white flag, counting my steps.
It gets harder the further down the road,
to watch my steps traced in small prints.

The neighborhood towers over my choices,
as I continue the paces.
Your face only smaller, when I turn once more.

I think quick of turning back,
but the steps lay behind,
in snowy clarity.
Shame would fall my thoughts,
if I return.

Maybe your face would smile
if my steps suddenly collected,
my decision changed?
Would our life turn over and shine brighter?
The brisk winter on my skin
tells me a different scenario.
A cold bitter tale.

If all I could give was my absence,
please remember my face
rather than my footprints,
leading away.
Based on this print of footsteps in the snow.
Feb 2018 · 153
Look wise and grunt
Her stoic stance, with muscles tight
conceals her meaning
her words a plight
majestic scene
flags flying
we fight a feeling
that words are words
Always varying
but hide some meaning
Look wise and grunt
you furry thing
your words are meaningless
your features sing
gods gift to man
words can sting
keep them in thought
silence is king
based on a quote Sir William Osler
Feb 2018 · 138
The dawn
Your skin is the dawn.
The lightness of the pale
white, like the morning sky.
The horizons of your curves,
glow and brighten,
Your skin is the dawn
Feb 2018 · 151
Its like standing on a sheet of glass
over a black abyss,
looking at the ground,
glass cracking all around,
all you see is down.

The abyss, endless
nothing beautiful like outer space
no glittered stars
no friendly face
glass cracking all around
all you see is down.

You think silently,
the situation sinking in.
You wish sullenly
to be free of your skin
The abyss, endless
on the edge, breathless
I often end up describing the feeling of depression. It's not feeling sad, its more like standing over an abyss. You watch yourself slowly sink further in, the abyss is cold and lonely but glass is cracking and your going down.
Feb 2018 · 182
Time warp
Let's say you're mad
a science nerd
Let's say you build a contraption
a time warp
It's main function
to bend and twist
control time on a whim
then suddenly
time becomes a living thing
The nerd becomes unsure
time has teeth and claws
a crushing weight
that you must endure
Your advise?
I need a clue
my Frankenstein devise
has gone askew
should I pull the plug,
cut the wires?
perhaps time will then
quit and tire
A silly notion
to think I had power
over timeless time
I'm feeling sour!
Feb 2018 · 258
Windowed cell
No light but the moon.
No scene but the unforgiving waves,
vast and melancholy.
Here I pace.

A small room built for torment
my punishment persist
As resilient as I am,
I admit
my mind is about to give.

These four wall haunt me.
Small and lonely.

My cell faces the sea
Dull light chases away darkness,
as the outer world calls awarness

This one glimpse I have,
this small gift
for it
I am grateful

my fragile window.
It started out as a short story. I adapted it to a poem
Feb 2018 · 326
The Body Snatcher
The body snatcher crawls from the bowels of disaster.
With blunt claws and cracked nails,
he flays the space,
grabbing bodies for the capture.

His home but a place to rest, to close his mind
and slowly peel the layers of dress,
where scars of bodies, picked his flesh.
Attempts so desperate, to remain un-snatched.

The body snatcher dreams of meat.
Meat so rancid, meat so sweet.
Some he sells, some he eats.
He names it snatched cuisine.

The sack he lumbers over shoulder,
resembles a black hole,
Those who enter, learn here after
that death lives stitched in wool,
Those once bagged, often gag
choking on the stench of others.

The body snatcher crawls from the bowels of disaster
A shadowy, feared, malicious captor
I was reading a story about the invasion of the body-snatchers, however I imagine a real body snatcher as something from the underworld with a ***** job to do.
Feb 2018 · 205
After Battle
The pieces crackle under foot.
Glassy daggers pattern the cement.
Alleyway objects fall and stick,
under oil, ash and soot
The pieces crackle under foot.

The cries echo, howling wide
muffled under pain and grim
muffled under bends of time
muffled, quiet
hushed and silent
The cries echo, howling wide

The burning smoke, fowl and rank
invades the air we often drank
suffocates the smiles we made
the yellow thick
the yellow sticks
the yellow smoke
fowl and rank.

The bodies piled, bloated flesh
freshly killed, forgotten trash
faces of crumbled hopes
faces of lost souls
faces froze
faces cold
The bodies piled, bloated flesh
Watching Dunkirk, had me thinking dark war thoughts.
The deepest cuts, like drippings
gnawed tapered hangings
darkest meats, dragging
separating from bone

Boiled sores, slit scars
sewn together like cotton threads
Needles stab holes (pave avenues) for drugs
We hand sickness a gun

They slip, slump away
like Christmas day, here and gone.
We might remember
or not.
We might just live on.

I'm alive, I guess
slowly rot,
green to purple, putrid flesh

Spots that maggots eat, or lay
but still I live, a walking corpse
down crippled way.

The avenue whines
the boardwalk abandoned
like holy shrines, sings
a language long forgot
The younger can not help,
their flesh hangs, wet

The stones we walk, layered cement
over battles fought
Soggy terrain flooded plain
memories nurtured with death, fead.
Lush meadows green,
nurtured by the bodies we left,
hanging flesh

Drippings, of the deepest cut
Feb 2018 · 101
The Demons Whisper Poetry
I think not of how hard I slap
how solid a fist feels.
I find contemplating pain, an eager passed time
something gutting.
Like fish hooked on skewers, vididly moving
scoping while the waters fade
breath by breath

I think of crumbled letters
gracing the wooden floors
minor words wrapped in white
pages age
Like heartbreak and bourbon

I think not of tomorrow,
undecided time, a ghost haunting the now
like a grudge, sewn to the flesh
groping nails cling, drawing

I think of cellar doors, hinging on time
of choices that lead to dark realms
where demons whisper
of silver sanctums, wide

I ogle mirror glass, finding the ripples vain
I think not of who or how
I think only of a voice, strumming my death
Feb 2018 · 110
L is for Lahkeesha
My mother calls me "Lucky"
I'd call myself lonely,
lost in my longing for more.

Left handed and lippy, my Latin roots grab hold
short with little limbs, my bark is sharp
but my love soft.

Lumps lodged in my chest
loaded little rockets
launch when winter lands

Logic eludes my language
I speak, lucid lies loudly
laced with truths,
liquor tends to loosen, the lips

My Mother calls me "Lucky"
a shining lucky star,
I'd call myself Lady of the Lake
watery, and rippling
Feb 2018 · 103
Nostalgia sings
The saxophone plays a somber song
the melody so blue
the harmony so strange
Her brass keys speak of withered wishes
dusted away

The sadness reminds me of a cottage
White trim, with shutters green
behind Huckleberry wood,
Hand made with a moss covered roof

I suppose the structure stands, aged and unkept
Dusty old remnants
much like our friendship

On plays the tune, sweet jazz
The beat keeps my memory
Sax of brass

Cottage all alone, beneath a willow tree
A cottage not a home
With shutters green
The sax plays
nostalgia sings
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