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 Nov 2020 Wy
Roxx3000
Dreaming
 Nov 2020 Wy
Roxx3000
Sliding down the edge of the moon
Touching the glowing river of stars
Crystal clear clouds in the mid of June
While dandelions spark and sing on Mars
 Feb 2020 Wy
ENR
Smile at me
 Feb 2020 Wy
ENR
Bundled in blankets

       my skin is cold

Closing my eyes

      your smile is warm
 Feb 2020 Wy
ENR
Water
 Feb 2020 Wy
ENR
Summer heat beams down, angry and punishing,
brutal light blinds me as my shoulders burn.
My nose and cheeks are freckled, ancient specks once lost
to childhood memories of swimming and sprinklers.
The belligerently blue current bounces
as the shrieks and the smiles of countless kids
chime through the air,
bittersweet as the memory of you.
You who once laughed quietly, like happiness was a secret you kept
from the world,
shared only with me
and the quiet house by the coast.

Now the ports, run down, rotting,
while waves lap at the thin shoreline,
are an eerie mirror of your mind.
Now the chlorinated water only reminds me of your eyes,
clear, but still too far to touch,
distant but reaching,
searching for my name,
for my face,
for me.
I will not visit again.
I will remember you as water, stretching on forever toward the horizon.
 Feb 2020 Wy
ENR
Numberless
 Feb 2020 Wy
ENR
It doesn’t matter if smiles or tears paint your face
So long as the numbers say what They want them to say
The transcript, the scores, the resume
Only numbers can tell what a person is worth
Only numbers can tell what a person has paid
A document will never list the price of pain
Will never notice when time has taken its toll
Will never notice the humanity of feeling
The humanity of breaking down
The humanity of mistakes
Repeated mistakes
Repeated excuses
Repeated words
All meaningless
Until you are crushed
With the weight
Of Their heavy stares
Disapproving
Disappointed
In the meaninglessness
In the worthlessness
Of that numberlessness.
 Feb 2020 Wy
ENR
amaranthine
 Feb 2020 Wy
ENR
moment wrapped in ribbons of silk
twirling and swirling in circles
amaranthine

driving at night, sky blackened
windows like vacuums
******* in the smoky winter air

wheels grinding, rolling against the lopsided asphalt
crushing rocks with every bounce
driving,
no location
only hands gripping the wheel
and pressure on the acceleration

driving down silky ribbons of rocky asphalt
driving
no location
only hands gripping the wheel
only pressure on the acceleration
only you holding tight
grabbing life by the neck

sitting in a box
only going where someone else takes you
is empty
so grab every moment
wrapped in ribbons of silk
twirling and swirling in circles
amaranthine
savor the bittersweet memory while it lasts

ripped and torn from its place in the neurons
in the brain
stored in the depths of the ocean
the ocean of memories abandoned
lapping against the vacant shore
sky blackened, windows like vacuums,
******* in sand, summoning dust
spiraling piles crowding out a smooth smile

driving through amaranthine moments
widening eyes
moments wrapped in bittersweet anticipation
 Feb 2020 Wy
ENR
Lovely Afternoon
 Feb 2020 Wy
ENR
And so she sat there,
smiling quietly,
watching the sun set fire
to the bright green trees,
feeling the window warm against her head,
as frizzy hair brushed her shoulders.
Music flowed through her earbuds,
the scent of orange bloomed
in the gently chattering bus.
Fridays couldn't be better,
and life was beautiful.
Too bad she'd have to leave it behind.

Screeching stung the lovely afternoon,
spinning, and spinning, and spinning.
A cocktail of chemicals rushing,
flushing out the floating happiness.

Black, and tears, and tragedy.
The most beautiful of souls had to pass before all others.
 Feb 2020 Wy
ENR
Lucky
 Feb 2020 Wy
ENR
She was so lucky.
Friends.
Several of them.
All of them kind and real and amazing.
School.
So kind and real and amazing.
Nobody scans her as she walks the halls.
Nobody judges her every choice.

Nobody notices when she chooses to eat information instead of food.
Nobody realizes she notices the little glances just barely within her sight
     Or the muffled snickers
     Or the sly comments.

Nobody knows how absolutely aware she is.
Nobody hears her trembling breaths in the bathroom
silenced by the palm of her hand.
Nobody could ever know how hard it is to ignore all of it;
                                              how hard it is to not hate yourself;
                                              how hard it is to hide everything
carefully packaged under the confines of her undershirt.

Nobody can tell that inside those bulging rolls is simply a girl with social anxiety and insecurities beyond mental health.
Nobody sees her bury her feelings in her sparse salads and amaranthine assignments.
Nobody sees her.
 Feb 2020 Wy
ENR
You should stop to smell the roses
I think they're starting to rot

Luckily, the stench of your lies
should hide any signs
of decomposition

Not that you've noticed death before
not even when you tore
my heart from my chest

Certainly not when you lied
and consequently died
in my eyes.
 Jul 2019 Wy
krm
Clothes have outgrown me many times over,
but this sadness never does.
One size.
fits all.
There should have been an obituary for cancer,  not you.
Wishing these slits within my skin could have been
replaced by a reality check from you, “You chose to exist.”

My name causes a sigh to escape from lips,
that do not feel like they belong to me,
the girl,
whose words always had to be special.

The schematics of hospitals like a birthmark in my brain,
born into sadness, a gut feeling as a child.
Never trusting time
due to what it delivers.

Death, being the only thing I desired.
But you, 
who I love,
endlessly-
robbed by it.
Whose ebb for life glowed so feverishly.
Stopped comparing depression to lace,
restricted the belief that suicide is poetic,
seeing things as they were.
More often than not, applauded for feeling emotions deeply.
Every second that dies, the shift of my heart quakes.

This world is not tender.

II. Sad.
I have known the flowers I wanted at my own premature funeral,
knowing how many bouquets honored you that day.

split open my veins like a dimension
reminiscent of days where I anticipated deathbeds.


My family wondered,
can we make it through another day?
Death scares me for what it has taken,
yet, I’m not afraid to die-
it’s all I deserve.
So I await the day pain erupts
from my throat,
acknowledging the days a soul
lived inside of my body-
footprints that walked,
belonging to me.

But I learned so well.
How to suffer with a smile,
dreading the beating of my heart
how unfair—
I don’t want to take these deep breaths
You deserved,while I masquerade as a member of the undead
Never outgrowing the desire to rot with the phantoms residing under my bed.


III. Jokes played by the universe.
punchlines delivered,
how could anyone to stand to be in the same room as myself?
How could anyone look over skyscrapers and sunsets,
and not be infatuated with concrete consuming them?
How I shared a sigh of relief during the thought-
of knowing people would thrive without me,
or the power of a belly laugh,
resembling a laugh track audience
drowning out 3 AM suicidal thoughts.
I wrote this in pink gel pen, maybe, that’s another joke.
 Jul 2019 Wy
Gary Brocks
At four, you took my hand and pulled me to your bed,                                                            
your small form cuddling, curling, you urgently said,
"Tell me… tell me a story! Story, make it long",
I began to tell the story, the story of when you were born.

Drums and bugles, bubbles and balloons,
somersaulting clowns and calliope tunes,
you came out to meet them, on the day that you were born,
and they were there to greet you, through a January storm.

Lions and gorillas marched to military airs,
snowmen and snowwomen danced without a spring time care,
somewhere in the harbor, a tugboat played a note,
and all the while you smiled a smile, upon a birthday float.

Just like a circus troupe, we formed a great parade,
and sauntered to the birthing bed where your mother lay,
she picked you up, she held you, as close as close can be,
her hand in mine, she softly said, “Now... we are three.”

Copyright © 2003 Gary Brocks
180827F

Children always want to know who their parents are; their thoughts, hopes, dreams, fears and actions at stages in their lives.
This poem, a poem in several parts (only the first part here), portrays a father for his child, through the manner in which the story of the child's birth is retold at various stages in their life together.
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