Gidgette

Gidgette Apr 2017

You know who you are
Bruised Peaches
Those hit, hidden
Shamed
Belittled and bitten
By the very people we loved most
Mocked
For staying with the bearers of our
Bruises
We warrior spouses
Some of the peaches are lucky
we rolled from the pain baskets
Others have to stay for seedlings
This particular peach
After years of bruises
Nearly got squished between the fingers
of a bruise bearer
And I'm bitter mush
But I'm still whole
And all the while
He whispered,
I love you, I love you little peach
He gave me a seedling
She grew
and with her
My knowledge grew
It took the kingsmens axe
To cut me from that dead tree
But thank God
This peach, is free
~A

It's the hardest thing in the world to leave an abusive relationship. We're often made to believe it's our own fault. Even after one leaves, the lawyers, judges, counselors even, make you feel "less than".
I rarely write of my awful marriage. Even today I'm ashamed. And I know that it wasn't anything I did but that fact escapes me sometimes. My love to you all. Especially the Peaches.

#abuse

Apr 2017

Jack Savage

Passion

Passion?
You want to see Passion?

Passion is the lust I feel
watching a dew's refraction
on a petal so vibrant,
and so placed,
that it could not be placidity I feel,
But Excitement.

Passion is when you tell me
to *******,
and pull your hair
I slow down
because
I Mean It

Passion is that flooding spark,
the moment a match
becomes gas,
when I feel
invincibly
collapsed into
An Epiphany

You don't know passion.
Because if you did
You'd know it's not just a glory
I entice,
but equally
A Gore

Passion is having your heart broken,
and looking to the floor
a devastation
Wailing as you feed
your intestines back
inside of yourself
Craving forgiveness
and receiving
Futility

Passion is hearing a song
that rips you to a moment
so far away
and so irrelevant
you feel breathless,
a coward,
and that one moment
that once kept you lit
becomes something
You Can't Control

Passion,...

Passion is a curse,
a bias,
a crutch

As equal,
a gift

Apr 2017

Jeff Stier

All Your Buried Corpses

Slender green shoots
press through the
still cold ground
hands of the earth
lifted in prayer

Their strength is manifest
their exertions
carpet the land in green
their tender prayers
press forcibly against the sky
and keep it
at the distance
God intended

In the fall
invisible seeds will carpet the land
buried they will be
but in spring
they begin to speak

These buried corpses
will not only murmur
they will sing
in lush green voices.

I pray I will be there
yet once more
to join in the song.

The title is from a James Baldwin quote I jotted down while we were watching the film I Am Not Your *****: "all your buried corpses now begin to speak."

I took the concept in directions the author never intended. Apologies to Mr. Baldwin.

Apr 2017

Eddie Starr Love Poetry

HelloPoetry

HelloPoetry Blessed us all , no matter where we live.
I am truly Blessed by each and everyone alike here.
There are so many here on this here site that I am thankful for.
Sally Bayan, Mike Hauser, Iamdaisie, Olivia Kent, Wendy Ronshausen,Brandon Nagley, Earl Jane, Rachel Sia Jane Lloyd, Lydia Monet,Neil Aranda, Mark Cleavenger, Ann Marie Johnson, Melanie Wilson-Herring, Mike Essig, **** Paz Its Gonna Make Sense.
PrttyBrd, Vicki Bashor, Kripi Mehra, Willyam Pax, Poetess Bhumi, Kelly Rose.
Elizabeth Burnettge, Toni Pugh, Paul Champman, David Lewis Paget.
Ryn, Sean Scibbles, Aurelia, Kim Johanna Baker,Yasaman Johari.
Lady RF,Crazy Diamond Kristy, Weeping Willow, Alyssa Underwood.
MydstopiA,adhi das, South by southwest, Petal, soulsurvivor.
reformdancerecover,Ashly Kocher, Mack, Travler, Randolph Wilson.
Plus many more whom are very special indeed whom did not make this poem love you all in Christ.

Apr 2017

phil roberts

REFLECTION OF A SHADOW

Hurtful time
Meaningless
Hanging useless
Unneeded and unwanted
Every wasted instant
Killing the man I was
Turning me into something tame
My own pale shadow
Not me

All my cherished dreams
As stale as ancient bread
All hope within me
Has turned to ghostly pale
Even my lack of belief
Seems unbelievable
Each rock that I'm made of
Crumbles into dust
Longing for the wind
Of my final storm

By Phil Roberts