Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
She steps into the dark swamp
where the long wait ends.

The secret slippery package
drops to the weeds.

She leans her long neck and tongues it
between breaths slack with exhaustion

and after a while it rises and becomes a creature
like her, but much smaller.

So now there are two. And they walk together
like a dream under the trees.

In early June, at the edge of a field
thick with pink and yellow flowers

I meet them.
I can only stare.

She is the most beautiful woman
I have ever seen.

Her child leaps among the flowers,
the blue of the sky falls over me

like silk, the flowers burn, and I want
to live my life all over again, to begin again,

to be utterly
wild.
One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice—
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do—
determined to save
the only life you could save.
Heaven rained on me,
I breathed in the petrichor,
Bathed in the downpour.
I have sinned,
So destroy me,
With your rain.
every other month,
i fly.
when my mind fills with worries and unease,
my lungs expand with fear not air,
my heart speeds,
and with a single backpack
i take a bus to the airport.
long ride listening to my comfort songs
is just a beginning to my little getaway.
(i already feel calm writing about this moment)

quick 30 mins wait at the gate, then
i fly.
my reality you can wait for me at the airport
right where i left you,
because you deserve a break too.

see you in 5 days.
i'll meet you back at the airport.
"I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)"
.
                                smoke
                         ­            of
                                 puff
                                   a
                                like
                      diss­ipates
                                  it
                     ­           until
                               up
                                and
                          ­   up
                                and
                          ­         up
                              and
                           up
                    going
                swirls
             ­       decreasing
                          ever
                ­                in  
                                gyrates
    ­                         and
                        spirals
                    time
   pre-determined
our
 Jun 2022 Brittany Chalmers
Sarah
our lips will never meet
nor our fingers intertwine
and so bless my dreams
for indulging what's not mine
As I lie here
With eyes closed softly
I think deeply of you
And I inhale stars
The scent of twinkling light
So fresh and alive
Sparkling gentle inside me
And I want to write this feeling
So tentatively
As it must be
Like writing words on bubbles
Delicate and precious
Begging them not to disappear
Like dreams in the morning

                                        By Phil Roberts
This may well be my last poem here.
Don't speak harshly,
Your words will form swords in me

Touch my cheek; speak gently,
And they will form worlds in me
 Mar 2021 Brittany Chalmers
misha
the moths ate holes
in the silk of my hands
your touch falls through them
like black volcanic sand
Next page