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 Sep 2014 Cara
Nicole Bataclan
I want to write again
I want to feel
Like I did back then
When my day depended
On the words I had chosen
-- The life I put
In my poems

I want to write again
I want to feel
The thrill of the pen
The delight that rushes through my veins
When the right words blend
The pain I endure
Once my thoughts
No longer make sense

I am exhilarated
When I start
Scribbling on paper
My heart at peace
As soon as I polish it
On my typewriter

I write again
I write
Like nothing ever happened
Like not a thing prevented me
Months at an end

I write again

I write
Because it is who I am
Because in time,
I always return
To my essence
-- That in the end,
Nothing feels quite right
Unless I am writing.
 Sep 2014 Cara
Farnok
Back to this daily grind,
Attempting to get this 'knowledge' into my mind,
What, in this, do they expect me to find?

Taught to regurgitate fact after fact, playing our part in this foolish act.

Just trying to finish one last year,
Don't want to falter when the ends so near.
But the purpose of this 'education' has never been clear.
A bit of a rough piece, feedback welcome :)
 Sep 2014 Cara
b for short
I’m going to live life until it bursts—
softly place it between my teeth
and bite down until it pops
so its juices flood and trickle
out the corners of my mouth.

I’ll revel in my sweet, sticky mess—
stained cheeks, glazed chin—
leaving my mark on everything I touch.
Others will insist I clean up,
keep my hands to myself,
act
act like
act like a
act like a lady.

But as long as
there is life to taste,
I refuse to chew
with my mouth closed.
© Bitsy Sanders, September 2014
 Sep 2014 Cara
Indigo Morrison
... And I keep wishing that
I knew your hands
like body knows bed
like body feels sun
like body knows coffee at 6am.
...And I'd venture to say
I'd like to create a masterpiece
of your being, with my lips
                               my mouth
                               my hands
                               thighs wrapped
around your strength .
I am beyond enamored,
No cigarette could chase these nerves.
No distance could put out this light-house
awaiting the arrival of you
               the pleasure of you
my ears ache to hear what
moans will make of you.
I want to render you
incapable of any feeling,
but longing and elation
only in relation
to me,
to us,
to you,
here in this bed
unbeknownst to the flow of life outside.
captivated
stimulated
by what's in here
                lies here
            naked here
              ready here
made and designed
to be adorned
and torn down
by you....
 Sep 2014 Cara
lift-me-higher
maybe,
we both believe that it's just a word
and it can't possibly make up for all the damage
we cause time after time
to once again claim we're sorry

so, neither of us ever expected an apology
nor demanded one.

maybe,
we realise that it's unknowingly promising
to not repeat the same mistake
therefore, we choose to not disappoint each other
with the hope of sorry

so, neither of us expected an apology
nor demanded one.

maybe,
you know that your words can hurt me
but you say them anyway,
because there are times when I'm just as cruel
and we'd rather be equally destructive
than sorry

so, neither of us expected an apology
nor demanded one.
 Sep 2014 Cara
Emily Dickinson
1210

The Sea said “Come” to the Brook—
The Brook said “Let me grow”—
The Sea said “Then you will be a Sea—
I want a Brook—Come now”!

The Sea said “Go” to the Sea—
The Sea said “I am he
You cherished”—”Learned Waters—
Wisdom is stale—to Me”
 Aug 2014 Cara
SG Holter
A plumber at the construction
Site has had me
Laughing to myself

All day. Replying to a friendly
Nice work! with a straightened
Back, a blank face behind an agreed

Yes. Then going back at it.
Yes. As
If

Breathing.  

Obvious as


Air.
 Aug 2014 Cara
Changu Baeletse
I align myself with the notion I have it figured out .
But surreptitiously imagine traveling to the ends of the earth, until my mind is plastered with its beauty .

"But that's not a job " they say , "you can do that when you have money ."

It all comes down to the money , pieces of refined wood and words .
I have to get this morphised tree things to actually see those trees .
For how long ........

4 years

maybe 5 .........

15 ?

It displeases me, that maybe living through my worst fears could lead me to those trees .
Being confined into a little room and typing away on a ancient computer .
The smell of expired coffee and over polished leather shoes settling on my nose .  

"But what if I want to be creative then ?"

"Surely you can't mean being an artist " they scold

"No.....maybe architecture or graphics design ."

They nod , "yes those seem to get you the money then ."

But architecture means making buildings.
I can't , that would require me to reprogram my hand to stop the doodles of swirly lines and unfinished thoughts .
And to draw lines  of accurate straightness and concrete ideas .

Maybe I just don't want to grow up .
Yet I'm told I seem mature , held together .( the irony )
But that's because the system wants someone docile .
I just don't want to be observed,
so I squish myself into normal.  Just to be grey in the sea of discolored faces  .
I don't want to be picked out  and ridiculed for my indecisiveness .

But that will change when I have passed their tests . To move out of their schools .

Get the piercings I wanted and feel alive when I plunge into death contained situations

But I'm not sure though . I think about the future .

Repeating thoughts to people of what I want to do .
And each time I become less and less sure .

And more and more certain I will be made grayer , more uncertain . Then be the fraternal twin of black , white and have a bright light, coaxing me into the future .
 Aug 2014 Cara
Ovid
Disappointment
 Aug 2014 Cara
Ovid
But oh, I suppose she was ugly; she wasn't elegant;
I hadn't yearned for her often in my prayers.
Yet holding her I was limp, and nothing happened at all:
I just lay there, a disgraceful load for her bed.
I wanted it, she did too; and yet no pleasure came
from the part of my sluggish ***** that should bring joy.
The girl entwined her ivory arms around my neck
(her arms were whiter than the Sithonian snows) ,
and gave me greedy kisses, thrusting her fluttering tongue,
and laid her eager thigh against my thigh,
and whispering fond words, called me the lord of her heart
and everything else that lovers murmur in joy.
And yet, as if chill hemlock were smeared upon my body,
my numb limbs would not act out my desire.
I lay there like a log, a fraud, a worthless weight;
my body might as well have been a shadow.
What will my age be like, if old age ever comes,
when even my youth cannot fulfill its role?
Ah, I'm ashamed of my years. I'm young and a man: so what?
I was neither young nor a man in my girlfriend's eyes.
She rose like the sacred priestess who tends the undying flame,
or a sister who's chastely lain at a dear brother's side.
But not long ago blonde Chlide twice, fair Pitho three times,
and Libas three times I enjoyed without a pause.
Corinna, as I recall, required my services
nine times in one short night - and I obliged!
Has some Thessalian potion made my body limp,
injuring me with noxious spells and herbs?
Did some witch hex my name scratched on crimson wax
and stab right through the liver with slender pins?
By spells the grain is blighted and withers to worthless weeds;
by blighting spells the founts run out of water.
Enchantment strips the oaks of acorns, vines of grapes,
and makes fruit fall to earth from unstirred boughs.
Such magic arts could also sap my virile powers.
Perhaps they brought this weakness on my thighs,
and shame at what happened, too; shame made it all the worse:
that was the second reason for my collapse.
Yet what a girl I looked at and touched - but nothing more!
I clung to her as closely as her gown.
Her touch could make the Pylian sage feel young again,
and make Tithonus friskier than his years.
This girl fell to my lot, but no man fell to hers.
What will I ask for now in future prayers?
I believe the mighty gods must rue the gift they gave,
since I have treated it so shabbily.
Surely, I wanted entry: well, she let me in.
Kisses: I got them. To lie at her side: There I was.
What good was such great luck - to gain a powerless throne?
What did I have, except a miser's gold?
I was like the teller of secrets, thirsty at the stream,
looking at fruits forever beyond his grasp.
Whoever rose at dawn from the bed of a tender girl
in a state fit to approach the sacred gods?
I suppose she wasn't willing, she didn't waste her best
caresses on me, try everything to excite me!
That girl could have aroused tough oak and hardest steel
and lifeless boulders with her blandishments.
She surely was a girl to rouse all living men,
but then I was not alive, no longer a man.
What pleasure could a deaf man take in Phemius' song
or painted pictures bring poor Thamyras?
But what joys I envisioned in my private mind,
what ways did I position and portray!
And yet my body lay as if untimely dead,
a shameful sight, limper than yesterday's rose.
Now, look! When it's not needed, it's vigorous and strong;
now it asks for action and for battle.
Lie down, there - shame on you! - most wretched part of me.
These promises of yours took me before.
You trick your master, you made me be caught unarmed,
so that I suffered a great and sorry loss.
Yet this same part my girl did not disdain to take
in hand, fondling it with a gentle motion.
But when she saw no skill she had could make it rise
and that it lay without a sign of life,
'You're mocking me, ' she said. 'You're crazy! Who asked you
to lie down in my bed if you don't want to?
You've come here cursed with woolen threads by some Aeaean
witch, or worn out by some other love.'
And straightway she jumped up, clad in a flowing gown
(beautiful, as she rushed barefoot off) ,
and, lest her maids should know that she had not been touched,
began to wash, concealing the disgrace.
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