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 Apr 2013 Clarisa
Kyle Kulseth
Write these words on empty stomach
          unasked, I spilled my guts.
You said, "My life's a joke
                  and every choice a punchline."
You just wrote my prologue and the afterword
           is dangling off my lips, now;
            on the tips of tongues.
Steel night skies thrum and echo
                  when the bells are struck.
Goose Creek pays tribute to the wide Missouri.
              I can't offer much--
           clenched hands and mouth clamped shut.

Fling some words at empty wall space
          from corners, room warms up
My reddened face obscured
           behind two frost-fogged lenses
Guess I penned the punchline. Now my line-worn face
                 is crinkled up and frozen didn't get the joke
Tried to make a map out of the
              words we spoke.
These streams pay tribute to a sea of memories
              Now you don't say much
             "Good luck," and "Stay in touch."

        Clenched hands and mouth clamped shut.
 Apr 2013 Clarisa
Langston Hughes
I would liken you
To a night without stars
Were it not for your eyes.
I would liken you
To a sleep without dreams
Were it not for your songs.
 Apr 2013 Clarisa
Nicci Wilson
poem1
 Apr 2013 Clarisa
Nicci Wilson
Who is that girl? The one they call Nobody, the one who owns a heart of bleeding glass
Gazing at the other girl, the girl that isn't sitting alone
Girl with skin like porcelain, she has the eyes of emerald trees
Grin from the deepest sea's pearls and a laugh that spreads like a disease
She just looks at you once and just like that, she's every every problem's cure

She has everything… and Nobody wants to be like her.
Eating is no longer allowed, she'd rather be away
Shoves her fingers down her throat to make herself okay
She watches herself die and become a mess
She drowns in her tears, because she isnt seeing any success.

Minutes turn to hours, and these hours turn to days
Every moment slipping, slowly fading into grey
Quickly, her figure turns to nothing but her bones
She fights for beauty, its a battle for the throne

Broken hearts must learn to beat, and this she came to know
She learned it the hard way when her heartbeat grew too slow
But, she still somehow managed to hide from what's within
Lying in her casket with her hidden, unseen sin.

Final thoughts inside her head scream through the tattered skies
She had never reached her goal, the one that caused her to cry.
They never understood how the torture was so rough
and how She was never beautiful… not beautiful enough
This is heaven?
It rains here everyday.
Some believe it’s to wash away sin,
But I know better.
It’s because you’re not here.
It’s because I have to spend forever watching you,
Loving you,
Wanting you,
Needing you,
But never touching you.
I want to hold you.
I want to run my fingers through your hair,
I want to memorize your face and know your thoughts.
I miss the feel of your head on my shoulder and you lips in my hair.
I miss your arms around my waist and your hand in mine.
My God it hurts.
I cry here. Daily.
I sob from my love for you and how unfair it is.
It’s not fair!
I can see you are hurting and I can’t stop the pain.
Oh my God I hate it here.
I would rather burn in flames to spend a single day with you than quietly sit in the cleansing rain.
No, not cleansing, I know better.
I’m causing the rain.
So know when you’re caught in the rain it’s me holding you at night.
It’s my hand through your hair and my lips on your cheek.
It’s me showing you what I can no longer say to you.
These are the words he found on a folded sheet
As he was walking the street where he was last with her.
Anger still flares in him when he thinks of the crash.
How dare she leave him like that!
They were both hit by the living ***** driving that car,
But she was the one that had to go.
Why not he?
On the side of the road, a cross marks her last breath.
Her name is forever carved in the aging wood.
In front of the cross like a welcome mat was her folded goodbye.
He screamed at the note and cursed the author.
Despite what he wanted, he could not bring himself to tear the sheet.
Weeks went by without a sign from her again.
Everyday he would check his cross for another word.
On the day of her 20th year, he went the place where she lay.
Kneeling before the flowers that lay in the wake of mourners past, he beat the ground.
Screaming in rage, his ****** fists dented the grassy bed.
Soon, rage turned to pain,
Screams turned to tears,
Fists of grass turned to fists pulling hair by the roots.
Hours passed before he noticed the liquid ice pounding on his back.
Jumping to his feet he screamed at the clouds.
The rain mixed with his tears.
Quietly, the words “it rains here” entered his mind,
Gaining volume, he remembered the letter he found.
He pulled it from his pocket with a shaky breath.
In the wind he could almost hear her saying “it’s my hand in your hair and it’s my lips on your cheek”
Tears filled his eyes as the wind began to pick up, sounding like breathing lungs.
He could feel it with every cell in his body as it chilled him to his bones.
Softly and cold as ice, he could feel her lips on his cheek.
Looking everywhere for the face of his love, he saw a note on her grave.
Slowly sinking to his knees, he read:
Let go of me now,
It no longer rains here.
It will never be fair, but our anger will not bring me back.
I still miss my head on your lap when we read in the sun
And the sound of your voice as you sang to me.
I will never forget the way your hair looked in the sun or how your eyes would shine with love.
I will love you till the end of times, and then I will love you after that.
From this moment on, my hands are no longer the rain, nor are my lips cold.
From this moment on, I will be in every smile you smile or see.
I will be in every happy thought and I will comfort you when they are sad.
My hands are the wind through your hair and my lips are the sun on your skin.
Let my love for you outweigh your fears
And know that one day,
I will see you again.
 Apr 2013 Clarisa
Lyra Brown
endless nights
spent on
wondering
if I cried myself to sleep
loud enough
would it wake you from
your nightmare of a life
and cause you to shout through a megaphone
across the sky
from your hot air balloon and say
"there is no place like home"
would the echo of your voice
be enough to convince the clouds
to let you land safely  in my arms
so I could finally whisper
"welcome home."
 Apr 2013 Clarisa
Marty S Dalton
We are always running
These streets holding us
As we hold hands
Your hand in mine,

We are running
We are running,
Not following anyone
Not following anything
We are unique
We are pioneers heading west
Not chased but willingly chasing the sunset
Where the horizon and the sky meet with a seamless kiss
We are hoping that they aren‘t the only things that love
          each other so much they can be together without
          leaving a mark

Not tearing or wounding or cutting or finding any cracks
          and fault lines, perfectly matched
One falling into the sea
One rising into the clouds
And on and on and on forever
Dripping off the edge of the known world

Who can know our world
Who could have chased us this far

We are alone in the wild
This rushing and running
Running from the streetlights falling away far behind us
Our hands tight like a taut rope from our shipwrecks
We are pulling one another from the depths
Neither an anchor
But both anchored together

Sinking
Sailing
Storming seas of sidewalk puddles and pavement bleeding
          together
No edges
No seams
No feet
No legs
No bodies
All running heart first shoulders back, eyes closed
Winds whirling around us

Running not following
Holding not falling
Chasing and ending somewhere in that kiss of sky and sea

Finally finding rest
Wrapped in a peaceful footstep folded-up asphalt blanket of
          each other‘s peace and preface
The only unstitched and perfect seam is the horizon that
          God wakes up and puts to bed where we find our
          heads were tucked in
But our hearts weren‘t allowed to end



(c) Marty Schoenleber III 2012
A poem from my book, "Oh, Sleepur!" published last year, about falling in love with my wife, not once, but over and over and over again, until we're one.
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