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 Mar 2015
unwritten
i wonder if you knew it was too perfect.
i wonder if you knew we were skeletons desperately clinging to lifeless clumps of cold flesh, plastering it onto bone after bone, trying to build a romance in a graveyard.
i wonder if you knew it was too perfect.

//

under the neon lights of the bar near your place,
your pale skin breathed with new life,
your blue lips blossomed pink.

every touch sent shockwaves.

we collided,
but not in the ugly way we often did.
this time it was beautiful.
it had to be.

//

i remember leaving that night,
feeling sick to my stomach,
and i’d imagine you did, too.

i hadn’t known until then that sadness and joy could sail on the same ship.

//

still i wonder why we so often crave perfection,
why we long for the saccharine taste of another’s lips.
it all ended up tasting too bitter for me, anyway.

//

under the neon lights of the bar near your place,
your pale skin breathed with new life,
your blue lips blossomed pink.

every touch sent shockwaves.

//

i still think of you,
a ghost trapped in those flashing lights.

but somehow it feels right that we are only just a memory.

(a.m.)
written 3/3/15.
hi guys, i'm back. finally. i know i went on somewhat of a hiatus but hopefully i'll be posting more often now.
 Mar 2015
CA Guilfoyle
This is the shadowed imprint, the trace left
ice melt and sea drift of time erased
soft-shod footfalls once apace
this ancient path we travel by
wild with beasts, fledgling trees
of downy wings
we cry, learn to fly
stay awake to see the night
how light penetrates
moon tangled through trees
our souls to illuminate
stars light the way
carry us ever further away
once per chance, never again
until morning
 Mar 2015
BertJane Perez
My poems are my life
They make up everything I am
They are what make me human
For my heart beats in every one

My heart has bled many times
And it continues with each word
Each line that is written
Is a new scar within my heart

Every phrase I create
Is another crack upon the surface
But every poem I complete
Is a wound that has been healed

My heart will never give up
My heart will stay beating
It will continue to bleed
and I will keep writing.
 Mar 2015
Meenu Syriac
She stood in the middle of the courtyard
Her arms outstretched, embracing life,
What little she knew of it.
In the rain, she let her bonds fall to the ground,
This sense of freedom, if only for a moment,
She wanted it to be her own.
That brief time, between fearing and dreaming,
She let herself loose.
As the rain washed the blood and the mud,
Her soul needed the cleansing, she thought.
For the first time in years, she chose not to look for scars,
She forgot the pain.
In this big house, she was a prisoner.
Prisoner of rites and beliefs,
Of men and patriarchy.
And only when the rains came to visit,
Did she forget the cruelty and the evil.
Only then, did she believe of balance and equilibrium,
Only then, did she wish for rights and freedom.
In her dreams she saw a much better world,
Outside these four walls.
And in those dreams,
She wasn't a prisoner of fate or creed,
She was a woman of no fears.
In the light of all that is happening in India...
©Meenu Syriac
 Mar 2015
Joel M Frye
shall i mindless words
form into function, wander
forward without thought?

lead me on, then, muse
hushing unheeded warnings
of writer's folly

i who have no/thing
to cheer on, no one being
caring close enough

yet hundreds, thousands
read, call, respond and react
to fresh-cut poems

both sweet and pungent,
taste vaguely oriental, 
smell hints of five-spice

as american
as melting *** and quatrains,
common meter, rhymes

cheeseburger and fries,
routine, familiar and
to each their own taste

flavored by flowered
blossomed imaginations
of poets living

and dead, whose poems'
lovely bones breathe still haunting
my quiet spaces

and take tangential
leaps ricocheting into
inspired lunacy

skeleton crews man
poetic voyages, launch
flights of uncertain
direction, take reason to
illogical conclusions.
...full of sound and fury, signifying nothing....
 Mar 2015
Scot Powers
As I struggle for control
the voices  start to grab a hold
daily forcing me to be
something that I just can't be

a violent act, compassionless
left  dying on the street
lying in a pool of blood
ripe for news TV

talking heads relay the tale
ramp up fear  increasing sales
all the while those at the top
pray to god, that it won't stop

For profits are  the result
of their plan to wipe us out
weaken the middle everyday
till only serfs remain to pay.
 Mar 2015
Jacob Christopher
I fled from society, failed at human bonding
too fond of the Siren's song and searching
for higher calling took to lurking beneath
the surface, the silence is calming.
Tragically lost the path and got tired of wandering
so I put a spark to match set fire to the forest
and torched it to find I'd been encircled
by enemy enforcers slowly encroaching
upon my little plot of land, far from final stand,
just a part of the plan.
See this **** was specifically scripted,
a switch flips to see the paradigm shifted.
I'll have you dreaming up apocalyptic visions
of me leading legions of seething demons
who feed on the meek. Whatever fortress you seek,
I'll ******* crush it, sowing fields of decimation,
I'll water with blood from buckets. By estimation,
I'm judging you won't recover for generations.
My friend, I suggest you switch your position,
"The end is ******* nigh" and you better ******* listen.
It is black always black,
It is black in the light,
Tis void you and I black,
****** deeply void,
Alone in black am I

Shadows creak loomed the darkness,
Eyes bleed crimson slithers,
Mind filled with pungent aromas,
Rotting flesh smells I

Reaching twisting they move of the night,
Corridors screaming, laughing, buzzing,
Feeding, ticking thoughts thinks I
Doors bang and lock clutched temples,
pain stabbing fire,
blood pounds and pours dead are they,
ebony risers of the night

Shush shush sweeping blood slippers slide,
Shush shush sounds the old hag with broom
Pouring bloods,
tis perfumed I smell

Clanging keys black rooms screaming,
iced breath swirls, old cold hand brushes by,
Ever cold is water here electric red I see,
blood red nails screaming blackboards,
Screeching Seething and howling pierced am I

Writhing pain restrained jacket and I,

— Beseech me oh dead in white,

Locked away bathed in blood lonely heart,
Polished broken window moon eyes,

Mortal hell chained to die—




© Arnay Rumens /A Sol Poet 2012
I returned to poetry in 2012 & this is the first poem I wrote, tis with bitter sweetness that I share this piece.... The story is based around a haunted mental asylum, I recall as a child visiting such hells known to be haunted in the UK...  May you the black night readers enjoy...
 Mar 2015
Scot Powers
Moving slowly as I walk
through the darkened hall
voices seemed to call my name
beckoning from afar
are they really spirits
moved on to another plain
or is it creeping madness
insidious in its pace

The headaches started weeks before
but I will not let on
The fear that daily grips my soul
will it last for long?
my memories are fading
lost within a maze
a labyrinth of my own design
oh it feels so strange

The people that I encounter
each and every day
some I seem to recognize
others just seem to fade
I can't remember all the time
who I really am
how I came to be this way
or what will happen next

The chilling part of this tale
is it happens every day
some of us are old and frail
while others still like to play
nature plays its tricks on us
some are cruel indeed
robbing us of our life
of our will to be

I don't know what I'm afraid of
but the fear is truly real
sit and watch the sunset
until it disappears
how on earth did this happen
just what was the cause
something that I ate perhaps
or maybe just a clot

Whatever is the answer
my fate is surely sealed
today uneasy happiness
tomorrow rest in the field
 Mar 2015
Scot Powers
The kettle started boiling
as our clothes fell to the floor
that little whistle blowing
as we sought each others love
you grasped, I probed
so willingly
we both fell to the floor
locked in sweet ecstasy
lust pushed love out the door
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