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 Aug 2015
david badgerow
floating backward
on my back down a muddy river
at a cloud's pace banked by willows & sweet clover
with long branches of oaks stretching across to meet
hot sunshine burning spots on my face forearms & stomach
an invisible hand forcing my eyes to stay closed
& projecting dancing pinwheels of
curled peacock fire on my thin eyelids
i can hear the echo voices of everyone on
shore whirling in the soft wet part of my brain
so awfully warbled by the water in my ears as
i lay there with top water debris spurting playfully
from my lips with a pinched smile
carved between my cheeks
thinking what a shame it'd be to drown
no longer caressed by willow branches trailing
across the surface

to sink down
under a blue sky during a cloud race
into a quiet place where words no longer mean anything
& all i can hear anyway is the profound hiss
of a dying airbubble slipping away from my nose
open my eyes to look i can see it escape
& explode ascending into sunlight
refracting just eight feet away
how wonderful it is to drift down into
the soft silk blanket of dark water
with all the pain & piano music in the world
trapped in my pounding heart
as my friends dive bomb to save me
the drumroll kicks in with the dramamine
& sweet pear wine i had in a pack lunch
to keep away the eager panic hunger
it's accompanied by the soft indie
plink & pluck of violin strings &
someone in suspenders blowing a harmonica
as the nothingness struggles to enfold me
crawling over the shiny pores of my face
while my friends peel back
at it in layers
by re-breathing
their whiskey into my lungs
beating my chest
with their closed fists
& blowing my nose into a t-shirt in the sand
A long shot of the stretch
where waves hug the shore
then freeze as a moment’s sketch
to never roar anymore!

Her footprints on the sandy turf
the winds would blow away
her trace of hunt from sparkly surf
for dead shells on the bay!

In her eyes glows red crab lust
her wings are ached for soar
so long the now not turns to dust
just once must love her more!

Fleeting time leaves one long shot
of cloud and dead trunk beach
carved with dream etched in thought
but never close to reach
!
I have cancer, but that's not what I want to talk about.
Nor do I want to talk about the cold bouncing in
  from the sliding glass door of the lobby. (The lst
   floor lights give off deceptive warmth.)

I don't want to talk about hospitals, or illness for
that matter because, truthfully, its become a game
  of things I'd rather not discuss.
   If you have an imagination, you get it.

I don't want to talk about the thirty day hospital intervals,
or the way my heart turns seeing my mother watch her son
  soldier through. I can be brave and not feel like talking.
   Because why talk when I have you here, next to me, smiling.
10:48 PM In my "nook" of the lobby with notebook and no tea!
 Aug 2015
Cecil Miller
Pardon me, I know this is a pick-up line
As standard as my Chevy four-wheel drive,
I was at the end of the bar when you passed by.
I don't come on often, I'm usually a little shy
I couldn't help but notice your blue eyes,
They are as blue as the western sky.
Your hair is like threads of silk, how it shines!
Your face is friendly. Can I be your guy?

May I sit in this chair by your side?
I'd like to have the barkeep bring you another white wine,
And sit and talk a while, can you spend the time?
I'd really like to win you over. I think you're looking fine.
My impression is your're just as sweet as a mother's lullaby.
The soft lights are bringing out the longing in your eyes.
I didn't mean to intrude in your thoughts tonight.
I only came to ask you out. Can I be your guy?

No, Madam, I didn't see your ring. Gee, it's nice.
I wouldn't change a word I've said, please, pay no mind.
I'm glad we got to share this time, it seems right.
I'd like to stay and finish my drink, while I pine.
I'll thank-you, then leave with a friendly good-bye.
As soon as I've sobered, I'll go to my truck. Home, I'll drive.
I'm a little confused... Where is your man tonight?
Oh, I'm sorry I guess I'm just envious of your guy.
My latest is a country song. I got a couple of the lines last night as I was going to sleep. Completed august 21st, 2015. All rights reserved by me, the writer.
 Aug 2015
Rory Herd
Am i allowed to write this book
though the language is not my own?

Am I allowed to walk through blossoms
from the trees your father has grown?

Am I allowed to slip my tongue
in the space behind your heart

where the flag of love lifts in the opening dark?
*Written by a charming steampunk lady with a typewriter running a poetry stall called 'Poetry While You Wait', Otago Farmers Market, 23/03/2013
 Aug 2015
Dark n Beautiful
Master bedroom

It would have been nice
If it could live up to its name
Knowingly, the master couldn’t
Even handle his business in any room
Why called it the master bedroom,
The master haven't mastered any role in any room
until his compassionate flower,  the ladywith a heart of an angel,
Made a deal for the people, , as history was told
Her love for the oppressed citizens of Coventry would never be forgotten:
A Yellow Lily not to be reckon with:
Lady Godiva the people's choice
 Aug 2015
Sjr1000
Denial of others
is an easy thing,
Label them
responsible for
everything,
If they are gone,
We'll all
be okay.

We hear the same tune,
Everywhere we go,
Among our friends,
Small office spaces,
Family members,
the black sheep,
Don't you know.

Corporate meetings
in board room splendor,
Fingers are pointed
at those,
Identifying those who disturb our peace,
Interrupt our greed.

Blame becomes epidemic,
Get rid of them,
We'll all be okay.

Pulpits of every denomination
scream at
those who would be so,
Just get rid of them
We'll all be okay.

Changing times
enemies become allies,
The doomsday clock
moves up a notch,
Get rid of them
then we'll all be
okay.

Well,  it's just
you and me,
As Dylan said
"I won't be the last to leave."

Get rid of them,
I'll be okay,
We both say,
I look at you,
You look at me.

Alone at last,
No one else to blame,
I'm looking in the mirror,
I'm pointing at
me,
Get rid of him,
Then we'll all
be
okay.
The final poem in this trio. When will we ever learn?
 Aug 2015
Cecil Miller
Her memory, the love of she,
In slumber,
That time when sadness sooths itself,
Pays to me a call.
And I, a lone warlock in the dark,
Feel the mattress demit as she sits,
And know her gentle touch on my face,
As I did when I was young.
I  am trembled by her resonance,
(*******, I am trying to sleep!)
Then, I wake to understand what has transpired.
Then, am blessed to have felt her love once more.
Then, I bid her go to God.
But, I do thank her for her visit.
This is a new poem. I submitted it as soon as it was complete. I spent about half an hour working with it. It is very personal. 3:49pm. Aug 19, 2015.
 Aug 2015
Elisa Maria Argiro
Inter-species dating never had it so good.
Shape-shifting constantly, he could be a man one minute,
a bear the next.
Old as the hills, then young as Apollo.

In her butterfly form she fluttered near his head,
and if he was a bear just then, and had
eaten no honey, this could be dangerous.

If he was a man, and was at peace, the colors of her
powdery wings would delight him beyond measure.
Blowing by him lightly, she would swoon a bit,
and the transformation would begin.

Dark eyes, slender arms, a thick mane of hair,
all the attributes of a woman would suddenly appear.

When they were at peace together, oceans became full
and smooth as glass,
sacred rivers flowed together, and their separate colors
became a new one.

But like some planets, their orbits were unsteady.
Peace was fleeting.

A tremor would go through the worlds,
and the fighting would begin.

Monumental destruction ensued.
Cinders blew by where hearts had been.

Over time, and blessed by journeys through the sky,
a new peace was formed, in friendship.
A new understanding began.
A trust began to build.

An end to this story is unthinkable.
©Elisa Maria Argiro
 Aug 2015
Cat Fiske
My grandfather taught me things.
Things I didn't have to learn because I saw someone hooked up to a hospital machine,
But the tiny things that mattered,
Like how you should never play with you fork,
Because you could poke your eye out,
And while we're on the manner of table manners,
His constant hand grabs,
Moving plates and glasses,
Farther and farther in,
For a fear they may fall,
I was so curious of why even now when I'm not as small.
For now I wonder,
Is it so you don't fall,
So you feel safer,
Is this why u always push re plates in,
Have your little problems with everything,
And not afraid to share them with the world,
And try to push them to be perfect,
When you haven't figured out no one is,
I know that you see things in me,
No one else does that I don't even see,
All the potential and this future you constantly go on and on about,
And I think to my self what future,
But you don't give an inch,
And tell me I'm worth something,
That means something to me,
They say you don't chose your family
But I would of chose you still,
Your still going to be old and stubborn,
Like the old folks are,
But your unique in your pushy way,
That wouldn't of honestly made me care about you as much,
If you weren't the way you were,
I love you times every plate you pushed in at dinner,
To ever time you told me to stop playing with my fork when I was eating,
And nothing will change that,
Like nothing should ever change you,
And like you've taught me,
Don't change for anyone but you,
And to push myself to go the distance,
Un edited, staying with my gma and gpa so I figured why not, also why I haven't posted in a while, Ik its ******,
But My cuncussion symptoms have been though the roof latly
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