Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 Dec 2024
Nemusa
We the nobodies, shadows cut from the cloth of smoke and scars,
a fever of sweat and darkness pooling, tears of sorrow swallowing tomorrow.
They locked us in silence, mad minds forging new words, wild and sharp,
each syllable slipping from sanity’s grip, each sound a breath clawing free.

Everything slides in time, the tick-tock mocking us, echoes like footsteps
down the hallway of closed doors, promises that never open.
See you on the other side, they said, where death waits like a lover,
the kiss of a fist, sweet baby girl, sleep—don’t listen,
we’ll wait before sharing the truth, its teeth bare and grinning.

The mania whispers in dark corners, shakes the bones from rest,
and a thousand thoughts slice through, a razor storm beneath quiet skin.
Blood seeping down thick thighs, warmth trickling like proof—
still alive, still fertile with fear, birthing only dread.

He could never hear her, she screamed into an endless void,
her voice a smear, red stains across cold walls.
And no peace wrapped her, no quiet settled in,
only the whisper of madness, and the promise—
of a darker dawn to come.
 Dec 2024
David
Tiny gods mumur profanities
Docile hands, obtuse in their promise
Feed warm solace to pigeons in the park
I need heaven to smile
The sky needs to open its mouth wide
So stars come alive
I need my words to become famous
To cavort thru adolescent eyes
Paper makes a prisoner of trees
Standing alone silent in the breeze
 Dec 2024
Prendella Avant
We ran
From something
Unseen. We were
Two, a man and a woman

River flowed red
He is steel. And her tears
Bullets. We are
Bayonets and gun barrels

The earth flourished
With steel, straight statues
Of trees and undergrowth
A perennial memorial

Buried, we were
Under the earth
Meant to last forever
Meant to simply be

Red silence
Enveloped the world
My brothers...
Glided between the trees

Creatures joined
Those of all kinds, prowl
Across the land
Around their brothers

The earth split
We are the valleys. Gashes
Along the veins of the earth
Runs red like streams and fountains

Wounds dried and flaking
Freely beasts roamed
Lands demarcated
Trampled, trodden

We are echoes
Within the canyons. We stalk
Like spirits, like steel
Behind fervor, behind craze

They lost
Time was forgotten
Time was reclaimed
Remade

We do not know time
We do not sow
We do not reap
We do not see
We do not hear

The world is never silent
But the underground is

How would you feel
If you knew that
The world was hollow
Held up by rifles...
I am the original author of Red Silence. GuessWho2436 posted my poem with my permission.
 Dec 2024
vienna bombardieri
What the Dickens! Santa ain't wearing knickers
well his pants got caught inside the chimney
now here's the kicker...
Little Joe woke up in the middle of the night
and gave Santa such a jolly fright
now here's the kicker...
It was drafty there wasn't any gas nor heat
Mrs. Chump snored upstairs like dead meat
now here's the kicker...
Mr. C was 5 feet tall and wasn't a Clause at all
he didn't know how to rob Peter to pay Paul
now here's the kicker...
The real Ms. C owned a solar panel, Oh what fun
gave it to Ming Ming who flew like a Son Of A Gun!  
now here's the kicker... Eh !  
He burned Santa's pants then laughed, giggled, scoffed  
but as Santa  danced around the sun poured in the loft  
now here's the real kicker...
Christmas was a blast now little Joe C could finally be,
toasty as a glow worm in a house built for three.

Merry Christmas Everyone !  
Love,
From Santa's Girl  :)
 Dec 2024
Kurt Philip Behm
Is the Oracle wise
the Buddha fat
or the Great
Niagara wet
Description wanes
where titan’s reign
as words are left
to falter
And blow upwind
against the grain
in messages
— sublime

(The New Room: December, 2024)
 Dec 2024
Nishu Mathur
They say that poetry doesn’t sell.

But then is poetry ever on sale?
Is poetry a commodity?
Is happiness on sale?
Is hope on sale? Is love on sale?

A poem could be a chunk of reality. Ramblings of a broken heart. A slice of humour. A beacon of light.

In the darkest of times, I have found poems that in a few words, beam rays of sunshine. That soothe unknown aches and pains. That hold my hand and pull me up. Bit by bit.

I may remain the proverbial ‘poor’ poet with large empty pockets. But poetry enriches me.

It casts a spell.  
So what if poetry doesn’t sell?
 Dec 2024
beth fwoah dream
the moon, shrunken, faint
as pencil, as if the wild nettles
of night carried her loads.
her glazes the raptures of
dancing stars.
her stencil mark a white crescent
leant on cloud.
the trees shudder in the
wind, break their promises,
forgive no one.  
the tide listens to her rhythms,
traps them in water, distils
her victories, unwraps the dark,
stretches it out.
hi, everyone - i am sorry to report that S R Mats has stolen one of my poems (this one) and tried to rewrite it under the title Strength to Strength. i blocked S R Mats when she said she wanted to steal my work which i was not happy about - she said all poets steal each others work which i disagree with- also she seemed to think my originality was ok to steal. i have advised eliot and will take this note down when she takes down her very poor attempt at a poem. not sure what else to do
 Nov 2024
irinia
***
I dreamed we were sailing through rice fields
(they make paper out of rice),
Along a wet brilliance, along mirrors,
Along a marshy archipelago.
In a paper boat, a pale boat,
No splashing could be heard, the oars were so light,
In the mist the boat gets wet, is sinking.
And tiny lights will appear soon.
The shoots of rice, standing out of the water,
Look askance with their Korean eyes - so that
I should understand - an object of love be thou -
They are. A candelabrum of love branches out.
With an ***** song, like a pipe inside a pipe,
(It's natural to love  everyone and immediately too),
Look: memory of oneself is going away
To the bottom like a clumsy dead diver.
Look: the lights are spinning round like rain,
Not falling to the earth - these are souls
Whose inconsolable love
For the Creation and the Creator, the soul will not extinguish.
Oh, how long ago I knew all this -
When I was still a two-legged woman
And now I'm drowning, now I'm lying on the bottom
Of love, like a million-armed octopus.

On the shallow bottom, in the rice fields,
Belonging to earth, water and sky,
With a living longing - and sweet fear -
Those will fall in love with me who think 'I was not there'.

by Elena Shvarts from Contemporary Russian Poetry
translated by Gerald S. Smith
 Nov 2024
David
Storms knock on closed doors
Windows seek out vacant souls
Tomorrow brings today as we levitate in pain
Shadows linger amongst vivid dreams

Black clouds beckon; calling out my name
The grey swells of normalcy
Death, taxes; medicated haze
Our bones rattle; virginity, chastity, abstain
Metaphoric pillows yearn to be free
Why must I be tormented by flesh
I tease it; it tortures me.
Next page