Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 Oct 2018
Jack Jenkins
heavy is the tide
that swallows lungs and organs
depression inside
//On anxiety//
I have all these **** words stuck in my throat but I can only manage to write 11 words.
 Oct 2018
Wanderer
I have been given such little time here
Seems to me that in that space a hand of sorrow dealt
Widowed at twenty seven
A once purring friend who was nineteen years mine
Now ashes next to those of Jeremiah
Tears fall down swollen cheeks weary of the weeping
More reasons for choosing not to propagate compile
Old newspapers with new headlines I cannot help but read
My bed is less now, my pillow too big
I am still asking questions about the why and how
Where this leaves me- partly in the past and the hollow now
Two urns I carry with me while I wander through the crowd
Two urns I carry with me unto my final hour
My first and only four legged friend, Cleo. Nineteen years she aged majestically. Until she faltered. In my arms her last breath taken. I miss her more than words can say.
 Oct 2018
Cristina
aren't we all afraid of suffering?
just the verity that we cannot sleep
from the throbbing thoughts
is maintaining us awake a bit more.
and there's the symphony of insomnia.
 Oct 2018
Bobby Copeland
Not all the world is word, you dare to say.
And i can only nod, so slow to see
The difference, who even prayed, when prayer
Seemed possible, in punctuated breath.
 Oct 2018
Olivia
You used to be my favourite encounter.
I used to go to this park
And just sit on a bench
Pretending to read my book
Pretending to listen to the birds singing
Pretending to observe the nature
Pretending to take pictures.
But I was just waiting for you.
Everyday, around lunchtime, you came.
You ordered at that bar
You wrote some words
In that little notebook that you carried with you everywhere
And then you were gone.
Once, you came with someone.
He was a friend of yours I think,
He asked you what was in your notebook.
I remember that I listened carefully :
“Drawings” that’s what you said.
But I knew you were lying.
I’ve seen you, several times, writing.
Why would you lie?
When we started to talk, some months after, I asked you the same question
You had the same answer.
But then you added :
“Because for me, words are drawings.
I don’t look at what they mean
But at what they look like.”
I like encounter as a word
Because it is all *******,
You can write it at one go
But you have to raise your pen
To finish the cross on the T.
We too, were together,
But at some point we had to part,
Only to meet up the following day
In an interminable encounter.
don't really know why I wrote this one but I'm posting it anyway :) I should study for my test right now but well
 Oct 2018
Cné
Much has been said
against me
however,
I will not be spiteful
or allow hatred,
the beast of darkness
that resides
in the black jungles
of arrogance
and ignorance,
to infect me;
for that is no reason
to give way to anger.
So I refuse to let anger
ugly my heart;
for anger
is the scorpion’s poison
of peace
and love, it’s sunlight.
I choose light
contentment and happiness,
as poetry’s not a contest
of winners or losers;
it is the essence
of a poet’s soul.
Peace, love
and harmony
reigns over
anger, hate
and contention
 Oct 2018
Esther
my camera
tries to capture
all that you are
and fails
because you are so much more
than a photograph
you are fluid
you are sound
you are fireworks
so you can't be captured
you need to be
experienced
 Oct 2018
Cné
from head to my toes
you don’t seem to see my flaws
& i love your eyes.
 Oct 2018
Logan Robertson
those **** trolls fish for gloom
baiting your roses and bloom
behind their mask and costume
a guise filled with malice loom
there spans from the beasts womb
a monster preying your doom
they take your light to dark displume
like fishes facing the jaws of gloom
eliot watches schools get entomb
like a stepping stone to their fume
it takes no rocket scientist's broom
to sweep the trolls from the classroom
nears the hour of our death, trolls resume

Logan Robertson

8/21/2018
I wrote this poem very impromptu, almost with a giggle like motivation. I was smitten with the attention it's receiving however how I wished it was divided, and a poem like, A Workplace Rendezvous (which I like more than this poem), received a peak (wordplay!)_
Next page