Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 Nov 2018
Phoebe H
when you are quiet for long enough that the squirrel thinks you are part of the earth.
when you have whole-heartedly experienced the death of a worm.
when you spend $6 on a stone to bring the luck you don't believe in.
when the zinnias turn indigo and the indigo withers to dust.
when you begin to envy the worm.
when you don't want to bore the trees with your problems so you sit in silence.
when you listen to love songs and pretend to understand.
when you watch an oak leaf drifting in the current but it's actually you drifting and it will only take one red currant to be happy.
when it becomes painful to dream.
when 4.568 billion years doesn't seem so long but how is it only 1 o'clock?
when you wish you could be a comb jelly and float transparent along the black depths.
when you feel the earth suspended in nothingness.
when you can feels yourself suspended in nothingness.
you must wait.
wrote this in my favorite spot near campus: a hidden stone tomb with the word 'wait' in capital letters, overlooking a patch of forest. Home to a few blue jays, a squirrel, and a dead worm.
 Nov 2018
Jon York
Don't fear the pain,

use it,

keep it there,

beside you,

and maybe,

just maybe,

it will give you the words to say in a poem,

or the notes to play in a song,

for sometimes

it is flying with what hurts,

that gives us the colors to paint with.
                                                                                        Jon York    2018
 Nov 2018
Edmund black
One
clear moment
One
of trance
One
missed step
One
perfect dance
One
missed shot
One
fleeting life
Hearts will stop beating
But love will never die
Thank You my dear friends for all the love and your support , I am all gratitude... I’ll be back soon..... stay blessed!
 Nov 2018
Kim
Anyone can rhyme
Or hum a melody
But to lay your guts out on the table
For everyone to see
That’s what art is
That’s the soul
That's hunger, pain, and glory
As the artist tells their story
Living your truth
And telling it straight
Is what sets some apart
The secret of the greats
Stop fumbling with that metre
Don’t fret over the rhyme
Pour your soul onto the paper
Pull the tears from our eyes
 Nov 2018
ryn
So that my fist
would relent and bloom
like a flower
given rain and sun.

So that one day
it might unfurl
to willingly take what comes.
Most of the people hate isolation
only a few taking it as blessing
and such is the one I'm talking about.

What if the familiar have shunned me,
he would say, the world is now mine,
to the strangers I bare my heart,
as they do to me, a complete stranger,
in the once and possibly the only meet
between people otherwise divided
exchanging thoughts and contacts
sure no call would ever follow
but happy in the chance encounter.

He thus meets a melange of people,
the man whose wife fled with her lover,
the woman whose husband deserted her
but she still wears red in his name,
the son abandoned in childhood
the old woman disowned by son.

He takes all their sadness into him
and feels his own greatly diminished
thankful that fate hasn't been as harsh
or how he would have coped with
the misfortunes that befelled those strangers.

He bows his head, for in the isolation,
he knew how it hurts to be deprived of
what was obviously legitimate.
 Nov 2018
Logan Robertson
So he threw all his chips on red
Thought only of what was in his head
Which turned out to be shots of dread
For his seeds planted in young women's garden bed
Without nary water or breaking bread
Or nary knowing the breaches of his and her homestead
So he rushed down stranger's alley shed
On a runaway, wrongheaded cocky sled
Through her banks, he crashed her spread
Like a raging, raging thoroughbred
Nary was a thought of a rubber glove on his dragonhead
For the buried absence of love was in his heart of lead
There's his wife at home tucking their kids in their bunkbed
While he flirted with the forbidden apple instead
It was this night that lives in infamy for others to read this dread
For the news broke of a married man impregnating a young coed
Accosting such teen to what now proves to be his deathbed
Yet if he unwinds his c(l)ock and placed his chips on black he wouldn't have bled
Petering out the ills in his marriage he would have been freed
Now he shrivels in a shameful battle of what went through his head

Logan Robertson

10/05/2018
I came back to read this. What a maze. I see a little lab mice running through the corriders of temptation, going this way or that, looking for that sugar cube. I see it racing, like its addicted. Then I look back at this poem and see a correlation.
 Nov 2018
zebra
abstinence and cruel practice
old dancers have no feet
living our beliefs
in this house of rabies
a house of lies
lies that tell the truth
taught through the agony of disillusionment

the planets move
we do their dance
fire points
angles in motion

when they square
we are constrained
when opposed
swords cross
when trine
we are graced
always the dance of the other

the world whorls
strikes like lightning
breaking the nose of every beautiful thing


forcing their delusions
twisting metaphors of history
they smear the world

you are its hands, heart, spine
darkness tears and sighs

whispering feet on dark floors
send you their dreams
and construct inner mythology
to bend your will
always on its own side
redundantly unanimous in that
a real villain

an odyssey through your heart
thats how it gets inside you
while your hands remain folded
and your genitals sleep on a plate

dance school arcade pinballs planets
twisting wraith flies flying in circles, circling
in black mother
like hands on a clock
conveyance of ardor
born in the
palace of tears
=
inspired by sysperia
 Nov 2018
Sean Fitzpatrick
Oh sadness I now do invite
to dine with me whenever she pleases,
for I understand her loneliness,
therefor, let her be with me.

Oh sadness I now do trust,
for nothing more she wants but this,
to know another soul, to wit,
a name which satisfies memory.

Oh but sadness I now not know,
for what is her utmost depth,
do I trust myself to hold civility
when she at herself is best?
 Nov 2018
harlon rivers
.
There’s an ancient duct tape patched
roller suitcase still up in the attic,
scarred by sky miles and undiscerning
indifference;  it came to rest like a final breath
exhaled at the end of the long road ―

In the dusty rafters of silent repose  
the death of an alter-ego comes to life
and jars and jogs the  sleeping dogs 
that lay benign as a pothole riddled road

Holding onto memories buried alive,
hidden away remembered ― 
      sans wings to fly away
laid bare unweighed with the weight
of everything else garnered and saved
      subsisting in a shallow grave;
hoarded and hidden away breathing
locked up with the other baggage borne
       behind tired eyes

Feeling the ache of blood stained knees
falling down sullied at the side of the road
Hindsight and a roll of duct taped memories
linger;   stuck to the  grey bandage scars,
second guessing should have thrown out
with the permanently temporary
fading plasticized luggage name-tags
back when I was still close enough to care;
too many miles to reconsider  ago

Some say: "it's the journey not the destination"                                    .
Some day when its too late we'll know
Some day it will be too late to make amends
        for everything i could not be ...


           harlon rivers ... 07  06  2018
apologies for the inconsistent reading, posts and replies.  Internet access comes and goes up here off the grid

To anyone interested, this is a piece from a collection from the summer called TRAVELOGUE:   https://hellopoetry.com/collection/27104/travelogue/
 Nov 2018
Mike Hauser
Tickling of the fancy
Tainting of the tongue
They'll have you 100 proof
Before the day is done
Fill your mind with hatred
All in the name of love

Deadman
When will you wake up

Hail for you a taxi
Giving you a ride
Windows black front and back
So you can't see outside
Yes, Virginia, there is a clause
A case of do or die

Deadman
When will you open up your eyes

They have you follow orders
Marching to the beat
Zombiefied look in your eyes
Shuffling of the feet
It's hard to see the truth
When you don't see the need

Deadman
When will you believe
She wakes me up deep in the night.

I understand you, she smiles
snuggling into me, her nose,
pressed cotton soft on my cheek

I have no strength, I cry
not one, for you

I love your weakness
love you for your weakness
her breath wafts into mine

and the boy stuck in his age
floats in the web
of the girl forever
forgiving.
Next page