Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 Jun 2017
Rustle McBride
Somewhere in the Eden,
where man has lost his right to even go,
somewhere in this Garden
man killed all that once did grow.

To prove we are pathetic
we invade lands that have no walls
Claim the land, and all its living
and make them subject to our laws.

Now, the water dark with death,
and the shore line rich with crude,
and its the men who now can't fish
who are the one's so quick to sue.

But, who speaks for the otters?
or the eagles?
or the land?
What attorney represents them
in the unnatural court of man?

Yet, to even just repay them,
for destroying their families, lives and homes?
The best way we could start?
Is just get out. Leave them alone.
On the Exxon Valdez oil spill
 Jan 2017
unwritten
on tuesday,
dylann roof was sentenced to his death.
on tuesday we tried
to make one body feel like nine.
to make one body feel like justice.
on tuesday we said
there has got to be some price to pay
for entering the house of god
with a sinful tongue
and a handgun.

today,
six days later,
we remembered the rev. dr. martin luther king, jr.
we looked at the world,
called it a place with potential for change,
called it that because there has to be some softer way
to look at bloodshed,
for sanity’s sake.
if not then
all that remains is a solitary image of dr. king rolling in his grave because he knows,
knows that breathless black bodies
are a constant,
are transcenders of time,
whether sunken in rivers,
hung from taut ropes,
or bathing in blood on historic church floors,
singing, singing, screaming, shrill
for some messiah bringing mercy, mercy, mercy.

felicia sanders wants mercy:
prays for it, wills it down from up above,
unfolded from the hands of god
so that it might fall upon the head and in the eyes
and within the very being
of the man who killed her son.


it takes a certain grace —
one so foreign to me i can hardly write of it —
to see god in such men who deliberately defy Him,
to ask that heaven’s gates
be so indiscriminate and overt.
i would want him to burn for this.
but it is not my say,
not my life,
not my long, resounding, unflinching “hallelujah!”
not my certain type of grace.

breathless black bodies
are a constant,
are transcenders of time, a recurring motif.
but so too, then, is the black body full
of breath,
that inhales and exhales faith
without ceasing.

such is the black body
that sees a little bit of god in dylann roof,
that prays that he prays for forgiveness,
that thinks there to be but one kingdom,
and he, too,
a worthy subject.

the solitary image of dr. king rolling in his grave
is not a surprise.
the black body has always known
so well
how to die.

but felicia sanders hopes her son’s killer finds mercy.
perhaps the one thing the black body has always known better
is how to love.

(a.m.)
written 1.16.17 in honor of MLK day, and of the charleston church shooting victims. #blacklivesmatter, today, tomorrow, and always
 Mar 2015
Overwhelmed
what comforts can you offer
to a person who smiled
when he was told

“you’re dying”

and he lived?
 Mar 2015
Overwhelmed
too proud to quit
too proud to improve
the noble poet died
as quietly as he
could
 Mar 2015
One4u2nv
As a child I would eat crayons and then purge oceans onto paper.
 Mar 2015
Muggle Ginger
She said, "I can't swim"
With a voice so confident
The ocean believes
They're still best friends.
 Mar 2015
ThePoet
Cry me an ocean,

not a river

I like depth,

not flow

©
 Jan 2015
ryn
How much do you have to hate life,
to not be scared of death?
- ThePoet


I'd be lying if I said I wasn't
Because I really am afraid
But life has only sharp things
Wonder if death is willing to trade...

Longing
...a splinter
Embedded in the recesses of my core
Nestled deep, this tiny thorn
The source of my disconcerting sore

Need
...a shard
That stabs itself deep
Extract it I will not
Think it's worth the keep

Miss
...a knife
With never a dull blade
Stabs itself right through
Pain that will never fade

Want
...a syringe
Injecting the good and bad
Side effects loom
Driving me quite mad

Love
...a stake
Rammed into my heart
It doubles me over
It rips me apart

Life*
...a spike
Impaling without fail
Siphoning my soul
Through the holes in my mail


These are the few sharp things that I own
The only things I've learnt to savour
I've nurtured them large; now fully grown
Always wondered what death has got to offer...
Line taken off ThePoet's "How?", for Frank Ruland's "I Love Doing Lines!" challenge.

This line left me speechless when I first read it. It boasts of so few words but bears so much weight. It's smart, thought provoking and amazingly deep.
I started toying with it and came up with a response.

I am a big fan of ThePoet. I find that her entries exhibit uncanny wisdom, well laid thoughts and they're incredibly captivating.
Here's to you, ThePoet...
Thank you for the inspiration!
.
 Jul 2014
Taru Marcellus
Love Always
the tunnel
the end of it all
bursting through like shrapnel
the city lights singing the perfect song
as the wind snaps along

Love Always
the Glory Days
and the songs that capture them
and the stages that make them
and the plays on the field
that will be played and replayed for a lifetime

Love Always
the island of misfit toys
where bubbles cause as much awe
as the eighth that inspired them
from the Big Boy to the eighteenth green
you will all make my typewriter

Love Always
the holidays
the people around the table and the t.v.
too stubborn to speak their cares
both the M * A * S * H  episodes
and the long rides home

Love Always
the books
the books and the characters and the morals
and the books
and the teachers that shared  them
we accept the love we think we deserve

Love Always
Charlie
 Jun 2014
r
The sun
rose again
today.
God sighed,
looked away.  
Jesus wept.

r ~ 5/18/14
 Jun 2014
SG Holter
This familiar road. Same bus
Every morning for
Seven years,
Yet never
Noticed

The oak tree
On that field
Until
Now.

A majestic crown of
Darkest green upon
Wood as solid as
Boats and homes.

Growing as slowly
As it wants.

It can.
Next page