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 Sep 1
Emirhan Nakaş
ace
I never wanted to play my ace,
Never wanted to say goodbye to your face.
We built our castle brick by brick, now it's all a waste
You probably think "so cruel" but, in my mind i still visit our wrecked place

Sitting in front of my memory bank, just to see your innocent gaze,
I don't know what i'm doing rather than grieving these days
My brains seems to love our past moments, every night it finds them,
Them, in front of me it lays
 Sep 1
Lou Romano
The moon was but a sliver of a smile in the sky
It followed me relentlessly as my world passed me by
I kind of like being followed by a smile,
Haven’t had one myself in quite a while
So I smile back at that waning moon
And drive on, drive on in my motor car cocoon
Wrote this at 70 MPH going down the expressway and dictating to my phone. Took me 13 miles to complete. The moon really was smiling at me!
Time! Time! Time !
The great eraser of me

Watch ! . . .  as I pace  
this cage of days
that is leeching me

I was the fool . . .
nothing was ever going to
placate me

Just look around !
The walls are bare
There are boxes of pictures
that will never get their chance to stare

Huh !
Time . . . the great eraser
of me


https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=l2cXXdCIClI&si=gmIFFxqNLcJUS1Bk
 Sep 1
Aditya Roy
The same sweeping rhythm
A cold winter fades
Quick as the summer settles
And the spring walks in like a dear friend

A bird on a solitary tree sings
Every morning in springtime
The flower flutter in a sprightly dance
In utter delight

While the rain drains the skies
The rhythm lives on
And I, in hopes of spring
But I too am like the rain

Take my love in bundles of flowers
I carry it on my shoulder
It is springtime
The blossoms have fallen asleep
Yucca wind cuts through my coat,
the markers blur and fade.
I rode a while on golden dice
and now I walk in gray.

The sun still hangs, a blistered coin,
A whisper left of heat.
I shake dust
from a hollow skull
and drift on tired feet.

Cantinas hum their broken hymns,
the meek slip into pews,
they trade their vows for bottle rims
and saviors they can use.

The stew’s been warmed and left to cool,
her smile is soft and deep.
I pull a blanket to her chin,
watchover while she sleeps.

Their toys lie mute in cedar drawers,
their shoes set by the door,
and she still scrubs the cracking tile
as if we could make more.

I left my heart in a canyon’s jaw,
too hard to dig it free,
and let the desert keep it warm,
the way her hands keep me.
 Aug 31
Kiki Dresden
Infidelity (noun) \ ˌin-fə-ˈdel-ət-ē \
Betrayal of a vow. Or whispered otherwise, the first time Coyote tasted the salt of my wrist, when lightning seemed to have waited to arrive. Grandmother would call it shadow-marriage, the reminder that paper rings and courthouse oaths cannot bind the spirit. It flowers soft and fragrant, sweet as mesquite after rain.

Myth (noun) \ ˈmith \
A traditional story, especially one natural or social phenomena. Or in another tongue, to be called Inanna while pulling my hair back, as if the goddess herself had crawled from shadow to breathe on his neck. I laugh because I’m no goddess- just a woman with cracked nails and unpaid bills. Still, myth enters flesh like fever, and we burn until the walls drip with story.

Body (noun) \ ˈbä-dē \
The physical vessel. Or in broken voice, the altar on which every promise is tested. My body knows what paper cannot: the way desire bruises, the way grief leaves its thumbprint. Flesh remembers long after the mind has lied itself clean.

Eros (noun) \ ˈer-ˌäs \
Passionate love. Or named differently, a hunger that follows, like a stray through desert parking lots, its tongue bright with need. Eros offers scraps, sometimes nothing, and still I remain, hollow with wanting, certain one day I will eat from his palm. He is no child, he comes like a jackal-god- wild, luminous, not easily bound.

Pulchritude (noun) \ ˈpəl-krə-ˌtüd \
Beauty. Or carried on another breath, the ache. I see him sketching a body not mine, tracing hips that could belong to any girl at the bus stop. I know beauty is a weapon sharpened against me. Still, in his eyes I find fragments- cheekbones my father gave me, hair dark as my mother’s shame- briefly holy, before the mirror cuts again.

Unravel (verb) \ ˌən-ˈra-vəl \
To come undone. Or in another telling, the way every thread between us shivers like a web in prairie wind- fragile, trembling, already near to breaking. Spider Grandmother whispers that love weaves and unweaves in the same breath. The art lies in knowing when to let the strands snap, and when to hold fast, even as your hands begin to bleed.
 Aug 31
Unpolished Ink
Do I yearn for you,
not much,
I miss the lightness of your touch
the warmth of hands that held my own,
memory tells me I am not alone
yet you are gone,
the heart I used to hold
a wounded bird which faded into air,
yes I miss you sometimes,
but only when you are not there
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