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 Jan 2015
Kathryn Dixon
You fade...
Like a bruise.

Like the ones your mouth left on my neck and shoulders with its lustful pressure.
Your teeth, which brought moments of bright pain/pleasure,
Are now bared in an artificial, animal smile.

Your lips, which parted to ******* skin like it was salvation,
Barely part now to speak to me.
You whispered my name like a prayer.
You screamed it like a curse.
You sighed it in contentment,
And now you won't even speak it in passing.

Your hands, which half-playfully pulled my hair...
Now won't pause to brush it from my face.

All these parts of you,
None more telling than your eyes.
Those new windows, which once let me pry...
Now have blinds drawn tight behind them,
Leaving only a pretty, shiny reflection-
A passing, glancing imitation-
Of the passion they once held
When they beheld
Me.

No color left to them but the muddy colors of
Boredom,
And possibly mistrust.

You fade...
Like a bruise.
Like the one you left on my mind with your brilliant conversation
And beautiful, rusty prose.
Like the many you left on my tongue...
Which now can speak nothing but trite and meaningless words,
Which now can barely remember the shapes
Of all the shimmering, liquid phrases it spoke to you
That seemed so important at the time.

You fade...
Like a bruise.
Once lover and friend,
Now barely one
And never the other again.
 Jan 2015
Sarah Spang
If I was a mountain

That soared towards the sky,

With craggy snow caps

And stormy grey eyes-



Then you'd be the clouds

That swaddled my peak,

That silenced my thunder

When I tried to speak.



If I was the earth

The desert, in fact:

With arid dry soil

And mud, baked and cracked-



You'd be the rain

The downpour that soothed;

The balm to my bruises,

Relief to my wounds.



If I was the Moon

In the indigo night,

With stars as my blanket

And silver; my light-



Well you'd be the Sun

Just always behind

That lent me your glow

And caused me to shine.
The season's
in treason
against the breathing
and breeding
of we  men,
because we believe  in
decreasing
the seeding
of trees  and
plants feeding.
Just wait and see, Mother Earth will decimate itself of this disease we call man kind, including myself. I wont invoke it either, I wanna see the ground give way, I'm praying for tidal waves, Mom's gonna fix it.
 Jan 2015
Wanderer
Our relationship with the Earth
Can be defined by two choices
Parasitic or Symbiotic
We choose to be fleas
*Why not choose to be Pilot fish?
We can all live together harmoniously
Yet our first thought seems to always be immediate gratification
What can I get now?
Instead of what can I give now?
 Jan 2015
SG Holter
My father gave me the
Last of his wine.
Thus leaving the rest of that
Habit behind.
His eyes, once blue like skies
Over sea,
Were grey with regret when
He gave it to me.
The older you grow, the
Better it sits,
The bitterness clouding both
Wisdom and wits.
I'm glad he won't know
How well I understand
How much the bottle can
Steal from a man.
If anything's off in your
Body or soul,
If angry or lonely or
Not feeling whole,
The first things to toss so your
Boat doesn't sink,
Are the barrels and bottles marked:
Too Much to Drink.
 Jan 2015
darling iridescence
i find it kinda funny how the inuits have fifty words
for snow... yet there is only one word for "love" in English.
Oh yes there's different "love"
 Jan 2015
Peter Cullen
The forest hides so many things,
the leprechauns,
the fairies wings,
among the life that nature brings,
listen to the warbler sing.
And all along the forest trails,
raindrops pour
as nature sways,
each thing on its own sweet way,
passing with the grace of day.
Capture it inside your mind,
trap it well within your core.
The forest lives
and breaths with time,
always leaves you wanting more.
Lost upon the forest floor.
 Jan 2015
Brittle Bird
No, I am not alone
I turn to the sky
and glisten with the same stars
that touch the whole world
and I am not tired
My face is hidden in shadows
covered in blood, sweet
and tears as well
but I am alive.
I feel the gravel beneath
and between my bare toes
That prickling fire air
only sparks me more
Everything is heightened
in my scope of mind
and screaming with life
I know it deep down
like a charge through my bones
and remember that I used to feel alone
but now I look up into
her eyes, the universe
and know it was never true
I run past the illuminated windows
of lives people have built
for themselves
and even feel connected
to what they represent
I make my decision and begin to fly
the distance from lonely
growing inside
My roots are unwinding
and finally
ripping free
from all the cages
I made throughout my years
I take the forest path
in the comfort of dark
so that I can be alone
but won't have to feel alone.
I sit among the towering old trees and
I breathe
a deep gulp of the universe
It is calm and eccentric
and everything at once
It breathes
I breathe
and I am not alone
not ever
wherever we are
we are not
alone.
Thought I'd share one of my earliest poems, found in a journal entry. This is a lot longer than I normally do, but I had to include it all.
 Jan 2015
Brittle Bird
These words all climb up,
sit on the tip of my tongue...
and then I swallow.
I can't hold on to these ideas;
unholdable things are my biggest challenge and my greatest joy.
 Dec 2014
Emmy
I want to softly whisper
incomplete poems
on your collar bones
that don't rhyme with anything
but your heavy breathing.

I want to bury my face
in the curves of your neck
because you smell like the winter clouds
and I've been gazing at the sky
since you left.
 Oct 2014
bones
She's an alphabet artist
she paints in words,

from a palette of adjectives,
nouns and verbs,

the landscape she finds
in the folds of her mind

she exhibits in volumes of verse.
I saw you but a glimpse
a distance in the night
we once were so right ...

It was another hidden day
as my restless mind wandered
in dreams of you ...

Your velvet kiss was there
your fingertips down my back
your heated gaze singeing ...

Lovers soot upon my skin
a forbidden, sweet, nonsensical
magical sin ...

My wanting overwhelms me
remembering our secret,
clandestine day dream ...

You my desperate addition,
tears my conscience to shreds
can you hear me screaming ...

There you were in my hidden day
you saw my tears and you turned away
why can't I have you, my hidden love ...

When I close my eyes, there you are
just like before
in my hidden days ...

Debbie Brooks 2014
 Sep 2014
Sylvia Plath
Cut
for Susan O'Neill Roe

What a thrill ----
My thumb instead of an onion.
The top quite gone
Except for a sort of hinge

Of skin,
A flap like a hat,
Dead white.
Then that red plush.

Little pilgrim,
The Indian's axed your scalp.
Your turkey wattle
Carpet rolls

Straight from the heart.
I step on it,
Clutching my bottle
Of pink fizz. A celebration, this is.
Out of a gap
A million soldiers run,
Redcoats, every one.

Whose side are they one?
O my
Homunculus, I am ill.
I have taken a pill to ****

The thin
Papery feeling.
Saboteur,
Kamikaze man ----

The stain on your
Gauze Ku Klux ****
Babushka
Darkens and tarnishes and when
The balled
Pulp of your heart
Confronts its small
Mill of silence

How you jump ----
Trepanned veteran,
***** girl,
Thumb stump.
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