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 Apr 2016
chimaera
thoughts,
speeding,
a fuzz of neon lights,
a buzzing of highways,
what was what i was to do?,
chocolat, please,
or not,
a gag upon it,
a shut down,
oh the vertigo
of the echoes,
have a drink,
red velvet wine,
your lips, lend me
your tongue, oh my,
delusional again,
okay,
one, two, three,
what?, counting helps,
or maybe going alphabetically
through words, a for
whatever,
hey, who cares,
let it be,
no train is endless
(hopefully)
20.04.2016
 Apr 2016
Syd
it still hurts in a way that's hard for you to explain to those who have never had to live every day knowing there are still pieces of your heart stuck inside someone else's chest. so what. so you still wear his old t-shirts to bed even though you know you should have thrown them out months ago, there are texts and photos on your phone that you can't bring yourself to erase no matter how many tears streak your face or how many times your heart breaks all over again. every single day you think of calling him, but only certain days are bad enough for you to actually contemplate it: days that used to be important and hold value - his birthday, your birthday, your anniversary, holidays - but then the obvious days turn into days where it hurts so deep that you look for reasons to call; it's raining and you want to say hey, remember that time we were in Sandusky and it thunderstormed so hard our whole hotel shook and lightening illuminated Lake Erie? remember how I was so scared, and you held me all night long? or when it's midnight and you throw on his old clothes even though they stopped smelling like his cologne an eternity ago, their cotton hasn't touched his skin in months but you wear them anyway because you resonate with that feeling, and you think of calling just to say that you wish you could feel him one last time. you do. you wish you could drive to his house again, you still know the way so well you could do it with your eyes closed, sneak up to his bedroom and crawl into bed with him even though you both complained it was too small for two people, you wish you could zip your fingers together like an old jacket, familiar and warm, you wish you could bury your face into his chest and smell his skin again, feel his lips kiss the top of your head as if this constituted saying I love you, I missed you out loud. the truth is you're more than well aware any combination of these things are very unlikely to ever occur, but that doesn't stop you from wishing, from picking up stray pennies or blowing out everyone else's birthday candles. do you remember the first time you saw a shooting star. how you were with him and how it felt a little like fate. you want to call him and tell him that you've never been so broken. that you believe you can go backward, because you don't see a forward that you like. but you can't. so instead you keep his name buried underneath your tongue. you don't cry when you miss him because no one understands it anymore; too much time has passed. get over it already. you keep his sweaters warm inside your dresser drawers and you wash the sheets weekly because they smell like someone else now. the bed never stops feeling empty. there are eight stop lights between your house and his, and this distance has never looked more red.
 Apr 2016
spysgrandson
I visited her cottage each month, never
staying the night

through her window by the oak table
we watched the surf

on days when the sea was angry, we could hear
the waves crack against earth's spare spine

those times I liked, for she would hold my hand,
tightly, like I was her tether to the wide world

I would leave as the sun set, the moment a million
gold sparkles vanished from the waters

when I found her, I pretended she was asleep
but her eyes were open and still

staring it seemed through the same window
I sat with her and rubbed her cold hand

I stayed until the sun sank into the same salty sea
wondering if the old tales were true...

if a billion tears had flowed into the blue depths
making a soulful brine

I know mine fell on the soggy sand, disappearing
in the dusk that swallowed my tracks
I believe gwyll is Welsh for dusk or darkness
 Apr 2016
Sia Jane
When you've lived between the shadows
Only awakening the true self
When the sky casts a dark net
Shielding any visibility
When you've not switched a light
On to the colour of your soul
Terrified of knowing
The vicissitudes of the seasons
Within your own heart
It takes a mighty girl to rise
To look herself in the eye
No longer whispering those lies
To face her own truth*

© Sia Jane
15/4/16
Day 15 of a "Poem a Day" for April 2016
 Apr 2016
Don Bouchard
Acid notes have just begun;
When the mellowness is gone,
Acrid memories linger on.

Embrace the rush into unknowns,
Treasure pleasure's fleeting tones,
Know sorrows come when they are gone.

Pile up the dulcet memories;
In summer load your treasuries;
Lay up the sweetnesses of life
To feast upon in coming strife.
Pensive Moments.... Good Times, and Bad.
 Apr 2016
Jamie L Cantore
My Dying Love ne'er betrayed my faith,
but speak to me in whispers .......quaint
did she; hung her head as if to saith,
I love you so, but by dear love, I faint;
faint for thee, Love, forever, and a day...
could ne'er be complete, but for pains;
A pain we two feel when we together lay.
In the hearts of glee; in the eyes of saints;
giving all that was taken back in spades!
Black as pitch was my heart upon that day,
but ivory white was she -without a ******
in mine eye: but Death took her anyway;
to my surprise, she smiled -I was dismayed
as she rode into the shadows with Hades.
I saw my Persephone, she was saved; saved
for thee -the god of Death -and by six seeds!
six months she spent with me, butthey've
withered mine heart as have my griefs.
 Apr 2016
The Dedpoet
How long I have been in the dark....

A fate less holy,
A mission undefined,
Heart that cries,
Tears that bleed,
The abysmally charged traveller
That I have become walking
Until tendons fade away,
So my knees have scraped
The fugitive hope of the ravine.

        The space of loneliness
        Between these shoulders
        And the tunnelling that
        Devours the necessity to seek
        Out a hope,
        Something to fight for.

Saving grace within the dark,
Because dark is not dark
Without the light to show
Its depths,
its attachments to the misery,
This Earth, home of humanity
Trampled by the inner search,
The strength of hope is the light
Of the world.

Oh but the ravine does not falter,
Its crescent flow like a carving
Knife to cut away any luminous
Idea, the idea that cannot die,
And we are all formed in the light
As we leap into the abyss
In a battle for the sanctum of the soul.

     Where is the philosophy?
     The ideal that love can conquer
     Love, faith of the child
     In the blind advent?
     From the origins of water,
     Many drown in the depressing
     Motion of the blind lights that
     Surround them.

Hope is not sterile,
The idea cannot die,
Familiar to the dark,
Because we overcome,
The obliterated redemption
Is but the whole of the world
Saying you cannot.
Confronting the sea as a rock
To the crashing waves,
Bewildered by marches on the darkness,
Battered and bruised,
At the edge of death,
Purpose is here as we open the light
And reveal the eyes we always had.

     Deep, deep into the dark,
     We have been thrown as swift
     Grenades of light, the explosion sudden,
      The sight revealingly hopeful.

And God is watching the children
He made from dust to confront
Ourselves in a battle of reflection,
Every mirror needs the light
To see the truth of themselves,
Here the nocturnal night
Fights for every soul,
Dancing at the depression,
The sadness of menacingly
Prideful elitism.

    Sweat, these deep meanings,
    Who wants to think on them?
    Ignorance, blissful warrior
     Of the dark,
      Death to the fire inside
      That fashions the sleep or hope,
      The individual loses that which makes
     Them, and here in lies the ravine
     And its war.

Outcast, fighter of the dark,
Depressed warrior,
there is a form of light
In the confusing shadows,
Away from that voicelessness
That does speak,
Shed the ancestral burden,
Leaping from one horror
To the next horror,
Reveal that which is hope,
When you from before when God
Molded you as a form of light,
And though you may think
That you are just a flash,
Remember that every star twinkled
Its light before the last gasp.

Come out and reveal
The fire that yearns,
Feed the hope as a fire
That swells, a fire that burns.
You are the instruments of new
Beginnings, that which
Was rejected, that which was cast
Away like falling winds,
Winds that bkew you to another day,
We pass daily from the darkness,
As if from sleep,
We battle now in the void.

And though we are small
In the vast darkness,
We shine as cosmically gifted
Luminaries, shining as
Fragments in the night,
Eternal hope, a form of light.
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