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 738° 
K J McCarthy
Still as a statue
Like a moss covered stone
A big waking stretch
Met with sighs and soft groans
Struggling eye lids reluctantly open
As the sun peaks over the horizon
Projecting on the ceiling of our room
Woken by the hectic morning commute
Time ticking and stuck in traffic
Suits late for business meetings
The relief of being free from productivity
While the rest of the population is busy
I could stay here for eternity
Rotting with you in this sheet covered sanctuary
Cold feet from stolen covers
Play fighting and morning breath kisses
Here in your natural habitat
Make shift pajamas consist of my over sized band tee
No bra just ******* and disheveled hair
Naturally beautiful in anything that you wear
Today is free of responsibilities
I wish every day could be like this
Only stepping outside for that post *** cigarette
In our own little Universe
Lost in those sparkling eyes and coffee flavored lips
Binge watching our favorite horror flicks
Amused by your every movement
How you talk with your hands
I don't want this day to end
I could live a life with you just rotting away
and I'd die a happy man
 601° 
Rick
words that hang like shutters
from broken hinges.

words that hover like nurses
after surgery.

words that splatter like
thin remorse.

I heave with sickness
when they arrive.

I spring with ebullience
when they leave the ** dunk
parts of my mind.

these words
these ******* words
that show up in Pontiacs,
in Plymouths, in Pintos

these nonsensical,
satirical,
antiquated words.

they charge at you
like a dead bovine
swinging from a meat hook.

they crawl towards you
like a silverfish
out of the sink drain.

they creep up on you
like an old ***
rattling a change cup.

why? I ask myself.

why does this happen?

I don’t want this kind of ailment;
give me
bee stings
or bedsores
or steam burns
but not these words,

these words that linger like shingles
across the ribcage of burning torment.

I pray without ceasing
towards a signified God.

I pray for simple sacrifice;

I want suicide rather than poetry.
I want a cow without milk.
I want a statue without structure.
I want a woman without grace.

I can feel the floodgates opening soon
and I think I’m going to puke my guts
out all over this page again.
 483° 
Left Foot Poet
Sabbath 7:31am Jan 11, 2025
<•>
For later, forecast proclaims:

snow showers for much of the day,
but in our temperate clime, rarely
do we get inches or feats of accumulation,
but it will be chill enough to turn my
heavy duty “Icer” navy coat to its
whiteout version, where the flakes
individually attach themselves to
to fat fabric for self-preservation,
displaying their distinct DNA patterns of intricate crystallization artwork on a
gallery of me…

assuredly, some will attach to eyelashes
and extruded tongue, perhaps inhaled,
in nostril and open mouth, as I employ
all my senses to retain, retrain, my brain,
to walk alongside a saltwater estuary that
welcomes every flake as a long lost son and
daughter, who has returned from its prodigal global journey around the world, to melt back into a mother’s currents embrace, returning
home to my patch of briefly occupied spatial, white palatial existence

I anticipate the taste of snow to be a
multi~flavored cone, souvenirs, accrued
while globe trotting, with hints ofAsian
spices, on a riverbed of Italian red
peppery tomato sauce, the crusty
spicy fabric of the fried chickpeas of the Middle East, the cilantro stinging of Latin continents,and pretend that my nature
wetted cheeks  are so because I cry & walk alone, sadness flavored, wishing I could partake of this snowy journey repast, with you by my side, for how much better would this global travelled whirlpool repast  of white ice and scented airs, tastes if it could be joyfully shared

but I am by myself,
sensibly refused companionship
by others, and my
voyaged meditation now,
well ended,
well recall,
Whitman’s Song of Myself (1) conclusion:
                          
You shall not look through my eyes either, nor take things from me,
You shall listen to all sides and filter them from your self


join me?
(1).  https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/45477/song-of-myself-1892-version
 360° 
Emma
Beneath the weight of infinite skies,

her eyes, two wells of drowning sighs.

A tear, like a wounded star, descends,

tracing the map where sorrow bends,

and love, unspoken, forever ends.
Been up all night and am in no mood for social interaction today.
 306° 
onlylovepoetry
entombed to die together.,

prisoner utters these words to
their lover~companion,
who has joined him freely, and
that conceptual, hardly casual,
resonates, pinging my sonar
brain long after the famous
opera concludes, leading me
unforced to the writing table…

Saturday 2:1l:25 9:27AM

now, after having lived and
loved for well over 25,000 days,
there is much data to review
much of it corrupt & corrupted,
and of course, it must be done
man-u-ally (manually), and
will require filtering to edit
out the natural edits that the
fog of war, time, and the innate
human desire to improve one’s
recorded history, I conclude;

Not only have I loved others
desperately,

beyond reason and sensibility,
but more than once,
more than twice,
more than my
faltering courage dare confess…

remembering the physical manifestations, is almost eerily too easy,
to recall the angst, physicality
of loving too well,
heart chested pain worthy of a doctor visit,
desperate hunger feeding on/off
of depression costuming as dreary sadness,
but so overtaking that I am the
cliche of the human berefetted of
all energy, except for periodic moaning,
visitors refused, sleeplessness my
only steady companion

writing worse poetry
than this,
dialing, hanging up, repeatedly,
paths crossing in hallways,
and breaking me down to
aching breaking pieces

later,
when all grownup,
deserted wife and children
for the restoration of another
woman’s love,
but dragged down by
actions & inactions,
she wearied of my agoniste
and left me to
treble tremble when the weight
of the load, they/I
put right on me

now, sipping my morning 3-cuppa of
Caribbean brown beans,
my fresh eyes tearing,
my internal tearing
myself up/down,
half in mocking, half in sympathy
for the lost soul once was,
no longer desperate
but nonetheless joyous that
more than once I was mired
in a state so encompassing
and compressing,
was overruled overrun
overcome
with the gain and the pain
of loving desperately
and happy contented
that it shall not happily happen again,
for my poor heart already repaired
by a heart surgeon,
but with damage left from
life’s and loving’s accidents and accumulations, muscles weakened,
parts clogged with memories
beyond repair,
if loving desperately should come back
one last time,
winking, he’s thinking, ha,
for last licks,

*!it would be in a closing act sorta way,
a great fitting fitful accomplishment to die,
one last time, desperately in love!
i want you
to know who i am
i want you
to see my dripping colors
the melted rainbow inside me
i want you
to see my ugly red raw rage
my beautiful deep
blue love
my green forgiveness
and sympathy
my purple
rational thinking
my logic
feel my point of view
like a prism
and i want you
to hear my voice
when i sing
i want you to
listen to my songs
and i want
your real
opinion.

all i want is
to listen to music with you.
i made this really good song. i wish he was here so i could share it with him.
 224° 
K J McCarthy
Warm bourbon bottle company
I won't need you anymore
Once the last drop is emptied
Ill sing myself a song of sadness
And fall asleep right where you left me
 224° 
Ksenija Ostojić
One two,
one two,
deep breaths.

Shaking crying,
what am I feeling?
its bad and short but im busy writing a book on wattpad Courage. Check it out im Ksenija Ostojic on wattpad i uploaded few books.
 212° 
We Are Stories
Waiting is good enough
Suffering is good enough
A valley is good enough
I’m tired of being high up
There’s not enough air to keep up
There’s not enough pain to enjoy enough
 208° 
Hex
I reached for the moon to make it mine
But it stayed afar, content to shine
Just like your heart, so distant and divine.
 165° 
K J McCarthy
Calm seas have never produced
Skilled and able sailors
In the intensity of crashing waves
Is where you find your valor
Winds slashing, lightning flashing
No hurricane could make us cower
Calloused hands grip rope with strength
Moonlight guides our darkest hours
Treacherous times, character defining
Crow eyes survey, suspended in the tower
Battle tested facing death, ready for any challenge
Our sails stand true, unwavering in thrashing showers
Razor blade rain soaks salt stained skin
Quitting just isnt a viable option
We need to prove it to ourselves that we can make it through this
Dark clouds take the shape of haunting faces
Taunting us with their sneering glowers
Fear crys out but the voice of courage sings louder
Surviving is the proof of ability, for which we search and scour
Empowered by overcoming what means to devour us
Rain accumulates into oceans of wisdom
Experience blossoms, self confidence flowers
If we hide when life gets rough

We will never know our power
 146° 
silent echo
"Babe."

"Yes, Bertha?"

"I'm starving. Make us a cheese sarnie, will ya?"

"Okay, my precious. Will you be coming downstairs to eat it?"

"Nah, I'll have it here in bed. I'm having a lazy day."

"Right, okay."

"Oh, and babe..."

"Yeah?"

"Love you."

"I love you too."
 137° 
Thomas Burge
Laying next to you right now
I feel so at peace
The world falls silent
And now you're asleep
You are my world
You are my sun
You give me life
And I sleep well
Knowing you'll be my light
Thank you for the mornings
 135° 
Tye
There is a sweeping wind
Blowing over the hills,
From the tips of redwoods,
Down to the sage in the valley,
Looking to blow away the dust of today,
And bring in the ash of tomorrow.
 126° 
Darkeseed
Your dream is your dream
My dream is mine
When we held this truth
We fell in love

Your dream is my dream
My dream is yours
When we embraced this illusion
We became lovers

My dream is your dream
Your dream is mine
When we fell to this delusion
Our hearts broke

Your dream is my dream
My dream is mine
When we return to this truth
We will know the loving way
Reflections on the Toltec dream
 121° 
David R
dry as a beggar's over-parched throat
an over-burnt piece of blackened rye-toast
as the golden sand in Sahara roast
was the air o' the day of the black death-note

as the air crackled with the laughter of death
and claimed the millions as it left bereft
daughters of the earth their heart a-cleft
from the breath of the devil with the head of Macbeth

Houses, untenable, ditched searing memories,
Turned sarcophagi from life and its treasuries
Scorched skeletons of sagas and histories,
Of family feuds, celebrations and victories,
Of open secrets and whispered mysteries,

Years of toil blest by sunbeams,
The laughter of babes and the giggle of teens,
Now fractured windows and ash blackened beams,
Skeletal remains of life and its dreams.
BLT Word of the Day Challenge #untenable
 118° 
Chloe
I smell his shirt and the scent is a distant yet close memory, it's too familiar
I cry

It hurts it hurts it hurts

Why don't you feel the same
Do you miss me?
You don't

It hurts, it hurts, it hurts

I want to disappear
leave this all behind,
But I can't

I'm empty, more than lonely

It hurts it hurts, I hurt myself

I'm waiting, waiting and I don't know why
When you've moved on
I'm still here, waiting

I'm sorry, so sorry
 117° 
Diana
The softness I desire
Is vastly different from the rage
I was born into
 115° 
Maybetomorrow
I can’t quite place the feeling—
like I’ve known you forever
but still just met you.
Maybe this is what love feels like,
familiar and new at the same time,
too close and too far,
woven into everything that has ever come before,
and nothing at all.
 107° 
Khoisan
Look a head
Hell's kitchen
five stars it said.
A persons mind is a top demon hangout ?
 94° 
Germaine
you are the fire
burning in my heart

and on a lonely winter night
there is only desire

a candle bleeds wax
as you watch.

it drips, drips down
like the frost on your heated windows.

can you see my face as you look in a little closer

feel my rosy-cheeks
they are not red in heat

do you know of desire?

tell me about the fire.
 91° 
dead poet
sticking to my guns,
i never realized that
they’re pointing at me.
 79° 
Anais Vionet
(a poem in Haiku and Senryu)

Draw a stick figure
future - sadly diminished
and chaos ransomed.

Paint the landscape
with the sweltering glare
of global warming.

Add micro-plastic
and forever chemical
flavorings to taste.

Come share this
with me - let kisses heal and
soft whispers inflame.

Some locks need two keys
to open, some heavens can
be reached by mortals.
.
.
A song for this:
All Gone Away by The Style Council
Locks that require two keys are called ‘Dual Custody’ locks. They’re most common for bank deposit boxes.
Feel the skin you’re in
Against the seat you’re sat
And the air around
With your hand you pat
Hear the sounds around
Or the silent hum
Be aware of your being
And your presence in!
 73° 
Louis Aragon
Jours d'hivers Copeaux

Mon ami les yeux rouges

Suit l'enterrement Glace

Je suis jaloux du mort


Les gens tombent comme des mouches

On me dit tout bas que j'ai tort

Soleil bleu Lèvres gercées Peur

Je parcours les rues sans penser à mal

avec l'image du poète et l'ombre du trappeur


On m'offre des fêtes

des oranges

Mes dents Frissons Fièvre Idée fixe

Tous les braseros à la foire à la ferraille

Il ne me reste plus qu'à mourir de froid

en public.
 71° 
kel
call me a simp
or maybe a wimp
but i'm so down bad
that i've gone mad
every second spent
in torment
thinking about you
and feeling blue
while in the back of my mind,
i know that you don't know
my existence.
 71° 
Bijan Rabiee
Whenever I fell in love
With a receptive woman
She went away
Leaving me grieving
The death of chance
Till another woman came along
Making me hopeful for a while
And then she was no more
I kept up with the pull and push
Of this story till it was too late
To keep up with the intention
And I learned that falling in love
Was but a charming illusion
But a mirage of oasis
And the most beautiful lie.
 67° 
Jess
Realisation always knocks late,
followed by regrets creeping in,
ought to be carried for a long time,
destroying us little by little each day.

The greatest one I bear now,
making me die a little each day,
is that I let you go, not knowing,
leaving was a decision you'd regret.
Sorry for letting you go.
 66° 
SecondChoice
You touched me
You filled me 
You stretched me



You go so deep when you read me

Even deeper when you hurt me

Deeper still when you want me



My body reminisces on the warmth of you

My hands memorized the feel of you

My mind is so full of you
 63° 
Heidi Franke
Where you stand now,
can be moved.
It's either you or
the ground.
Is it light you seek
or darkness?
If you remain immovable
Like that thing in the street,
Tripping, your face will meet
The ground, hard.

Lay ****** and bruised,
Defiant as the cement
That slapped your face.
It gets dark real fast
When all you hear is the mold
That lays you to rest.

Be alert and aware like
A library door.
Possibly your unnoticed
Life is awakened by
Words that wrap you with
History and comfort as if
Every minute is the opening
From a wrapper of your
Favourite candy. Live
In the trace of  light
Where you stand.
Listened to The New Yorker on YouTube. Public Defender” follows the work of Heather Shaner, a lawyer representing January 6th rioters, who works to confront America’s political divisions with empathy."
 63° 
David P Carroll
Humanity has walked
Away from Lord Jesus Christ
That's why natural disasters
And unnatural disasters take place
Everything is about Lord Jesus Christ
The true king of kings.
Lord Jesus Christ Of Nazerath
King God and Lord
Jesus Christ.
Nazareth Palestine 1900

Jesus Christ is God.
 61° 
Lydia
sometimes I wish you could make someone take back something they said
because as soon as they did,
the image you had of them in your mind explodes in an instant,
they are just like Them after all,
there’s the hate and prejudice and refusal to have empathy for others that seems to flow so freely these days,
no where feels safe anymore in a world where the people you love are part of the problem
 60° 
Geof Spavins
A zephyr whispers, bees awake,
But flowers hide for heaven’s sake.
Quick jabs of heat scorch dry land,
Yearn for lush, green fields, now bland.

Global warming brings such doom,
Vexes earth, steals nature’s bloom.
Fuzzy insects fight to find,
Their nectar kiss now left behind.

Polluted air and smoky skies,
Jails of human greed and lies.
Bold actions needed, none too late,
X-ray eyes to see our fate.
Global warming is a problem of our making and I don't see us having the will to fix it
 60° 
Bree17
i need something to do
anything
to get my
mind
to stop
spiraling

but i dont have the
energy
to
do
anything
anymore
even writing is draining me
the only thing left to do it sleep
 54° 
Xio
A villain is just a broken hero, whose story has never been heard,
A shadow cast by silence, lost in an unspoken word.
Their scars tell tales of battles, of love that slipped away,
Of dreams turned into ashes, and nights that stole the day.

In their eyes, a flicker lingers, of the light they used to know,
A hero wrapped in darkness, where pain and anger grow.
For even in their darkness, a longing heart remains,
A villain is just a hero, bound by unseen chains.
 51° 
Vanita vats
Sitting in dark
To see the light
Beyond the life
Sitting under the dense banyan tree
To see happenings inside me
To find peace from crowd
But monkey of thoughts
Making me afraid and not letting
me get the diamonds from peaceful mind
Suddenly a monkey came and sit with me
I was looking to him
He was looking to me
Fear made me statue
He plucked a branch from tree
Plucking each leaf and keeping in my lap
and disappeared
Gave me msg
"work on your problems one by one."
 50° 
José Hierro
Volví, volvía -con qué poca ilusión-
a donde tuve mis raíces, mis recuerdos, mi casa
frente al mar, y los árboles
plantados por mis manos, pisoteados por los niños,
comidos por los animales.
Mi casa junto al mar, más solariega
que otras, la que fue más hermosa que todas.
Con qué poca ilusión volvía.

Cárdenas tierras húmedas y soleadas, trigos
color de aquellos ojos, pincelada morada
sobre lo verde, allá en Vivar del Cid,
murallas de olmos negros, amapolas,
verdes sombríos por Entrambasmestas,
platas de la bahía, con qué poca ilusión
pasaba por vosotros.

Cómo se puede vaciar así
un corazón. Cómo se puede
llorar así, por dentro. Frustraciones o muertes
nada me arrancó lágrimas desde aquellos aviones
los que volaban sobre mí y arrasaban mi mundo
sin que arrojasen bombas, ni ametrallasen: sólo
con el ruido de sus motores,
demasiado terrible para mí entonces y ahora.

Qué quedó de mi vida entre sus alas.
Qué en la música oída en la noche,
la que vestía nuestra desnudez
mientras caía el agua cálida, qué gozo, el agua...
Qué se hundió por aquellas escaleras
precipitadas en la noche.
Qué congeló la luna que iluminaba las fachadas.
Qué llevó la marea en la playa de octubre.

Cómo es posible edificar,
reconstruir con tantos materiales
disueltos en el tiempo,
gastados por la lluvia que no vimos caer...

Volví, volvía como ahogado
bajo un montón de escombros
que fueron mi edificio, mi alcázar,
sin una sola lágrima -para qué- que llorar,
apoyado en el llanto de otros días,
como si sólo con lágrimas de entonces
pudiese liberarse este dolor presente
que ya no encuentra llanto.
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