Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 Apr 2019 misha
Bus Poet Stop
~for those who will read this and weep~

the quiet ones,
the silent Job ones,
who quote not from the
Book of Lamentations,
but author their own,
based on-the-job experience

localized versions of cryptic elegiacs
accepting the wooden crosses borne,
stepping up to the
unrequested unforeseen,
then buried under, burnt alive,
yet never relieved by dying,
nailed by words, stronger than iron,
promises sworn, promises kept
with no ending date relief,
promises by and to themselves,
but not for themselves!


the wearers of crystal glass shackles,
adorned with decorative locks for which
no key did the maker make,
nor any divine creator
dare conceive an early release,
never no escape contemplated,
for the lock human, unrepentant unbreakable,
a decorative useless metaphor gesture,
a blunt “life *****” advertisement

I compose amidst a
bus pond of mismatched city folk,
a tapestry of ages colors and differing views on god/no god,
none would believe that as the bus sways me,
it’s in rhythm to holy choral music,
hundreds year old,
divinity masses and motets worships,
where one human can hide temporarily
a safe house,
to calm his questioning relentless
from the horrors of no answers,
for when the mind has no solution
to the rough and tumbling lives,
lived in glass shackled confinement,
the poets desperation equals theirs


summon eagles to transport these imprisoned,
but the shackled refuse,
I come to them but they wave me off,
I go crazy for once I was enslaved,
thirty years war that left devastation,
from which so many poems created

so I speak with heightened regard
of one who planned futures for others where his
non-existence was a founding father (ha!)


but the day came and
I was released by my own inactions,
but means nothing until a way to
away found
to release the yet bound early


got a couch, airline miles, hundred dollars
in my pocket and an unrelenting need
to save them, a consumption disease,
the glass shackled, at ease,
won’t rest till all are freed
this my creed
no one left behind

these cyber words do not mock
for they are unbounded, set free,
when
the flesh connects and the needs of the flesh
are stronger for they are in heart conceived
 Apr 2019 misha
Amy Childers
In my own little world fireflies stay in open jars
Flowers paint on their colors for the next day,
And the moon laughs while it walks away.
The trees speak of ancient scars,
The creek brings up lost trinkets from afar,
And the animals cry for freedom,
But freedom is not free.
 Apr 2019 misha
xeno
You have imprinted
My eternity
Walking on by me
Giving backward glance
And inviting smile

This magnetism
In fecundity
Your step fragile yet
Some great gravity
About your presence

You venal, naive
Yet like the woman
There is caveat
Men observe caution
Green little Mantis

Swaying in the breeze
your flowerprint skirt
Disappears from view
Down the boulevard
The perfume remains

May see you again
Next incarnation
Somewhere in my walk
Across life and time
Will you remember


© P.M.H 2009
 Apr 2019 misha
Charrrr
broken angel
 Apr 2019 misha
Charrrr
Your face is a picture
of suffering
Your jokes are cold
like the hearts of the ones who broke you
Your heart was lost
somewhere along the way
I’m sorry, i know it’s not okay
i will still love you every day
even if you fall
My tired broken angel
#love #broken #hearts
Next page