Moris: Favorites

Jan 2013 Moris

Liz Devine

Sometimes I drink,
to numb the pain
Or to feel something outside
of the murky, grayish
lonely ticking
That replaced my heart’s beating

But the funny thing is,
and always seems to be
When I drink to make you foggy
you just become more in focus
While your sorry, belligerent
excuses replay in my head

Over and over
until I’m forced to forget
my reasons for hating you
and join you in bed.

Jan 2013 Moris

Her Heart

Jan 2013 Moris

gg

Her Heart

they say she was broken too early
she picked up the pieces and
put them together crudely with tape
then she built the wall,
to hide her poor creation from the world

what they don't know is that her heart aches
just thinking of the city
her heart aches when she remembers the past
her heart aches when she sees his face
her heart aches because it will never be the same

Jan 2013 Moris

JANICE AND YOU AND GATHERING COAL,

Jan 2013 Moris

Terry Collett

JANICE AND YOU AND GATHERING COAL,

Janice helped you
to gather up
the loose pieces of coal
on the cobbled road

leading to the coal wharf
off Meadow Row
you watched as she put
the pieces in the sack

you’d brought with you
as the evening mist
settled upon the scene
her red beret placed

at an angle
her hair
smooth as water
is this allowed?

she asked
looking around
at the back of houses
still standing after

the wartime bombing
finders keepers
you said
or so Granddad told me

the other week
when I saw him
she gazed at you
unconvinced

but put in more
of the black pieces
you handed to her
what will my gran say

when she sees
my blackened hands?
Janice said
I can’t tell her

or she’ll tan my hide
as she calls it
you looked
at her coal stained fingers

the way they held
and placed the coal
you can wash your hands
at my place

you said
Mum won’t mind
she likes you anyway
Janice looked at you

her lips spreading
into a smile
nice to know
she said

maybe when we’re grown
and married
she’ll like me better
the sky had darkened

the mist heavy
the moon glowing
I guess so
you said

wondering if her gran
would see it that way
if she lived
to see the day

that should be enough
coal now
you said
taking the sack

from her blackened hands
noticing the thin fingers
she rubbing her hands
together against the cold

the dark
and winter weather.

Jan 2013 Moris

A Sugar-Coated Demon is Still A Demon

Jan 2013 Moris

Nik Bland

A Sugar-Coated Demon is Still A Demon

I may seem so heavenly in all the things I say
The words that fly with silken wings may chase your gloom away
But I, in all, tell lies of love, for I've found not one that lasts
So I apologize to you for poems of the past
Tears fall continually into the pen with which I write my words
Manipulating romantic tendencies so I may somehow be heard
But even the most vile demon can speak words of honeydew
But all you'll find is with those words they run off to hell with you
So look at me beyond this shell and say those three words again
And if you find they are sincere, I will stay until the end
But until my scribblings on this paper turn to played-out verbs
Beware of me and of promises, for they may be only words...

Jan 2013 Moris

ribbones

Jan 2013 Moris

Ashley Wade Parker

ribbones

i value myself in rib bones
and my beauty in the weight
of feathers
& in the morning i'll feel a little
thinner a little prettier a little more
o
kay
i weigh my strength in calories
{thefewerthebetter}
like the scale of Ma'at
if my stomach is emptier than water
then
ican go to heaven

Jan 2013 Moris

i would rather be drunk.

Jan 2013 Moris

Ashley Wade Parker

i would rather be drunk.

i am a woman made
of countless triggers never warned
(i don’t need a ******* trigger warning, I pull them every day)
of unnoticed scars
(i heal too fast and am too clever at hiding them)
and uncounted skipped meals
(because i’m too good at lying and too fat to have a eating disorder)

of empty pill bottles and whiskey bottles and ****** wrappers and inboxes
of unspoken dependence
and too much *****
(because i used to like to drink too much so that i could flirt with death
& if I survived I could feel thinner in the morning)

but all that is changing in the morning

but right now it feels good to feel drunk

and that’s okay

because I’d rather feel drunk and alone under flannel sheets

than ever
you lot again

Jan 2013 Moris

i am not Pretty

Jan 2013 Moris

Ashley Wade Parker

i am not Pretty

i am not pretty because
p   r  e    t   t   y
isn't an adjective worthy nor suitable to be applied to me
Pretty does not make good
daughterswivesmotherstudentsteachersdoctorsloversrevolutionarieswriterssingershumans
Pretty is an inanimate unfeeling thing while
i am a life force--- a tornado or hurricane whipping through the air with riotgrrrrl gale force winds in the background, leaving pretty behind me in refuse
Pretty isn't synonymous with worth or good hearts.
Pretty isn't getting up in the morning and making breakfast for your  hungover friends
it isn't giving someone flowers just because you care
it isn't women in in trenches digging irrigation systems for villages
or building houses for strangers in another country
it isn't the first breathe of a baby in a midwife's arms
or the sound of women being liberated.
It has no sound at all.

I'd like to think that I am that feeling you get in the summer before a large thunderstorm rolls over the mountains
and pretty
                     isn't
                           that.
And in sparse occasions that I am deemed worthy enough a piece of meat to earn this verbal badge of honor-- 'pretty'
that feeling will never outweigh the hate and anguish my body went through to earn that
'compliment'
it will never outweigh the meals skipped
laxatives eaten
amphetamines snorted
or times my fingers have been shoved down my throat until the tips of them stung from stomach acid
my body is weary of me punishing it for someone Else's ignorance and my need to hear this silly word & my throat hurts from putting my fingers inside it
& i will be ****** if i spend another second of my life hating myself and hearing women hate themselves because we weren't told we were 'pretty' as often as we would have liked
So no, I will never be 'pretty' -- I will be much more.

Jan 2013 Moris

why i drink whiskey

Jan 2013 Moris

Ashley Wade Parker

why i drink whiskey

i drink whiskey because
after so many
shots
something like a dragon wakes up in my stomach
and crawls out my throat with the exhalation of cigarette smoke
i drink whiskey because the dark brown
mingles with the fire in my veins
and the wild south of my soul is reawakened
a part of my soul that lingers in the bricks of marie laveu's and between alleyways in the french quarter
stirs up like a ghostly collection of downy feathers
and the fear that is carved into my ribcage seeps out
i drink whiskey because the salt of my fingers plays
with the back of my throat
coaxing all this fear out, chased with mason jars of water
i drink whiskey because it makes me feel ugly and fierce
i drink whiskey because it makes it easier for me to burn bridges and sever ties
i drink whiskey because it makes being used by men with pretty faces and holes in their dead chests easier to swallow the next day
i drink whiskey because it makes me rowdy and alive
i drink whiskey because snarling rage needs to be let out sometimes
i drink whiskey because it sobers up my headi drink it because it helps me forget that i didn’t say no
i drink it because it makes me angry about what you did
i drink it because i remember the way your hand pushed mine down and the way your hand curled into a fist in my hair and yanked at the top of my dress
i drink it because i didn’t tell you no

Dec 2012 Moris

No Longer...

Dec 2012 Moris

Nestor David Armas

No Longer...

She fell from the skies
Couldn't keep floating on the lies
Pretending to be
What everyone wanted to see
An angel with papier-mâché wings
She was a Lamborghini riddled with dings
But to all she was a hottie
Driving around in a stolen Bugatti
Saying all the right things in your ear
If she couldn't have her way shed a tear
All those around her wanted
To give her all she desired undaunted
None the wiser
The next burst from this geyser
Could obliterate them all
It seemed she would never fall
From the clouds she rode
Even as her halo no longer glowed
Because all were blind
None the secret could find
But all this caught up to her
Only so much could be hidden
Behind the sheer gossamer
Of their eyes a veil eaten away by lichen
Truth be told she was still a breath taker
But the joy ride was over for this faker...
© okpoet

Dec 2012 Moris

Welcome to 4 A.M.

Dec 2012 Moris

Nicholas Harris

Welcome to 4 A.M.

Welcome to 4 A.M.

Where almost nothing ever happens and the universe sits mostly still, where indie music is life and where photography is heaven. Where silence is golden and life is absolute. Where we all wish to be, and where only a select few of us can go and handle it.

Welcome to 4 A.M.

Where we lie in limbo, waiting for the sun to come up, the moon to go down, the median between life and whats left of the dark decay of lifelessness. Where Your eyes open wide, where your thoughts wander into the void of the infinite. Where we wait to see the beginning, the middle, and the end.

Welcome to 4 A.M.

Welcome to the dead, the living, the mourning, the crying, the sad, the happy, the over energetic, the under enthusiastic, the over enthusiastic, the insomniac, the insane, the beautiful, the quiet, the peaceful, the thoughtless and thoughtful, the kind, the caring, the listeners, the wonderful and magnificent, the open minded and wide eyed sleepless.

Welcome to 4 A.M.

Where we wander, searching for answers in our sleep. Where we wait for contact and a view into what we think is the future, and where here, we wait for the future. Where we sleep only to be dreaming of our answers we are searching for and never getting the full answer to questions like-
"Who am I?"
"What am I?"
"Who do I love?"
"Who loves me?"
"Why am I here?"
"What awaits me today?"
"Who thinks of me?"
"Who are my friends?"
"Who are my foes?"
"Who are the friendless?"
"Who am I to judge someone?"
"Who are they to judge me?"
"What is left for there to question if I already know the answers to my questions?"

This is what we ask, and wait for...

Welcome to 4 A.M.

Where our mindless infinite, grows! To be ever infinite into the oblivion of exaggerated proportions and ridiculous time! Where everything meets the beginning, the middle and the end. Where life dies, starts, and lives once more for us as humanity to enjoy through one more day, for us to catch our breath, and to breathe the dead and living. For our eyes to capture the very beauty of life through blinking as if our eyes where the lens to a camera and our brains the film to feed it.

All in one quiet, peaceful, beautiful, and insane, hour. Everything lives, dies, and starts over again.

Welcome to the beginning, the middle, and the end.
Welcome to 4 A.M.
Welcome to life.

Good morning.