Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
 Mar 2022 neth jones
jude rigor
since the meds kicked in,
i lack less, i think.
i've found an appreciation
dug up in the front yard
by a half blind dog

an appreciation
for the living
and the
quiet
  small
moments.

before, i cared, but
those eras were
intermittent
      seconds
        cut scenes
  caught between
    the intensity i've since
            given away.

but
moments

of being
in love
with
wheat
grass bet
ween
high
ways

and

last bit
of clouds
eating sun
in the rearview:

or sweet talking
your eyes at midnight
to hear your voice
smiling in
the smoke
separating our
houses:

cats in the
woods behind
my car, yowling
at the full
moon as if
they were
born to:

the silence
and warmth
of sleep.

i exist alongside
unfamiliar calm
a small breath
but a longer pause -
no more perfect
than dollar store
cellophane

but the world
is almost
softer
and my
skin is
held to
gether
with
some
thing
more
than
glue.
It's a beauty of a red rose.
  It's a watercolor on a bed sheet
  petals bloom from his wound.
  She'd had it and found a gun
  and courage and anger enough
  to put him out of her misery.
I saw God's spark set me in motion.
     Hell broke loose and molten metals
     exploded into a universe too big to
     imagine. Light begot light and suns
     were born. Globes crashed into globes
     stars blinked in night's black canvas.
 Sep 2021 neth jones
Norman Crane
an oath—
broken by the
mouth, unspoken,
that spoke it, broken
not by word but by deeds,
kissing, and a marriage bleeds.
 Sep 2021 neth jones
Norman Crane
life is time borrowed
a wheat field softer than fur
flows,          under the scythe
 Aug 2021 neth jones
Satsih Verma
Half -minded. It was raining
red. The vampire was getting ready.
My home was burning.

Disinvesting my love. The
road in my heart goes to the river. The
slender moon is sad. Negotiation drops

I am dragging a broken
pillar. Your body becomes bone china.
I clan write the ****** dates.
 Aug 2021 neth jones
Satsih Verma
A ***** drags you
to smell the identity of Neanderthal.
How will you define the small human?

Now as I am hurt
I collect my poems from nostalgia.
The olive has the magic. This is not true.

I have to win at any
cost. Will you die for a lie? There
was no afterword after the ****.
 Aug 2021 neth jones
SCHEDAR
Fire isle ferry,
cherry
fizzy-pop surprise

tutti frutti flave
umbrellas
lick tequila salted skies

Soaked in lemon, seaside breeze
strolling hand in hand

Fleeting footprints fade so fast
on Robbin's Rested
sand
sweet candy crush
memories in beautiful
Fire Island
soon we'll say goodbye
to winter's boreal order
of freezing disdain
Next page