Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 Jan 2014 palladia
st64
(oh, if you don't like lengthy-reads, do not read any further.. thank you)





how I long to hear you
I am silent now
just like you



1.
from the curtain rail, hang paper-butterflies in gentlest-breeze
you made for us in vacation-time
we loved living and being with you
      so quiet and so serene
never loud, nor ever shouting
you gave us the love we often had to steal at home


2.
dear lady, when our parents couldn't cope
they dumped us at your door
you took us in for days on end
and how we flourished in your care

momma in her perfumed get-up.. always out and about
I couldn't stand her smell
she hardly took the time of day.. to get to know her own
they quarreled all the time
one time, we saw her pull in ugly-anger, a knife on him
      and he punched her hard in the face
      we-took-it-in.. the three of us
      they saw us standing there, looking on
I tried to shield the younger ones' eyes
but the lesson sank in.. thickly


3.
so, off to you.. we got bundled, like hastily-wrapped parcels
and you took us in
and we gleaned the worth of stability

you spoke to us in quiet-tone:
right, now we will read.. alright, my dears?
    we responded with three silent nods
    eyes up at you.. like open-flowers
    our smiles inside slowly blossomed
as a powerful-routine came to life

sit us down near koi-pond in the yard
     after milk and choc-chip cookies
     green dappled shade-cloth overhead and potted plants
she opened up a book - Gift from the Sea.. and she read
     we listened with rapt-souls, open and accepting
     drinking in the delight of her well-intoned voice
she tempered that sickly-void with deep-respect and lasting-admiration

how we filled the hours with your special-technique of patience
        we discover life.. along with title and the author
        one buck to read the first sentence of a new book
        two for first paragraph
        five for first page
we earned a keep to last a jolly ol' lifetime
looked forward to the end of every weekend
when we'd spend the week with you
off to school, you saw our tiny-feet and welcomed in the afternoon
      warm greetings with firm hand, discipline fell in place
      but when chores are done and homework, too
that's the time we'd settle quietly into the routine you set so well

cushions at the koi-pond and each one gets a turn
granny-dear, granny-doer.. you took the time
you read to us and we read to you
and then, we read to one another.. while you did your tasks
        we learnt of the classics and many obscure artists, too
        writers' names became familiar; we discussed at length
        and from your fine library, came three very well-fed beings
who each had a jar filled with love-pennies and mind-notes

tranquil-nap in dimmed-room in the afternoon
eyes sunlight piercing through in stippling-slants on polished wooden-floor
we fell into peace

thinking expanded beyond the lore of words
you'd engage the width of our seeker-imagination with so much
         drawing fine-lines into the unknown
         and paper-mâché and Rorschach-ink
         and let us see how earthworms could be useful
         and transplanting our seedlings from disposable egg-cups
by my teens, my special botany-project grew: orange saplings
how the time, it flew.. weeks and months.. years..


4.
then, one day, our momma said.. no more time at granny
          we questioned and we queried, but to poor avail
          evasive-looks met our searching eyes
and vague answers, even poppa with the *****-glaze didn't talk
we failed to swallow their awkward-energy

the three of us could take no more: affection interfered
      and I took two buses and snuck out to her place
I crept in silent, found her resting
but her eyes were covered up
      her face had blue blotches and cheeks were puffy
sharp-inhale!
      I shrank perforce and cried inside.. and softly touched her hand
she woke up, startled and turned away
     but she knew it was me; she'd learnt my smell so long ago
bowing my head, I gently wiped her brow with unscented-towelette
and I saw her shoulders shaking
she quietly accepted my comfort


5.
the routine continued, thankfully
after we got wind of what really happened
how you were mugged in the subway on your way to work
you've lost the use of one eye and you now slump on one leg
this fall in health did nothing to dampen your ardour
       we read for you when you could no longer see at all
       and when your pensioner-status made you penniless
       you rewarded us with hugs pressed into the psyche
       our night-time pitter-patter slipping to you from nightmares
       and you stitched our broken-pieces and sealed our cracked-assurance
never finer devotion bred from hands so kind


6.
you let us read and it sparked the mind
the penny kept on rolling with great success
long after you left
    my brother now lectures in languages
    and guest-speaks at many places of higher-learning
    and my sister became a lawyer
I became a drop-out early on, but I never sold my dream
I struggled with their help.. yes, I know.. I was always slower
and melted-crayons still do yield.. colour in the twilight of cool-eve

yes, and I bought a farm not long ago
and I tend my own keep
granny, you'd be proud of us
three silent nods to an angel in disguise


now, I stand here.. quiet in my beautiful-orchard of oranges
              stare at the leopard-changing shadows on the tiles
and long to read for you
so, I open up a dream lying next to my koi-pond, an auburn-tail flicks handsomely
and it all spills forth in reams..




can you hear me now?
in silent-vow, I unveil the finest of my heart-words
to you..




S T, 2 January 2013
man, what a day.. what-a-day!


sub-entry: thank you

.. for reading!

;)
 Jan 2014 palladia
Frisk
logolept
 Jan 2014 palladia
Frisk
art is bisected into three categories
and other subcategories
painting & drawing
poetry & literature
music & dancing
i happened to become an
martyr to poetry, logolept
and framed masterpieces
not written down on paper
kept inside of wires attached
to my brain, smoldering my
grey matter and my feelings
melting like candles, slowly
but urgently sweating out
unspoken power and ungodly
overwhelming thoughts need
to be shared, but only show
your passion to someone
worth writing about who
is just as complex as you are

- kra
 Jan 2014 palladia
Andrew Parker
We live in a society that is reluctant to hold individuals accountable for their actions.

They did this to him because of his smile.
They did this to him because he was in the bar bathroom a long while.
They did this to him because of his clothing style.

The environment can create stimuli and stressors which trigger predispositions.
Predispositions of behavioral tendencies to make bad decisions.

They did this to her because they saw it on TV.
They did this to her because nothing comes for free...
or at least easy.
They did this to her because of how they were raised by mommie.

However, at the end of the day, you have ****** autonomy.
Physically responsible for your own actions,
you have damaged another human...
being.
You don't want to accept you could do something so heinous to another human's ****
or ******.

Morally responsible to actively educate,
yourself.
How to live in a world with other humans whom differ from you.
People who you may not completely understand.

She said no, but things happened so fast.
Kept go-ing on, not for long he didn't last.

He might have been interested at the start of the night,
but wasn't trying to be perceived as putting up a fight,
resisting what his assailant created, his forever tragic night.

I'm not big on the concept of 'deviant behaviors' or 'social taboos.'
Certain things however, you should know what to do.
We violate others' rights, freedoms, privileges, happiness, mental stability, and personal well being.

And For What?
It doesn't matter if you're gay, like metal music, or get drunk, because
We can't blame the color gray.  
not tomorrow nor today.
Don't sit, just stand, get up and say.
Advocate that **** is wrong every innocent second of each precious day.
more clearly defined, not merely social constructs within a particular society.

Long story short; **** is Wrong. Get and Give Consent. Be Safe as well.
 Jan 2014 palladia
jeffrey robin
& just as the riots were about to start in the Cafeteria

The Comet came crashing down into the Parking Lot

Right onto Jimmy Johnson's car!

••

That's when she lifted up her skirt & said to me

"I love you!
Take me now!"

••


The teacher started  screaming!

"Reality is just a tee vee show!

••

I'm  not sure what she meant

••

The SWAT team came racing into the Cafeteria killing everyone

••

Oh well!

••

I slipped between the cracks of perception & now here I am

••

We ALL KNEW this was happening but didn't care



I'm never gonna vote again!

••

Gonna get me a job as an under-taker

& get real
 Dec 2013 palladia
daniella
When I was younger, commercials told me that depression hurt, and I had no idea what that meant. Flowers were flowers and the sun tanned my skin and peach tea ran through my veins and the world produced enough magic for me to be content.

How I ended up on my bathroom floor with a knife is a story for after my eulogy. Do not mention how the flowers died, how the sun burned my skin, or how the world is the worst it has ever been.  

Suddenly, I was mocked by every living thing on this planet. They sighed “you do not live.” Every frown was another twist of the barbed wire tangled up in my bones that clicked toward the destruction of my free will and the caging of my heart, brittle and broken and bruised and more than ready to stop its frail beating.

I used to want. Want to lap up the planet like a thirsty dog, satiated by the sanguine hearts that care for the earth, I wanted to glide through every part of history with my eyes wide open with a ribcage breathing energy and light, strength and confidence.

And here I am.

I wonder if any of it was real at all. Until I find out, I’ll make myself a part of history today. May you forever remember the pigment of my eyes when I cried from the joy of the moment.

This is the end of the road.



~d.a
 Dec 2013 palladia
Nat Lipstadt
After reading about some tribal warfare in a far away land, I wrote this true story down. Now re-published every year on this day. Seems more appropriate than ever

one July 4th,
many years ago
walking the streets,
of the city of Nice,
situe on the Cote D'azur of France,
on the Mediterranean Sea,
where ships of navies
may safely park their sailors,
sending them ashore for R&R,^
they, leavened to disembark^^

how I came to be there is a
poem for another time

walking the streets,
palm tree resort,
along La Promenade Des Anglais,
coming at me,
Three Sailors,
unmistakably
American

one white,
one black,
one brown from California,
which I believe,
is still part of the USA

how we fell upon each other
in warm embrace,
smiling, bestowing
blessings of grace
not as strangers,
but as fellow signatories
on the Declaration of Independence

brothers,
long lost, reunited,
as if it had been many years,
since we last had our arms entwined,
one family from one far away united place

dialectical differences ignored,
even the wide-eyed 'Bama boy,
totally comprehensible, for on that say,
we spoke a language that
encompassed a single brotherhood,
a common histoire,
all on that
holy day

no tribes in America, no colors,
no religions,
only sisters and brothers-in-arms

I need not choose to believe,
for it is certainty guaranteed,
that should it happen again
twenty years hence,
perhaps with their great grandsons,
my embrace will,
exactly the same be,
for I know it true,
there are
no tribes
in an

American heart
^ Rest and recreation
^^disembarked to be leavened....either ok

written in 2013, but true story that occurred many years prior
how timely for this day and time
Next page