Want to submit your work? Request an invite
annie l hayes Oct 11

i had mastered the art of pretending
pretending like i didn’t care.
pretending like i was happy.
pretending like it didn’t matter.
‘hold it in,’ and
‘show a soft smile,’ i’d say.
‘let out a little laugh,’
i’d tell myself.

but what i realized was that
my soul was trying desperately
to express itself,
and bottling it up
and holding it in
was slowly destroying me.

so say you are desperately falling for him.
tell that girl her comment was uncalled for.
cry when you’re having a horrible day.
your emotions are raw expressions of your soul-
don’t you harbor them silently inside.

/master of pretending/

The plump nurse
trudged past
like a baby hippo
to the swamp.

You stood by the window
peering out
at the fallen snow.

I sat on the battered sofa
wondering what kind
of sandwiches
there'd be for tea
when Big Sid
the male nurse
bought them
into the locked ward.

The Scottish woman moaned
about the Indian woman
who sat crossed legged
on the other sofa
picking at her toes.

I watched you at the window
in your white dressing gown
with the hem
of your nightdress
hanging down.

I noticed your legs
I guess
how shapely they were.

I studied them
imaging how Renoir
would have painted them.

The plump nurse
trudged past again
back from the swamp
I mused
having left
your legs behind.

I could imagine them still
in my fractured mind.

A boy and girl in a locked ward in 1971

Can finally say I don't hurt like I used to
Keyword being:
But I still hurt
And it's not the late night 3 am thoughts that keep me up
I no longer lose sleep over someone who hurt me so much
But it's during the day
When I'm working
Or when I'm with friends
That I wonder
"What is she doing right now?"
"How has she been?"
"Is she happy?"
"I hope so"
I think back on the times we had
The fun we shared
And at times I wish I could go back
And other times I just wish it never happened
I wonder if I'll ever feel that type of happiness again.
If I'll ever stop feeling this pain in my chest when I think of her
I've never been as happy as I was with her and I wonder if I'll ever get to have that again.
She's found someone new
And I'm stuck in this pain
I guess it's true
No two loves the same
But I wonder if I'll ever love again

Don Bouchard Nov 2016

After all the work of forming sprouts,
Calling out all forms of  leaves,
Beckoning grasses, inert, unseen,
HE turned browns to golds and greens.

After awakening from restful sleep
The slumbering, snoring bears,
The fidgeting squirrels,
The ball-coiled snakes;

After HE irresistibly wooed to life,
Fish, Fur, and Fowl,
Gave orders of procreation,
Set ardor in the breasts
Of all living things,
To make them spawn and breed,
To make them stomp and howl,
Under the teeming blue of oceans,
Upon the verdant plains of grass,
Beneath the sun that holds us fast,
Fecundity blooming where HE passed,

After the world was teeming and alive,
HE left humans to ask questions,
And a Serpent to ask on the sly,
"Perhaps it's just another lesson?"

Suggested truth beyond the Truth might lie.
And she, Pandora's mother, and mother of all men
Considered loss of innocence the price of "Why?"
And death a mystery to share with her man.

So Winter came upon the world,
So Death declared its right to win,
And Living Things upon the earth,
Discovered cold and death and sin.

So comes the Fall....
Tsunami Nov 5

Out of the ordinary  
She is astonishing  
In other words, extraordinary  
Golden girl, like a sunflower she's auspicious
She's good for your heart  
I guess you could say that she's nutritious  
Golden girl, she is brighter than the sun  
Golden girl, she is as graceful as a swan  
Golden girl, she has a heart of gold  
She has beauty in her mind and beauty in her soul
She is a rare soul with infectious energy  
She is peace and light, a natural synergy
Golden girl, she's luminous  
It's almost like she's glowing
She's in harmony with her spirit
Like a river flowing  
Golden girl, she was born to be free
Who is Golden girl?
Golden girl is me

© Imani Tsunami

I don't love you as if you were the salt-rose, topaz
or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:
I love you as certain dark things are loved,
secretly, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that doesn't bloom and carries
hidden within itself the light of those flowers,
and thanks to your love, darkly in my body
lives the dense fragrance that rises from the earth.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,
I love you simply, without problems or pride:
I love you in this way because I don't know any other way of loving

but this, in which there is no I or you,
so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand,
so intimate that when I fall asleep it is your eyes that close.

Next page