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Adriana Moraes Mar 2015
Onetime I let a boy inside my ribcage

I warned him upon entry that the path to the     space     between my lungs was a oneway ticket

that I had never smoked a cigarette,
but the walls inside me were tar-filled  

and sick

that sometimes my heart failed to beat with my brain and instead fell into
perfect
uneven
synchrony with the faucet

where I threw-up cherry red the other night.

Onetime I let a boy with a knife inside my ribcage

and I had seen the knife

and I didn't care

he climbed inside me so gently
like he belonged there and was just taking his place

like a missing *****
he made me his home
reassembled my insides

vital pieces of me now resting on his body,
depending on his body

one hand on my heart

the other on my throat.

Onetime I let a boy with a knife and a bottle of bourbon live inside my ribcage

he cleaned the tar off the walls
but didn't cure the sickness

I think he liked the smell of it.

One night he carved his name everywhere

spine
clavicle
esophagus

and I pretended to sleep

cut
nick
slash

he tried to claim me
he tried to clean me

but lost souls can't be claimed
and I'll never be clean enough

my heart follows faucets
not boys

and that scared the boy

so one night he poured the bourbon down the throat he held

and I didn't stop him

and I almost drowned

gulp, gulp, gulp
slash, slash, slash

cursive illegible sorry's
over every spot he had once cut his name into

and he kissed the wounds
and I woke up heavy.

Organs are worthless without their host but

Onetime I watched a boy tear his way out of my ribcage.

Knife and empty bottle in his place,
nothing's been working right in there since.

I haven't let anyone in there since.
Valsa George  Jan 2018
Dementia
Valsa George Jan 2018
Mind, like a deciduous forest
has lost all its foliage,
all leaves torn away
by the autumnal blasts

The brain where great schemes were concocted
is now an abyss where spiders sway
It is bare – dismally barren
of all memories – sweet and sour
Like a kite afloat in the boundless sky
moving nowhere, but as the wind directs,
cut out from the past, turned from the present
with the future yet to surge from the abyss
or like serpents intertwining,    
hissing in turmoil within the brain,
unable to sense the gusty blast,
or hear the whispering air,
dead to sounds that disturb,
deaf to songs that soothe,
like a phantom he moves weird,
drifting far away
to a space and time impenetrable  
with nothing to make the mind agog
or depress it to let out a sigh.

Loitering on roads without hurrying feet
with no bliss coming on the way
to run or hasten to embrace
or fear to be missed sore
passing through dark labyrinthine tunnels
forever barred with no exit
churned in oblivion, oblivious of all,
he remains a spectral facsimile
of his onetime self
plummeting into a black hole

The pulse of a heart beat
is all that keeps him alive,  
all else is dead…… !  
with dreary nights ahead
that shall not know another morrow
Only others can throw a little light in the dark lives of its hapless victims!

(With a heart heavy with gratitude, let me acknowledge my poet friend -  Kim Johanna Baker who gave sunshine to my poem who has thus honored me several times !)
SøułSurvivør Mar 2015
I know you won't take me back
Perhaps you can't forgive
But this is what I wish for you
For as long as you may live

I wish you every sunny day
And starry starry nights
I wish you laughter once again
I wish you love and light.

I wish you every color
In rainbow waterfalls
I wish you greatest beauty
On your mountain tall.

I wish you every syllable
Of every love song penned
I hope you find another girl
That you love again.

I mean this completely
My lost and onetime man
I'd give you everything i own
I'd give you all I AM.

I really hope you read this
You do not turn your eyes
I really did the best for you
At least I didn't lie.

Please read my poems to you
Be well my dearest heart
I will bow out gracefully
On this note I will part

You will, in time forgive me
If only for your sweet mind
For you have a heart of
Purest gold
You are just that kind.

Just remember that I love you
This I would instill
I love you with all my heart
And I always will.
All the best
Catherine
C N Kumar Mar 2014
Sights disable me by birth
Father as witness to.
Mother to teach A to Z every time
And trying well correcting my sight.
To leave school, after full fill lessons
To change my disable sight, why?
For my sight, present friends and other people,
Of book tonic, medicine plants,
Traditional treatments
And more other onetime roots,
But nothing change my sight,
At last the order coming,
Wear specs.



To run at 1st street
Saw, wore whole shop in saffron coluor,
In glass chamber, stick saffron bindi in all doll's forehead
And saffron specs covered their eyes.
Add verse  displayed - buy specs
Get rusted lance free absolutely.



To reached eyes on 2nd street
The shop 'n' carpets are green,
All dolls had beard and turban
In theplank advertising - buy specs
Get sword 'n' a bottle perfume free.



In the 3rd street endered my face
Whole room yellow, front dolls, specs,
Everywhere yellow, display text be yellow,
If buy specs, wonderful wine free.



To the 4th street, move my foot
Whole floor blue like the sea,
At shop, dolls, specs, all are blue
Gospel on display board
Seat on heaven be reserve free, buy specs.



Much crouded in 5th street
From enterence and street , to shop are red
Dolls are spectrum of victims, specs are red
slogan of display plank,
Sharpen wooden spear free,
Under puchased all specs.
And stret boys call worst,
Throw ***** of guilty verse,
And much caper plays
At back, a crying noises
That 2nd street, ask a boy brokenly



Passed away whole street,
In which specs for my sight?
And which colour for specs?



I too distruct and move my leg to 6th street,
From door to everywhere crystal,
And the floor pellucid, on the street no crowd
At the shop no doll and display plank.
When wear crystal specs,to see my own me?
To know my friend, colour of appetite,
Depth of love, greatness of hope in eyes.



I pray, with pulsated heart,
And wait for specs on the 6th street.



==============================C N Kumar.
Molantwa Mmele Jan 2016
I was on my way home from work
Before I could open the door
I heard someone screaming
I went in and saw a man lying down on the floor
Blood all over his torso
A broken vase near his head also

Pretty had Angela on her left arm
And a knife on her right hand
“He is dead” she screamed
“Who is he?’ I asked
“He is dead… he is dead”

I had to think fast
And make a plan to save my family
Angela was only two years old
So I have to sacrifice for my family
And take the bullet

I speedily called Frank
A friend of mine
From Rwanda,
But now his family moved to Swaziland
So I called him
Before I could call the cops
To come over and take Pretty and Angela
To her uncle’s house
I asked Pretty to take a quick bath
While we waiting for frank
Frank came in a blink

And I was left alone terrified
With a strange man’s corpse
I took a deep sigh and called the cops

After spending three weeks in trial
I was prosecuted life
For homicide
In Cape Town’s maximum security prison
As I went to the cell
Walking on the red carpet of blood
Leading my soul to perdition
Inmates yelling at me like
Vultures in the sky seeing a prey
I was fearless
Because my heart was numb
My life became hell in prison

There were screams
Wailing and moaning
Every night in those cold cells
And I had no choice but to adapt
In prison life

Pretty never came to visit
But she wrote me letters
And sent me Angela’s pictures
That made me pray every day for parole
So I could see my little angel growing
But time went by with no luck
Four years came and pass by
And now it’s been three months
I haven’t receive any letters
From Pretty

I wrote a letter to Frank
Asking about my family
And he didn’t reply
Not knowing whether he received the letter
Or he is just ignoring me
And that made me fret alone
Maybe I was a fool to take a bullet
Maybe this was a setup
Between Pretty and Frank
Why did he came so fast when I called him?
Or maybe frank knew about this man
What about my angel ?…Angela

And I soon suffered nervous system problems
My mind was distracted
And I had to see a neurologist
And psychologists
To help my problem
I had to attend support groups in prison
And that’s where
I heard worst cases than mine
And I began to understand the world
And it's human beings

After fourteen years in prison
My prayers were answered
I was given a parole
And I was sent home
It was a life time relief
I couldn’t wait long to see my family
After so many years apart from one another

I went home
A town looks different
So many changes out here
We got the address but the house was sold
We found a man and his wife and they seem to be old
I asked about Pretty or Angela
But no one knows them
“Who did you buy this house from” I asked
“Frank… from a guy called Frank
He had to go back home” they said
I felt down, but I had to do something to find frank
Because I need answers …I need my family

So I went to one of my friend who was a truck driver
For more than twenty years
He usually drove to all South African bordering countries

After two long weeks, we drove to Swaziland
And we find Frank home
With his parents, siblings
And a pregnant teenage girl
With a familiar resemblance
It felt like a déjà vu
Asked frank in private
He came out and handed me a letter
To read

Dear Innocent
I know how much you love me
And how much you love Angela
I’m sorry you had to go through hell
For my sin
My life is hell too... of guilty conscience
Secrets that I kept from you
And I couldn’t dare
To face you in jail, knowing that
I’m the one who should be there
I’m sorry I lied
I could have stopped you from taking the bullet
But I was terrified

A man that I killed was my onetime boyfriend
He was Angela’s father

Suddenly the blue sky became dark
My eyes became bleary
I couldn’t read any further
I felt cold and exhausted
My veins became weak and weary
My senses went numb
My joints became loose
I couldn’t help myself I cried
My soul was petrified
Memories of life in jail
Came back to my mind

And Frank said “Pretty committed suicide
Seven years back”
“Where is Angela” I asked

He glanced to my rear view
I turned around and I saw a pregnant young girl
With her mother’s resemblance
Tears fell down her face and I gave her
A hug…and asked
“Where is the father?”

She also glanced at my rear view
I slowly turned around again
Frank looked down in shame
I couldn’t get any angry
I was weak for anger
And I left for a walk
To cool my mind
And Angela followed me

I promised that I will love her
And take care of her
No matter what the circumstance
And now its time to keep that promise
She is still my little angel
And always gonna be my innocent pretty angel
Hal Loyd Denton Feb 2012
Laying Track

Ribbon of steel you stretch forever though you lay flat you touch the moon beyond earths boundaries
don’t you see the appeal it is so real gliding into dreams that stream beyond reach on air your pillow the

Silent sky is a natural right away for this freedom train break away from the bounds get far away where
Sounds no longer rule the airy whistle that has a smallness that calls can’t you hear it lightly scream its

The tell tale high pitched voice of adventure not the mediocre fashioned from earth and rock no this is
From particles of space bits of tiny crystal there make up unknown that much the better any old day you

Can ride the rails that are fastened to the ground let go see the stars up close do a zoom by the moon
Stamp your ticket galaxy bound your own a true star bound Zephyr your spraying a silver trail behind

And yes there is still a caboose connected to this great ole train that doesn’t play by the rules it’s not for
Profit but for thrills laugh at those long lost rolling hills this train is half ship it runs by a tiller the wide

Blue yonder it presses to lengths where before only rockets could go take a spin around Saturn’s ring
Go ahead it a onetime fling take it farther than just the back and forth lean on a natural train open the

throttle lay her completely on her side and enjoy the ride from side to side take her into a cork *****
make history give vent to thoughts that all old engineers have felt these old tracks always just side by

side I wish we could veer of into that beautiful country side race down through an apple orchid after all
the tons of apples we have hauled that would be a ball or skim the river light as a feather not just run

across another same oh same old bridge or ride up top of the ridge for once I get tired careening my
neck always trying to have a look with a great view yes just say it and it will be so want to fly though

the chilly blowing snow there it is just outside of the cab just let me be enthralled by that great moon
sized ball let me follow silently through the night that shimmering silver moon light trail until morning

and let my great old whistle soothe all who hear it on earth below all the good times are rolling together
this has to be my finest ride I brought a lot of freight into the station most of the time it was on time but

this time it’s my old heart I’m bringing up to the platform for the last time you see I’m retiring from this old line my next line will be a fishing line and some rascal fish fighting on the end I hope you enjoyed the

ride I know I did I love to share
Jack Fitzgerald Apr 2013
Take a road trip in my heart my dear, the highways are all marked.
Head down any route you choose, where every onetime romance sparked.

Just in case you won't remember, take a picture of my heart.
Get close - catch all the little cracks from where it broke apart

But I stumbled through the red tape, built the infrastructure new.
Now with tearful eyes and outstretched arms,
I give the key to you.

Ride through my heart with all the lumps in it, they fell down from my throat.
See the well from which I've drawn out every word I ever wrote.

Take a souvenir from my heart, it's something you must do.
It's risky but I have to trust a piece is safe with you.

If you held it close to your heart that would probably be best,
it might be warm and safe there if it's pressed against your chest.

Please leave my heart quite carefully or never leave at all.
If i keep giving pieces out it may end up too small.

— The End —