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jemma silvert May 2014
I think of you in colours that don't exist --
     that's not to say that I don't think of you at all,
          because, of course, technically every colour exists:
Even the ones we cannot imagine,
   Even the ones we cannot see.
Even the ones either side of the spectrum that light up the notes used for money, not music, because the notes used for money
   are
      not
         always
            real.
Even the ones either side of the spectrum that light up the heat of your body like your presence does the room
      and your eyes do my smile
           and your smile does my eyes;
You tell me that technically every colour exits,
   even if we cannot see it,
   even if we cannot imagine it –

For think of it now.
          Imagine in your head a colour that does not exist.
                    Now describe it to me.
Is it a splash of red with tints of a yellowy-blue?
Is it a pinky-purple hue,
    a hint of green, turquoise, maroon, sapphire, olive, violet?
Does it already exist in colours we already have names for,
      have we lived so long that every thought we think is no longer our own,
            every thought we think has been thought of before,
I think of you in colours that don’t exist
   but so has everyone else.

We cannot see it,
      we cannot imagine it.
But if we cannot imagine something that does not exist
   simply because we are confined to describing it
      in the words of an already existent language,
   what does that say about us?
We can imagine a waterfall of chocolate,
       a glass elevator bursting through the roof;
   shrinking potions and growing potions and talking rabbits.
We can imagine standing on the top of a building
      looking out over the greying city lights
            with lungs full of water
            a noose round our necks
            and the sole belief in our heads that we are jumping to fly
We can rewrite the future and make up the past
We can imagine wizards and witches and fairies and goblins
We have unicorns, ******* it,
     we have God.

And yet when I present to you a lover,
   an artist,
      standing in front of you now,
         yearning to make you his canvas,
You are too scared to fall in love,
              too scared to admit that you don’t have the words in your encapsulating little language to describe the things that you feel towards him.
For he does not need language,
   he does not need words.
He will stand here now,
   in front of you,
      and let you grace his collarbones with a diamond noose,
                          crown his withered corpse in a wreath of daisies,
                          dress his bones in slashes of rubies.
He will tear himself apart for you,
     for you,
     for you to watch galaxies flow out of his veins,
  velvet red blood screaming unwritten poetry,
  a torrent of unimagined colours pouring into him and out of him
          and with his one last remaining breath
              and a trembling hand,
he picks up his paintbrush
      and draws you into orbit,
  and like his fingers used to trace your shattered ribcage
    like the keys of an ivory piano,
he traces the outline of your lips.
And at last you draw breath,
         to whisper his name, to whisper your love, and all that remains
   is silence.
And you choke on the air and sound is still
         for all words exist so none can be spoken and suddenly everything
   is black.
And I think of you in colours that don’t exist
     like the wolf howls in lament of the side of the moon he will never see
          for all colours exist, and when I think of you,
there are none.

                                                      *-j.­s.
peter oram Jan 2012
recto:

I send this from the little cell wherein
I dwell, a sealed room without a door,
no latch or bell or knocker waiting for
those whom some debt or doom or mortal sin

might draw towards this private tomb.But for
one single tiny window set up high
which holds a poor small square of greying sky
where thin birds’ flightlines scratch the current score

there’s no way in or out. Yet I shall try
to find that secret power that lies within,
that quiet light that I am storing in
this  room in which I live until I die.

verso:

I send this from the little cell
wherein  dwell, a sealed room
without a door, no latch or bell

or knocker waiting for those whom
some doom or debt or mortal sin
might draw towards this private tomb.

But for one single tiny win-
dow set up high which holds a poor
small square of greying sky where thin

birds’ flightlines scratch the current score
there’s no way in or out. Yet I
shall try to find that secret power

that lies within, that quiet light
that I am storing in this room
in which I live until I die.

turbo:

I send this from the little cell wherein I dwell,
a sealed room without a door, no latch or bell
or knocker waiting for those whom some debt or doom
or mortal sin might draw towards this private tomb.
But for one single tiny window set up high

which holds a poor small square of greying sky where thin
birds’ flightlines scratch the current score there’s no way in
or out. Yet I shall try to find that secret power
that lies within,that quiet light that I am stor-
ing in this room in which I live until I die.
this is the deluxe version of the ambigram, and has not just two layers but THREE...
1. iambic pentameters, 3 4-line stanzas rhymed abba bccb caac

2. iambic tetrameters, in terza rima rhymed aba bcb cdc ded eae

3. iambic hexameters (alexandrines), in 2 5-line stanzas rhymed aabbc ddeec

enjoy.....
jane taylor Sep 2016
awakening with the gradual rise
of the subdued heather hued sun
a palpable spectral silence permeated the air

the anticipation of celebration intercepted
by an enveloping phantom black malaise
hiding in obscure shadows

the terror of the twin towers final doom
elucidated quivers of melancholic nuances
rippling through the greying vicinity

my birthday september 11th a tuesday
my night to sing at abravanel hall
with the utah symphony

unable to serenade death
our voices remained indubitably silenced
in hushed wistful reverence

ensuing 9/11s channel somber sentiments
cloaked with annihilation while
dark visions occupy smudged iphone screens

this anniversary i will dissipate despair
transmuting dark despondency
splashing all with lucent petals of delight

i’ll live this day with passionate intensity
and those subsequent with equal ardor
ferociously painting back the light

i will raise my voice with effervescence
and sing in wild abandon
for my precious brothers that were lost

demonstrating devotion through a refusal
to be silenced by fear bestowing honor
with a conspicuous message that love wins

©2016janetaylor
i place many of my poems over my photography
to see the poem/pic combo go to
http://www.janetaylorhardy.com/single-post/2015/09/13/911-birthday
Terry Collett Mar 2015
I knocked the black
door knocker
on Janice's nan's door
and her nan answered

and said
o hello Benedict
Janice can't come out
she let the canary out

and we had
a hell of  a job
getting it back
in the cage again

so I'm keeping her in
I was going
to tan her backside
but I thought

keeping her in
was more
of a punishment
on a day like this

o right
I said
looking at Nan's eyes
and her greying hair

and unsmiling face
but you can come in
and see her
for a few minutes

shame that you
have to be
without her though
so she walked

back up the passage
and into the sitting room
where Janice
was sitting on a settee

looking disgruntled
it's Benedict
come to see you
he is only staying

for a few minutes
so don't think
you can go out
because you can't

Janice nodded
and looked tearful
and her nan walked off
into the kitchen

I didn't mean
to let the bird out
I just opened
the cage door

to get it to stand
on my finger
but it flew out
and it to ages

to catch it again
and Nan was so angry
that she was
on the border

of giving a smacking
but then she thought
keeping me in
was more

of a punishment
so here I am
on a lovely warm day
sorry about that

I said
where are you going?
she asked
I was going to Jail Park

on the swings and slide
I said  
I see
she said

looking at me sadly
what have you got
in the bag?
I opened the bag

it's that Robin Hood book
I bought it
in that junk shop
on the New Kent Road

she held it
and opened it up
and looked
at the words

and  pictures
maybe next time
I can be
your Maid Marian

to your Robin Hood
she said
yes
I said

looking
at the canary
in its cage
that'd be good.
A BOY AND GIRL IN LONDON IN 1956
At the start
A bright beginning,
A happy union
An ignited spark

A little wolf
So pure, so bright
Loyal till
The very end


Clutching the doll
Happily
Going everywhere
Together

A little wolf
So pure, so bright
Loyal till
The very end


Out the door
Around the house
And maybe to see your friend's
Pet mouse

A little wolf
So pure, so bright
Loyal till
The very end


Together forever
Best little buds
Totally inseparable
Just like a shadow

A little wolf
So pure, so bright
Loyal till
The very end


The doll was there
Through all the sunshine
The doll was there
Through all the rain

A little wolf
So pure, so bright
Loyal till
The very end


It kept you company
Through the smiles
Laughing with
Your every mile

A little wolf
So pure, so bright
Loyal till
The very end


It kept you safe
Through all those nights
And kept those shadowy things
At bay

A little wolf
So pure, so bright
Loyal till
The very end


It dried your tears
Through all those times
A simple hug
Could heal that soul

A little wolf
So pure, so bright
Loyal till
The very end


It waited for you
Every day
Until you came back
Home

A little wolf
So pure, so bright
Loyal till
The very end


Then something happened;
You grew up
The waiting became
Longer

A little wolf
So pure, so bright
Loyal till
The very end


The distance widened,
Left behind
But still it kept on
Waiting

A little wolf
So pure, so bright
Loyal till
The very end


You talked less
You played less
But still it looked on
Hopefully

A little wolf
So pure, so bright
Loyal till
The very end


The doll was stuck
In a timeless state
But you just kept on
Growing

A little wolf
So pure, so bright
Loyal till
The very end


Soon, you no longer
Came to see
The doll; it was already
Fading

A little wolf
So pure, so bright
Loyal till
The very end


Forgotten, neglected
In its dusty little corner
Reminiscing of the times
Together, spent

A little wolf
So pure, so bright
Loyal till
The very end


Wishing you would
Come back round
To look, or just
To care

A little wolf
So pure, so bright
Loyal till
The very end


It kept on hoping
It kept believing
It kept the flame alive,
Burning

A little wolf
So pure, so bright
Loyal till
The very end


But everyday
It kept on dimming
The pure white fur
With dust, greying

A little wolf
So pure, so bright
Loyal till
The very end


Time passes
Minutes, hours
Days.
Soon, it's been a year.

A little wolf
So pure, so bright
Loyal till
The very end


More time passes
Just like so,
Until you were
So fully grown

A little wolf
So pure, so bright
Loyal till
The very end


Gone were the days
Of carefree playing
Gone were the days
Of chatting

A little wolf
So pure, so bright
Loyal till
The very end


The doll has faded
Right out
Your mind
You were most preoccupied

A little wolf
So pure, so bright
Loyal till
The very end


Then suddenly
You remembered
Retraced your steps
And found the corner

A little wolf
So pure, so bright
Loyal till
The very end


You see the little doll
You've grown up with
A companion, confidant,
A friend.

A little wolf
So pure, so bright
Loyal till
The very end


You pick it up
But something's different
The flame inside
Has died

A little wolf
So pure, so bright
Loyal till
The very end


Hollow eyes stare back
At you
Cold and frozen
Over

A little wolf
So pure, so bright
Loyal till
The very end


With a twinge
You placed it
Back onto
A wooden shelf

A little wolf
So pure, so bright
Loyal till
The very end


Now with the
Closing of the door
The both of you
Were parted

*A little wolf
So pure, so bright
Loyal till
The very end
Terry Collett Nov 2013
Let me take you out to lunch
Mrs Bryce said
(she was a middle aged dame
old enough to be his aunt)

o.k if you like
he said
but her friend Lilly
didn't like the idea

(some jealousy
of the lesbian kind
maybe he later thought)
and was quite reserved

as they went to
the posh upstairs restaurant
he one side
and they opposite

Lilly giving him
the cool stare
her pinched mouth
wrinkled forehead

Mrs Bryce studied
the menu
her glasses on
her eyes focused

what you having Lilly?
she asked
and Lilly scanned
her menu and picked out

something in French
and then she asked him
and he said
o the stew will do

and the waitress came
and took their orders
and went off
wagging her behind

which he noticed
but they didn't
being that part
sexually blind

and then came
the small talk
the casual chat
or this and that

and Lilly straight faced
thin lipped
and icy eyes stare
but he knew

what Lilly didn't
she had no idea
about the ***
or how the middle aged

dame had it still
could still turn on the fire
could **** off his desire
but Mrs Bryce

never said a word
not a hint
she wore her middle age
and middle class morals

very well
a mask of gentility
or cultured good humour
good manners on show

but he knew
she was hot
and could go
(her husband

some middle aged guy
with sourness
and boredness
in each greying eye)

and she sat there
giving it the small talk
sipping the wine
one finger raised

her eyes pure
as cut glass
behind the specs
and Lilly listened

in soft admiration
wanting to be nearer
breathing in
Mrs Bryce's scent

dreaming of the two of them
doing whatever in
some bedroom spent
but he had the real

not a dream
and as he watched
Mrs Bryce sipping
her wine

thin lips
on thin glass
he remembered her
that time lying there

bright eyes
greying but dyed hair
he bringing her
to a seventh heaven

of yes and yes
and more
and Lilly sour faced
sitting and listening

to the small talk
but wanting
something other
for sure.
Jay  Dec 2017
DROWNING
Jay Dec 2017
Two years ago,
I started drowning
It wasn’t bad
At first
A little tightness
In my lungs
But nothing too bad

One year ago,
I was still drowning
The air wasn’t coming
Back into my lungs
Only ice cold
Freezing water
Blackness started
Edging into my vision
But I ignored it
Because no one else around me
Was drowning
So there was no reason why
I would be, unless
I was weak
I wasn’t weak
I wasn’t drowning
Or so I said

Six months ago
I started drowning
For real, this time
There was no denying
The fact that my hands
Were turning grey
And my lungs were crying out
But my blue lips
Didn’t part to
Let out that scream
And my grey limbs wouldn’t
Flail to show someone,
Anyone at all
That I was drowning

Five months ago,
I kept drowning
I was now far from the surface
Of the water
Where it was light blue
And warm in the
Shallow ends of this water
I had far surpassed that
I was in arctic water
Deep and cold
Murky and unfathomable
Drowning, and not making
A single sound

Thirty-six days ago
I gave into drowning
Well, I had given into it
When I decided that
Greying skin and blue lips
Was fine, for me
But now, I completely gave in

Thirty-six days ago,
I wanted to drown
But I wanted to do it faster
And so I tried to hurry up
The process of drowning
Alone, in those icy waters

Thirty-four days ago
Someone dangled an oxygen mask
In front of my blue lips
They told me to put it on
But I didn’t want to

Drowning was like anything else
Once you had spent enough time
In it, you became afraid
Of what it would be like
Without it

I knew drowning
I knew its pain, I became friends with it
I was comfortable with drowning
And I knew the outcome of it
And I was okay with it

Thirty-three days ago,
Someone jumped into that awful water
Or perhaps they didn’t
Jump in, they swam over
They forced the mask between my lips
And then they stayed
It came loose, a couple times,
And I found other people who were drowning
I hated that they were drowning
But I think that we were all a little glad
To find that we weren’t alone
In our drowning

I’ve kept my oxygen mask
I’m still in that cold water
But now I have others who make sure
That I don’t drown
And I make sure that
Their masks are affixed
They do the same for me
We save each other

And now that I have
Enough air to breathe
I can see, and I can see
Other people who
Are starting to drown

So I take all my effort and energy
And I swim to them
Most of the time, they don’t have a mask
And it hurts me to see that they’re drowning
So I give them my mask
For as long as they need
Until they have their own
Sure, it hurts me, but as long as it helps them

A while ago,
I started drowning
I kept drowning for a while
But then I found others
And together, we found our way
We found our oxygen tanks
We’re still drowning
But now, we can take in enough air
To sometimes swim
A bit closer to the surface
A bit closer to
Not drowning
A bit closer
To real life
And no matter how far we fall
The others will help us start going
To the light blue, peaceful water
Water that we won’t drown in
Yenson Oct 2018
What if they had a War and nobody came !
my sentiment all along

Actions so transparent and telegraphed a mile long
absurd anchoring, even more absurd triggering
so absurd as to be meaningless
the hotchpotch logic of simpletons on acid
The banal manifestations of the anodyne retards with advanced hysteria

Think unruly kids on Colombian marching powder
think advanced psychosis with total stage ten delusions
Watch mass hysteria contagion
Logic was never there, rationality bolted beating Usain Bolt
Inveterate liars and fantasists now control maddened throngs

Oh dear! they decided I am madly in love with acquaintance
neither I or poor acquaintance know this
But let not the truth get in the way of a soap opera by the insanes
After All meaningless triggers and Delusionary prompts
keep the sheeples busy in People's Power utopia

They are all having a war, nobody has told me about it
I don't understand their language yet they are very eloquent
Deep in their imagined Neuro-linguistic Programming or mental pygmies playing Pavlov Dog theory of the semi-illiterates  

I just realized why cancer is prevalent amongst them
They carry so much poison and emotional ******* in their beings
It pollutes and eat away at them internally, they get cancer!

Never have been interested in little minds and liars and thieves
Have little time for dumb people, the toxics and the sheeples
What makes cretins think I take anything of theirs to mind
what can I learn or gain from contemptibles
I don't feel inferior so why would I want to learn
how to slander and defame others to bring them down
'Slander is the GREAT LEVELLER voiced one of them
poor inadequate soul, poor pathetic degenerate

I look twenty years younger than my years, no wrinkles
Just slightly greying, mind as sharp as razor
Because I don't carry acidic *******, hate or foul nonsense
in my head,
Because my mind is full of worthy knowledge
because I am not an ignoramus with attitude
because I am not a shameless coward or an empty headed nonentity
Because I am not amongst the madding crowd
I am not an insignificant pointless HATER with cancer in waiting!

I am NOT a SHAMELESS RACIST white THIEF discrediting the
Victim I STOLE from
OR
an OBNOXIOUS gang of SOCIALIST crazed subhumans cancerized
by jealousy and envy
Ella Gwen May 2015
I met you at the station
you said wanted to go anywhere but here.

I said to look for the tracks that
are the most uninviting. You
took my arm. I wished for

something better and here it came,
disguised by dirt, dislocation and greying days.

Your ticket says no return but
mine is undefined, watchful, ready
to bolt or to linger. You say you love
the stations from afar.

There's not much of me
requested, but the splinters that you
do, I gift hopelessly. The

smallest glimpse of light approaching
filtered through dank, oppressive air
are superior, surely? than finite life
exhausted watching the dark.

By the night you amplify,
when you have enjoyed my fill and
left with little but fingerprints and
recollections, casting parallel shadows
on directions that await.

I give you almost everything
except for the words that
travel nowhere but my head.

You gave me the signal
a briefest flash of red
that stopped this in its tracks.
Ellen Joyce Jul 2013
Her laugh broke the window pane -
shards of glass pouring like rain,
the sound of shattering safety made her blood run cold
as she clung to disintegrating silence.

Grains of silent-self
pricking the backs of her eyes until tears streamed down her cheeks
wiping fiction from flesh, eyes turned to the floor
so you won't see the sadness where the sparkle should be.
Could be.
Would be.
Maybe.

She feels the barbed wire noose around her tongue loosen,
unfurling its razor sharp grip on her throat
to the melody of the sweet small voice singing soothing songs
seducing her to speak.

Speak.
The words fall clumsily from her lips like ***** clattering plates
splattering waste on wall and doors
leaving a mess that cannot be swept
nor hidden under the carpet or clothes.
"Please. Please.".

She feels eyes burning into naked-self
declaring the truth as if it had the strength to stand,
to bear the weight of shame from times that should remain untold,
but she told.
"Look away. Please. Don’t look at me,
I need you not to look at me, please please please".

She squirms beneath the squirming,
the crawling cascade of bugs under her skin,
in her-self, ***** girl -
ankles twisting, fingers bending, hands trembling,
heart beating, breath quickening, mouth begging
"please please don’t look at me".

The kiss to be seen, breaks like a scream
on the back of a lifetime playing dead,
choking back the words left unsaid,
hiding scars of the wounds that once bled.  

Wounds that call from beneath layers of scar tissue,
a symphony of whispering simpering bacteria
recalling the filthy mire imploding from the pyre;
seal after seal broken leaving her less beauty, more beast.  

In a place where animals do what animals do,
mounted like cattle, like dog catching *****
whose losing the battle to guard her chasm,
to keep the place barred.

Her pleas broke the threshold,
falling forward, hands and knees grinding into twigs and leaves,
his grip so thick on her hair
that he heaves out a scream from the depths of her bowels,
ripping through tension and fear
to gift a ***** with a mark, a shame, a name that won’t disappear –
“Don’t look at me”.  

They call it ******
as if you could name a pain that seared so deep it
drew a blood that would take a week to heal
and a ***** that would never stop rising.  

Her arms buckled under the weight of shame,
of blame, of every screaming name he seethed into her sullied flesh,
with every wavering breath she breathed – “please don’t look at me”.  

His hands grip beneath her hips
nails biting into aching, seeping flesh, filling her pores with
more, more, more.  

Baths - a thing of the past,
water hot, rusted and greying with the rot that lies on her,
with the putrid knot that lies in her.  
“I’m so ashamed.”

Her exhaustion broke her human-ness –
body depleted from repeated invasion that she couldn’t stop,
that he wouldn’t stop -
was sure he had reached a perverse plateau of the boundaries that he breached.  
She underestimated him.  

Label weathered bottle,
nectar alluring drawing inside crawling bugs
as forced kisses stole breath,
focus lost and a nip to his tongue would cost a choke-hold to blur the world,
spit on her face hurled with the venom of an injured python.  

Cold, hard, scraping against skin trying to get in –
“Please.” –
bugs crawling, cascading, invading,
fighting my womb, biting my flesh raw, boring into my blood
turning life force to mud and self separated from beautiful source.  

I felt his thrill at my hip.
“Please don’t ...
Is it masochism to share the most humiliating, hurt or is it healthy?”

Her mouth broke -
alive with sensations and nerves that serve
to taste to feel, to flex a tongue to sing to speak to eat.  
He drew her to her knees,
with greater and greater ease
to penetrate perception with ******* till her jaw ached and strained,
drained, choking back the spoils of man,
feeling panic as her stomach recoils vomiting shame.

Every seal torn open; closed - locking the dirt inside.
This poem was written in the process of therapy to deal with **** and abuse experienced when I was in my early teens.  I share it now as I watch my god daughter turn thirteen and feel a fear for her and a need to protect her.  I share it now because I fought long for a voice and now its audible.
Тадеус  Aug 2014
Serenity
Тадеус Aug 2014
Hydrangeas and tall boxwood bushes
grow on each side of the walkway.
Picket fence, greying from need of paint,
and Foxglove and Bleeding Hearts thrive in shade.
The little breeze shakes the leaves
and cause the nodding Roses to sway.
In evening when sun begins to set,
serene peacefulness comforts my soul like God.

*Тадеус
© Тадеус 8-16-2014
Все права защищены.
Dr Peter Lim Oct 2015
Dusk somehow
speaks to me
of time's greying

we forget
time has a life of its own
and knows its own loneliness

it grows tired
more and more by the second
performing a duty
****** upon it-

it has no say
it has no holiday
but takes orders
from a void that
first gave it life-

and time sadly says:
this is my destiny
and I am chained
by a force
beyond me

I grow old
neglected
forgotten
left behind
unto my own

and I long to sleep
never to get up
I die a little everyday
and regret
that I can't die

in the dusk
can you hear and feel
time sighing
among the trees, hiding
over the waters, wandering
over the mountain, reminiscing
around the stars, dreaming?

and can you imagine
it has a heart
and sheds tears
like us humans?
NIL
cmy  Oct 2015
The Rainbow's End
cmy Oct 2015
I hear my happy thoughts sing
Of shapes and sounds the April rain brings,
To faraway yellow hills I will go
To seek the throbbing rainbow's end

I danced along the unseen track
The path that leads to once spoken dreams
For these thundering dreams I will keep
Till at the last turning we shall meet

At the beating of the greying rain
I will find my home again
In the deepening of this world
I will find my rainbow's end

— The End —