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I like to call it blowing on the harp.  Or wailing.
Like how helpless my mouth is
in the throes of translating wind, how I forget to
unfurl into the hot pleasures
of bath, pearling on around me,
that I had previously spent several dimes of
anticipation on,
even the mounds
of afternoon-special bubbles,
even the pleasure of seeing my own
flushed and perfect skin, mermaided
beneath this tideless sea.

When the urge to blow upon the slim silver box finds me
I almost don’t.  Issues of noise and also
whatever it is when you think “I don’t
know how”. I am surprised to see such
reasonable concerns after all these years
of exacting unreasonable responses
from myself in those silvering and hightide
moments that you never see coming.  

As if there were more to
the how of it than lips and hands
and steam and breath and the now weary bubbles
done tired of waiting
and laid down instead, across the water
in flat white whorls,
in a type of peculiar obedience, to the music above.
Remy Luna May 2017
One
I'm sorry.  
Of course, you'll never know it.
I'm writing poems to a ghost by proxy, 
Gone before you even had fingernails or looked like a
Tangible thing and not some alien parasite.  

I heard once
That a soul can't inhabit a body
Until it takes the first breath of
Oxygen into it's lungs,
And if that's the case,
I'm sorry I stole the taste from you.

Two
I built a monument for your martyrdom
In the city of my thoughts, somewhere
Between the Relationship Trauma District,
And Motherhood Gardens.
It is a bronzed sunflower held in a mangled fist.
Your older sister takes me there in her laughter.

Three
You have to understand,
The man that put us both in this predicament
Didn't know how to keep his hands to himself
Or know how to fight his own demons without drawing
Someone else's blood trying to shadowbox with them.
How could I choose to potentially
Give him the opportunity to ever draw yours?  

Four
I'm sorry that we were careless,
Played Russian roulette with a loaded pistol
One by one slid five bullets between six chambers,
Haphazardly I spun the cylinder.
Placed the barrel to the roof
Of my mouth for good measure
Pulled the trigger, heard the faint click
Of my future, and then it was his turn.
I didn't think through the repercussions of
Lying in a grave before it had even been dug.  
Sharing blame and co-dependency
Intrinsically fed off of each others pain,
We entwined and made something out of hatred,
And I'm sorry that was you.

Five
Even now I hear myself say these words and,
It sounds selfish parading itself as selfless
Why didn't I say no or protect myself with
Contraceptives or just not have *** with him?
******* adoption, HELLO?
Or at the very least swallow.  Right?  
Right. I blame myself a lot too, there's really no
Reason to tell me things I already scream
At myself about inside of my head.  
Or is it my mother's voice?  I can't tell anymore.
She had a lot of opinions about you,

Six
There are so many hoops I had to jump through,
Contortionist poses to assume, to do this.
I'm sorry it's the most flexible I've allowed
Myself to be in all my life.
But,
Do not think I didn't mourn you.

Seven
For  years after I will run my palm over my stomach
And feel the concave of your absence inside of me
The less than, The empty
A hollow cavern that crumbled bit by bit, eroded by
Wave after wave of guilt in hightide
During a tropical storm,  
The malestrom that howled within now
Only taunts me anymore, with a constant hum,
The echoes of the pitter-patter
Of a light rain. The heartbeat I only heard once.

Eight
Would you hold me in a different light
If I told you that despite
All the darkness surrounding how I feel
About it, I don't regret the choice?  
Lamentful, burdened with
Would-haves and could-haves
But rooted in affirmations, knowing full well
That the heartache would have been far worse
For everyone in the long run,  

Nine
That I feel like I saved you.
That I feel like I saved both of us.
I'm sorry.

Ten
Sorry.
The word  falls from my lips like a void purport
To a forgiveness that I will never receive.
daily log  Jan 2021
log #4
daily log Jan 2021
cant breath
its happening again
the ocean goes hightide
my body refuses to move
I sink into oblivion
my tears become
one with the ocean cries

cant breath
the stars take me into the night
lost in the darkness
frozen in space
my tears refuse to leave my eyes
they freeze in the night

unwanted memories rush in

this feeling is suffocating
missed log #3 but im back at it again
Onoma May 2017
listening to hightide pile it
on thick thru mind, thrusting the
shoreline before it's submerged.
i close eyes i never knew i had,
the tongue hits the roof of the
mouth and a poem recites it-Self.
where went the house of worship?
the rigor mortis of a horseshoe
crab stuck to a boulder...tail
pointing cloudward.
Lauren Gorger  Dec 2014
The Shift
Lauren Gorger Dec 2014
Have you ever watched it go from so simple to entirely complex,
like in the way you watched me dance in that dress of distress?
...When laying on your chest turned into counting all of your breaths; I heard your heartbeat express everything I could never forget.
Have you ever watched it all bloom beautifully out of its doom, like the shadow in your room that will consume all that you knew, but allows you to move in a motion that can always improve?
You learn to assume that you must remove what was once untrue to you.
For me, I've watched a teardrop turn into a vast sea...
A change in perspective - to see that there is no end to the idea of what could be.
Have you ever watched a ripple turn into a fierce rumble of waves?
Those kind of days where the gaze in your eyes is no longer misplaced in the maze. A certain place where we finally take the stage, leaving a trace of a brave-hearted phrase that we will let seep from our broken cage.
Would you trade everything you've made?
I am back stroking upon the hightide, and i am unafraid to be alive.
I have traveled far away from the shallow waters and taught myself what diving had to offer.
The water seems much softer in this place I have wandered.
Have you ever watched the observer become the one watching yourself?
Everything on your shelf is no longer your wealth, and you become rich in the way you felt the day you would so peacefully melt in a space you comfortably dwelled.
I wonder if you find yourself compelled to face all you have withheld...to watch everything become propelled into another realm of reality.
I wonder when I was upheld in this place where all of these words fell far from out of me.
I reach so I can see everything that I knew I could be...
I am one with the sea, and i swim effortlessly and truly.
Carla Marie Sep 2023
I am the deepening mystery
I am the weighted blanket that enfolds in midnights
I am a force of Nature
I am the morning coo-ing at daybreak
I am a dew covered field of
swaying wheatgrass
I am bluebonnets by the side of a
little used road
I am fall leaves underfoot
I am a sudden rain shower
I am hightide in a full moon
I am ocean waves crashing the rocks
I am a gently flowing stream
I am the slow breeze that softly
kisses the neck
I am the hard and high wind that leaves one grasping for purchase
I am the lightning storm that ends a scorching day
I am the scorching day
I am an electromagnetic field
I am a solar flare
I am the hazy stillness before the earthquake... and
Every now and again
I am the mothaphuckin earthquake
Emily  Jan 2021
cant breath
Emily Jan 2021
cant breath
its happening again
the ocean goes hightide
my body refuses to move
I sink into oblivion
my tears become
one with the ocean cries

cant breath
the stars take me into the night
lost in the darkness
frozen in space
my tears refuse to leave my eyes
they freeze in the night

unwanted memories rush in

this feeling is suffocating
Mike Hauser  Jul 2023
barefoot
Mike Hauser Jul 2023
barefoot she knows
wherever she goes
does not own a shoe to her name

all that she needs
is a sandy beach
and a day of refreshing waves

stays grounded in life
watching seagulls in flight
where their call sets her soul free

spends the time of her life
at the peak of hightide
always carefree in the breeze

what's not to love
a day in the sun
basking in its lasting warmth

where barefoot she goes
being all that she knows
who could ask for anything more

— The End —