Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Spenser Bennett Feb 2016
There's an impossibility standing adjacent to the nearest star bound body
It waves and beckons with a sincere familiarity so unnaturally
I am the end of the undulating tunneled vision
I am become a silhouette of a dead city caught in the decaying story bones fiction

We are all emptiness and our emptiness is how we define ourselves.
But our emptiness will become a river into which we will find the world to be held.
The universe exists in the eyes of those who live without the sight to see
Those breathing, freezing stars that burn into the heart buried deep.

Constructs of will and portions of strength cut out the guilt of my youth
All roads lead to the sky but I will not seek to understand you
Futures are made in blinks and beats
Are they aware of the way we lay with our tangled feet under these threadbare sheets?

Follow the light of my darkness
A single shot of whiskey and a conversation whisks away my heart's hardness
All cool and breezy across the great green oceans
I'll meet you halfway between loss and a facsimile of dreamed emotions
patty m  Nov 2017
Bridges
patty m Nov 2017
Sharp evening birds shadow the sun
setting across the water;
in dreams the ocean
comes to full river.
Many times we've climbed this bridge
weeds changing the color of the water,
stirring glints of conversation
the uplift in the veins
beating a flight to autumn.

I hear your string of broken bird call
raucous and wild
as years turn it to echo;
Startling paleness
a reverie of winter's chill
how boneless is bird flight.
the solace of wings.
                    
Now there is only one
                                      where once there were two.  

          clipped wings
          the imprint of fossils
          the rain's guilty tones
          smearing the dirt

Planks wobble,
                            set as they are
                                                    haphazard­, uneven.

Now there's a blur of impressions,
                                  the nonsensical strings in a litany of sound
                                                           ­                                 
Today,
. . . reflecting on  you,
I walk this bridge alone, touching air no one else can see,
                 one step at a time,
                                           learning to be ME.
Haley Lorish Nov 2018
Bittersweet and lemon treats
Tanking troubled hatless heaps  
Salty horizon flogs sweet beach
Sandy skin, too soft a peach
Your thumb brushing my left cheek
Can you still smell the apple’s reek
Skewed hearts remain in heat  
Devine reminds a heart to beat
Kept up in the saddles seat
King of every bit of hate, wash
These battered palms disgrace
Love has sunk the ship of face
Tulips lack the need for space
Whips of stars appear in plight
Have you only fight or flight?
Good wills only break the bank
And I’ve only left myself to thank
Derrek Faraday Oct 2018
By the 1960s, a disillusionment with Nationalism and war was permeating within the public consciousness.

Man: jazz. Jazz! Everything sounds like jazz when you lend your hears an oscilloscope. You know what j-a-z-z sounds like? Well, it’s sweet, serendipitous or nonsensical, nihilistic. Modern in stainless steel or anachronistic in brass. Jazz! So what? Jazz sounds like anything that’s everything and vice versa. It’s a limb of that omniscient looker up and over: the tune itself. Oh, the tune? It’s what lies between your fingers when you’re writing, forging, loving, giving, perishing. You strut with the frequency of a conduit, but an unaware one at that. A change is gonna come in mere years, I know that much. Everyone will be deloused in the pain of the world; Mother Sympathy for all, even the charlatans who hide behind their crimson fur! All I’m saying is, whoever brings it ought to be from this place. I can’t fathom a recalcitrant extraterrestrial handling our own business at the expense of their planet’s water supply. I’m excited for whatever comes, believe me. So long as it ends me and with me.
Abeille  Oct 2013
Wrtrsblck
Abeille Oct 2013
What, tell me,
is this lead in my brain?
When was it placed there?
Why have I abstained
from those nonsensical stories
I wrote as a kid?
Little mind unscathed,
silly thoughts untampered with.
I was such a quick thinker,
the reel never quit
What happened to the cheeky me
full of bravery and wit?
Now this heart's always pounding,
mind full of wanton dread
I suppose I'll start by peeling
Let's say off with my head!
Layer by layer
hold fast in its stead
One thought at a time now,
'til I'm back from the dead
PoserPersona Jun 2018
Yes, it's seemingly a nonsensical rhetorical question, but, for that precise reason, it will illustrate a lesson, if you so desire to tag along for this short session.

Per Wikipedia, "The horse (Equus ferus caballus) is one of two extant subspecies of Equus ferus. It is an odd-toed ungulate mammal belonging to the taxonomic family Equidae." Hmmm... I much prefer that the horse goes "Nay," eats hay, has a mane, and is ridden by cowboys, cowgirls, Indians, equestrians, knights, jockeys, conquistadors, Mongols, and all. Even better, just point a horse out or otherwise show a picture to a kid and they will never be mistaken again. Even the littlest ones will never be stumped when faced with a rhino, tiger, giraffe, camel, and such.

Admittedly, there is a worry that we could be fooled with that of a donkey or mule. How come no one has taken advantage of this?! What a scam to get us rich! "Duh doy," you say, cause we all know when we see a horse, so why would anyone try to trick us with an ***?! Well I ask you in turn, why does anyone try to trick us with good art versus bad, let alone art versus crap? How could anyone fall for that?!
Next page