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ryn  Dec 2015
Missed Call
ryn Dec 2015
.
                       •the   ••••••••
         old man wi-    ••••••••
    thered•as suns    ••••••••
  would set....over    ••••••••
many days•follies    ••••••••  
he committed, then    ••••••••    
unencumbered•fina-    ••••••••       
lly caught up...so now    ••••••••         
he pays • like an unca-    ••••••••         
ged bird,  he had left his    ••••••••            
perch• not looking                                              
back, leaving behi-                                                
nd hatchlings  and                                                  ­
nest• he discarded                                                    
his­  roots  when he                                                    
left them  in the lu-                                                      
rch• flew to pursue                                                      
what­  he had thoug-                                                      
ht was best•now he's                                                    ­ 
ailing thin.....he seeks                                                     
to reconcile • reached                                                   
to his sons...and left a                                                   
voice message•asking                                               
atonement for  his cri-                                             
mes so despicable and                                          
vile • for now he lays con-    ••••••••           
sumed.........by illness and    ••••••••         
rage•hours tick by as his    ••••••••       
days blur into weeks...•    ••••••••      
his frail  breaths weak-    ••••••••   
en as he succumbs in    ••••••••
  bed•finally the call    ••••••••
     did come bearing    ••••••••
           the absolution    ••••••••
                   he seeks•    ••••••••


just a minute too late,
for the old man is already
dead
Concrete Poem 21 of 30

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Terry Collett Apr 2015
Hes gone. I heard the door go. Ingrid relaxes, her shoulders unwind, the nerves untense. Just wait; he may return. She waits, listens. He does that sometimes; returns and stands looking at me as if he cant decide about me. No sounds of him. Mum in the kitchen; pots and pans; water running, but not him. Ingrid stares behind her in case her father has sneaked in without her hearing him. No one. She bites her lower lip. That time shed thought hed gone and she turned and he was there and he walloped her one about the head saying she was looking at him evil eyed. She looks at the table; at her breakfast bowl and cereal. He would deny her even that some mornings. Been too naughty hed say and made Mum take it out and hed sit there eyeing her and if he thought she was making faces hed slap her leg. Hes gone. Relax. She begins to eat her cereal. Spoons it in slowly, just in case he comes in suddenly out of nowhere and whack and shed choke. Relax. Her mother in the kitchen washing up. Spoons in more cereal. She thinks of that time shed taken a biscuit from the jar and he said she was a thief and whacked her hard and made a big mark on her. Benny noticed. Benny knows. Her father hates Benny. Youre not to see that Benedict kid, her father said, if I see you with him youre for it. She sees him still. Were the same age, in the same class at school. Nine years old. She mouths in more cereal. Licks the spoon after. Looks at the photograph on the sideboard. Black and white. Five of them. Back then. Her father is at the back grim  as death, black suit and tie, white shirt. Mums next to him wide eyed and pale as death. That grey dress. Her big brother Tom at the front. Smiling. Gone now after that big argument with Dad last week. Sylvia my big sister sitting next to Tom. Gone last year with that Spiv. And me at the end glasses and buck teeth even then. A bang at the door. Whos that? Mumll go. Listens. Puts her spoon down. Bites her lip. Blinks. Maybe hes back forgot his keys. Blame me. Last time he did he blamed me. Said I hid them. Voices at the door. Not him then. She relaxes. Picks up the spoon. Eats a small mouthful. Nervous. Always am. Footsteps coming. Is it him? She puts down the spoon and stares at the doorway. Mum. Standing there a cigarette in her mouth; eyes ******* up against the smoke. That Benny boys here at the door. Benny? Here? Good job your fathers not here or thered be hell to pay, the mother says. What does he want? Says he wants to take you out. Ingrid looks at her bowl, fingers with the spoon. Can he come in a minute? Not good idea, what if your father returns unexpectedly? Just a few minutes while I eat my breakfast? The mother sighs. Have to be ****** quick in case your dad comes back for some reason. Then well both be for it. The mother goes out and disappears. Voices. The door closing. She hates the sound of the door closing. It usually means hes home. If hes singing or humming it means all is well, but if hes quiet and sullen then Im for it or sometimes Mum gets it first and me after. That sound. Door closing. She stares at the doorway. Benny appears smiling. His hair with the quiff; the hazel eyes. Coming out? He asks. Where are you going? He sits on the settee, looks around the room. Thought wed go to see a bit of art. Art? What paintings and that? He looks at the her. Yes, National Gallery. Costs nothing. She picks up her spoon and eats cereal, looking at him, listening for the door. How do we get there? Bus to Trafalgar Square. How much is the fare there? She asks. Not much for kids. He looks at the photograph on the sideboard. See your old man is as grim as ever. She licks the spoon for the last bits of cereal. She can hear her mother banging about in the kitchen. Will she tell Dad when he gets home? Hard to say. Well, are you coming? Benny asks, looking at the fireplace. You shouldnt have come here; my dad might have been here still. I saw the old ****** go, Benny says, watched him walk through the Square, Benny says with that grin of his. He might have come back, she says, putting down the spoon. Then what? Who knows? Benny says unconcerned. She gets up and walks towards him. He would have hurt me for you being here. He hurts you anyway. She feels uneasy. The bruise on her thigh is still there just under her dress. Ill ask Mum if I can go. He nods and smiles. If only she could smile like that. If only. Ill ask her. He looks at her go. She finds her mother sorting out washing for the copper. Can I go out with Benny? He still here? Ingrid nods. Yes. Where? See paintings. Where? National Gallery. Too far. Not far, Benny says, standing behind Ingrid at the door. Bus ride away. You shouldnt come here, the mother says. Not welcoming, Benny says. Not meant to be, the mother says. Ingrid bites her lip. Her stomach tightens. What shall I say? Will she tell? Her mother stare stares at her. On your head be it; I dont want to know. The mother turns away, sorts more washing. Got to go to toilet, Ingrid says. Ok, Benny says, Ill wait. Ingrid goes off to the toilet; locks the door. Benny stands by the door staring at the mother. Ingrid sits down. Her stomach churns. She listens for voices. Nothing. What if Dad comes back? She waits.  The bruise on her thigh is blue and black.
THE DAY BENNY CAME TO INGRID'S HOUSE IN 1950S LONDON.
Geno Cattouse Dec 2013
Thunderbird wine and a brown paperbag.
Hardpack of Newports nicotine fit shayesed .futhermucker.

Much obliged ...oh yes. Moma.said thered be days like this
Double ful twist piked in a spin dont even like the skin im in
Igpay atinlay...uckfay ouyay..iskay imay.asskay

Yea uthermayuckerfay

Days like this.

Futhermucker.
mike  Sep 2013
my soul is dogshit
mike Sep 2013
if i could travel through time only once, i would go back to your birth to kidnap you, keep you hostage in my home, feed you and beat you and brainwash you until the day came when your birth did aswell, then id send you to your birth instead of me, to **** your infant self to death with a barrel of a gun, then to put it in your mouth, but no need. youd drop ded. youd disappear. i guess thered just be the incubator filled with your sloppy child.
Ellyn k Thaiden May 2013
I dont wanna waste my
Breathe on things I'm trying to
forget my past is troubled and
behind me
And take your weary soul to
Bed, these voices in my
Head are reminding me of
My faults

I always thought when I was with
You the sky would open
Up and thered be something
New I sometimes like to dream that if
I close my eyes I'd see
You

But the bed is growing
Cold and my hands search for
Your sweaty skin, and
Instead I hear the door click
Behind you and it begins

So I cry
I cry out for you
I lay in the bed
Thoughts filled with dread

I always thought when I was with
You the sky would open
Up and thered be something
New I sometimes like to dream that if
I close my eyes I'd see
You

Life is not the same, no
Not anymore and I
Play with my hair as my heart quickens
As you shut that door

I thought I saw you
I thought I saw you
I thought I saw you
The other day
It is a song. I know one half is not the same as the other but I wrote one part a month ago and decided to attempt to finish it. It does not have the same feeling as before.
andy fardell  Feb 2011
change
andy fardell Feb 2011
Have I changed for all to see that change was really best for me
younger wiser yet troubled soul that was so awful in days of old
time reflects the things we miss yet opens up our heart of memories
Time moves on as we fade away for someone new to take our place
so what do we become in years.. a faded memory a lost few tears
a tombstone path that all do follow .. ecthed in love from loved ones sorrow
Memores lost yet marks so made upon this planets earth for without our lives thered be no more me and you or memores ...
Nrlly  Mar 2015
What we have.
Nrlly Mar 2015
What we have, is like a misery thered around my wrist,
restraining my hands from building all of you;
but i embrace the thrill of only being able to hold a part of you.
What we have, is like a wrong kind of chemistry.
We see it in each other's eyes, the way they glow.
I feel it when you touch me.
Just one close breath,next to my ear and immediately there is this connection.
But that is all we can do.
What we have, lies upon this dusty pathway guarded by a locked gate.
You see me on my side, and I,you.
What we have, is what we shouldn't.
Janelise  Feb 2017
Movie
Janelise Feb 2017
I wish life was like a movie
Where the best moments were accompanied by perfect music; your heart
pitterpattering to the beat by serene sunset.

And when you met the one, When you held  him in your arms, youd get goosebumps. Thered be a spark; Your heart would stop,
for just a second.

And when you missed someone, they would miss you, too. When you saw them in your dreams they, too, would be tossing and turning, clearly yearning to be by your side.

But, no, sadly, this is real life.
Ellyn k Thaiden  Aug 2013
Sinking
Ellyn k Thaiden Aug 2013
I dont wanna waste my
Breathe on things I'm trying to
Forget my past is troubled and
Behind me....
And take your weary soul to
Bed, these voices in my
Head are reminding me of
My faults

I always thought when I was with
You the sky would open
Up and thered be something
New I sometimes like to dream that if I close my eyes I'd see
You

But the bed is growing
Cold and my hands search for
Your sweaty skin, and
Instead I hear the door click
Behind you and it begins

So I cry
I cry out for you
I lay in the bed
Thoughts filled with dread as
Your footsteps echo on the linoleum
And I cry again

I dare not move in hopes
I'll hear your feet smacking the
Hard cold floor again
Sprinting back into my arms
In this lifeless bed
Where our lifeless dreams lay with

We had high hopes
And now we're only
Sinking
Into our mess we have made
Another song. It's late and I don't know if it makes sense or if my grammar and spelling are proper. And I don't care.
I do it because i have nothing else driving me. The pursuit of something unobtainable at least with this limited perceptual borders only traversersed with the ambitious grunt work of satifaction that leaves you panting like a dehydrated stray. The only thing i have that pushes me forward in a frenzy of info-lust lingering day to day. Save it up, spit it out. But why, ah **** why ive settled into who i am and thered no turning back. Ive seen ends as beginning and vice versa realities spinning from the center of humanity out, nautilus nature of all. Mathmatics and mind, and why...
Bradley Jenkins Jun 2014
As I stand here with a rope around my neck,
I'm thinkin "no one will miss me what the heck",
I think about the memories of the past,
Thinking about the shadow I cast,
The shadow that gave me this terrible reputation,
It gave me the sensation,
The shadow that killed friends and resurrected enemies,
And with the rope my neck I think about those enemies,
You'd think they'd care the most,
Because when I leave thered be no one to which they could boast,
I look  down at the stool,
And I think about my old friends from school,
I think about the teachers that hated me,
And the counselor who I saw frequently,
I wondered if shed miss me,
Or if shed even know what was missing,
I shed my last tear as I pray for the last time,
Thinking my birth was like a crime,
And that's when I kick the stool and fall,
And I'd never be able to stop it it was my call,
The only thing I can see is a faint light,
The closer I got it started to get bright,
And there I saw a man,
Well I couldn't tell if it was a man,
The creature seemed to be the light,
For a few brief moments I lost my sense of sight,
I heard it say "follow me son",
"I'll show you what wrong youve done",
As we walk I begin to see my body hanging from the rope,
And parents are standing around me and don't know how to cope,
They sit there and cry,
And they try to bring me back I couldn't believe they'd actually try,
My body was motionless and pale,
I wish I could just bail,
He grabs my arm and we walk a little further and I see my teachers with tears rolling down their faces,
I heard them say "just one last time I wanna see his face",
We walk farther down the line,
And I see the counselor and I look at the clock and I'm usually here at this time,
All I see is her hands covering her eyes,
I heard her say "why'd he have to die?",
I see the whole school crying,
Even the bullies are crying,
They take a moment of silence,
For their peer who was breathless and silent,
And at that moment I realize what I've done,
I hear the man say "now how would you feel if this were your son?",
And that's when I wake up alarm clocks ringin,
There's birds singin,
I leave my bedroom with a different point of view,
No matter what you think someone will always love you.
Bradley Jenkins Jun 2014
As I stand here with a rope around my neck,
I'm thinkin "no one will miss me what the heck",
I think about the memories of the past,
Thinking about the shadow I cast,
The shadow that gave me this terrible reputation,
It gave me the sensation,
The shadow that killed friends and resurrected enemies,
And with the rope my neck I think about those enemies,
You'd think they'd care the most,
Because when I leave thered be no one to which they could boast,
I look  down at the stool,
And I think about my old friends from school,
I think about the teachers that hated me,
And the counselor who I saw frequently,
I wondered if shed miss me,
Or if shed even know what was missing,
I shed my last tear as I pray for the last time,
Thinking my birth was like a crime,
And that's when I kick the stool and fall,
And I'd never be able to stop it it was my call,
The only thing I can see is a faint light,
The closer I got it started to get bright,
And there I saw a man,
Well I couldn't tell if it was a man,
The creature seemed to be the light,
For a few brief moments I lost my sense of sight,
I heard it say "follow me son",
"I'll show you what wrong youve done",
As we walk I begin to see my body hanging from the rope,
And parents are standing around me and don't know how to cope,
They sit there and cry,
And they try to bring me back I couldn't believe they'd actually try,
My body was motionless and pale,
I wish I could just bail,
He grabs my arm and we walk a little further and I see my teachers with tears rolling down their faces,
I heard them say "just one last time I wanna see his face",
We walk farther down the line,
And I see the counselor and I look at the clock and I'm usually here at this time,
All I see is her hands covering her eyes,
I heard her say "why'd he have to die?",
I see the whole school crying,
Even the bullies are crying,
They take a moment of silence,
For their peer who was breathless and silent,
And at that moment I realize what I've done,
I hear the man say "now how would you feel if this were your son?",
And that's when I wake up alarm clocks ringin,
There's birds singin,
I leave my bedroom with a different point of view,
No matter what you think someone will always love you.
Q Sep 2020
I imagine your hands dwarfing someone else's and the image puts something bitter on the back of my tongue
I imagine you sweeping back hair that doesn't curl rebelliously at your fingers, insisting your hand stay with them
Words wet with dismay stick to my dry throat and if I could cough them out thered be nothing but different configurations of "stay"
I imagine your lips covering some spectre of a woman who is not me and I am amazed by the vastness of my hate

I remember the warmth of your chest as you pressed into my side, crowded me to the table, and my heart leapt into my throat
I couldn't think past awareness of you, felt you down my spine and into my shoes
That little was enough to do to leave me gasping
I'd be frigid if I insisted I could ever do without it

I remember kissing the mouthpiece of a roll and inhaling acrid smoke and you pressed the tip of your spliff to my lips before I had finished coughing and
Chased smoke like it was an ever-distant horizon vanishing into my chest
I am a ruined woman, stuck dreaming and waiting, there's humiliation that comes with this sort of infatuation

You get me tense, keep me constantly on the precipice of something, torso dangling over a railing, always threatening the possibility of free fall
I can hardly deal with my day to day humanity, the depravity you spark is beyond me and my meager means of processing

You look at me and I feel distinctly underdressed, publicly indecent, unnecessarily yearning as though I've never once known decorum
I fumble as I rarely do, trip over words like they're untied shoes, and my heart is imprinted under the press of your thumb
I've caught myself often wondering if I am merely imagining the heat of the summer and I am roasting in your company
My skin oversensitive, my heart aches with fresh burns, but when you leave I freeze and claw you back to me

The way that my mind, ever caterwauling, overthinking, shaking is so immediately quiet and still to give your voice room
That the world narrows to a point and the buzz of reality fades and I can focus on you
That the fear I cradle is smothered by the weight of your consideration
There's so much that qualifies as perfection that its unfamiliarity makes me consider running from whatever it is brewing between you and me.
hello again

— The End —