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 Aug 2013 Someone else
Evynne
It's funny
I woke up today with nothing to do
So I made myself a to-do list
Most of it was *******
But that's beside the point
The very first thing on it was
"Write some ******* poetry"
Maybe I should have written
"Write some ******* good poetry"
Because lately
Almost every single thing I write down is horse ****
It all *****
But nevertheless I keep writing
Finding myself to be more and more frustrated
Feeling more and more pathetic and hopeless
When will I be free of this evil and choking plague?
When will my hand start writing frantically and never stop?
Bleeding beautiful words onto countless sheets of paper
Forming passion into sentences
And feelings into all of the letters in between
Something that tugs at every part of your insides
When you read it

I woke up today
I made some coffee
And I sat down to write
When nothing surfaced
I said, "**** it"
And poured myself a glass of wine
And as I sipped on the poisonous drink
I wrote a poem

And it was still ****
 Aug 2013 Someone else
Quiet Luke
I do things that as a kid I promised I wouldn't
and tell myself that it's alright when I probably shouldn't
because my brainpower
could be used for staying power
'stead I fly for cover like birds in a rain shower

We go bad like curds on the Mayflower
hoping we can make one moment last eight hours
forget our jealousy
convinced we're making memories,
but something in my heart keeps on telling me:

Somebody tell me why I'm so mad
and why growing apart makes me so sad
sometimes I wish I could go back
I really wish I could go back

I've made mistakes, and I know that
I have a good heart, but I'm so bad
sometimes I wish I could go back
oh how I wish I could go back
Please.
Don't Speak.
Not Yet.

Let me live in this silence.
In this limbo.

There is still hope here
that you may not break my heart.

Just give me this moment.
Please.

This could still end happily.
With hugs and kisses and promises.

It won't
But right now I can pretend.

Please.
Let me dream here longer.

But you open your perfect lips.
And I am broken.

Please.
Just leave.
Now.
Anyone who has been broken up knows this moment. It's over. You know they are going to say the words that finalize it. But there is always a silence while that person delays the inevitable and you can still hope. This is my first poem here so suggestions are welcome
 Aug 2013 Someone else
st64
C L A W
 Aug 2013 Someone else
st64
Claw beneath your ribs
Hold down wild you
Just for a little while
Feel the anguished flutter
Begging these gruff hands . . .


1.
Fear takes commotive hold
Makes wooden legs
Delayed dance…..so delayed
Causing silent attendance of synchrony

No use stepping out for flight just yet, if alone
Will meantime practise wing-span
                           iron out brittle energy
                           attempt to fortify links
                           ..

2.
Careless snubs to fragile sapling
Did *absolutely nothing

To the course set out
Only hypocrites squander even half-truths
and wallow in obsequious words
rendering paralysis and decay

I will continue to claw beneath your ribs
Covert trove awaits us
In the tormented form of
Crashing waves on a broken coast
Hacked to near-distraction by potent searching


3.
Loss is not wasted
unseen by its absence:
evocative presence felt …with penniless eyes

I challenge you to visualise our melting:
                 perched on fate’s right shoulder
                 re-sent to this basic arena as buoyant token
                 summoned by that primordial, blue light
                 ..



the sun may well baulk and melt
at the ruddy sight of
such intense clawing beneath your ribs
(like your customary digging into my bristling blades)

To find my foetal place
within the calling drumbeats
of imperative you . . .





S T, sunsday . . . 21 July 2013
What is loss?
Just cos we may not see a person any more, really doesn’t they aren’t there: why, they’ve just assumed a different form, not so.
But we persistently fail to accept that change lies at the heart of progress…letting go.
Why do we battle so… with the inevitable?
Always acquisitive….acquisitive…must own… yet, we own plain SQUAT !!

(just yesterday, I was astounded to read that M. Jackson owns a piece of property ...on the MOON!!
Who the hell sold it to him? Who on earth owns the moon? How's this even possible?? lol
Yeah, we're crazy, really....that's for sure.)

Hey man, I’ll see you …on the other side…if I’m lucky enough to recognise you! Lol
Chillax!  





Sub-entry: You're A Lady  
Songwriter: SKELLERN, PETER

Now the evening has come to a close
And I've had my last dance with you
On to the empty streets we go
And it might be my last chance with you
So I might as well get it over
The things I have to say won't wait until another day

You're a lady, I'm a man, you're supposed to understand
How these things are often planned to be
You're romantic, I'm a fool,
You're the teacher, I've come to school
Here I sit and hope that you'll love me

You're pure magic, unlock my chain
Nothing ventured, nothing gained
And so I say with no restraint, be mine, be mine

Hard to answer, I agree
But then, I've got to know
I'm not asking you to marry me
Just a little love to show
Oh, I know I could make you happy
So the things I have to say
Won't wait until another day

You're a lady I'm a man
You are supposed to understand
How these things are
Often planned to be

You're romantic, I'm a fool
You're the teacher, I've come to school
Here I sit and hope that you'll love me
You're pure magic, unlock my chain
Nothing ventured, nothing gained
And so I say with no restraint, be mine, be mine


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=
 Aug 2013 Someone else
Elise Chou
in winter we rubbed off our skin with bitter yellow soap
& danced across the murky floor of our brains.
ankle-deep in ambien, our toes scraped urchins & palms of anemone.

we built shelters in the living room
from moss-green blankets & coffee tables,
our fingers making furtive wishes in the quivering dark.
we picked small hairs & pennies out of the carpet.

when i grew hungry you offered me your left thigh
like an unwrapped christmas present.
under the aquatic quake of the fluorescent light
you fat seemed to boil
& your bed turned into a small, cold island.

we opened checking accounts under fake names
& you started to worry about your gently doming stomach.
when the mailman came, we cowered in the closet.

each year the temperature of our livers
rose a few degrees.

spring brought us flowers that smelled like DDT.

––Appears in the Spring 2013 issue of The Columbia Review.
i think it's a little different
when it's against a wall
I love you
I think.
Or maybe I love the concept of you.
I love what you could have been.
I love what we pretended you were.
I love what I assumed you were
Under the surfaces your cactus-needle fists
And broken glass tongue.
I love what is good in comparison to you.
I love the way I see brilliant colors
And hear beautiful sounds
In your absence.

I do not hate you.
I do not hate the chicken scratch doctor notes
Saying you need to up your dose of
Chill the **** out – erol
And take a step back – etine.
I do not hate your late night screaming.
I do not hate your isolation and destroy foreign policy-
Your invasion into my life
And your crimes against my humanity.
I do not hate you
Because I have seen how much you already
Hated yourself,
Hated me,
Hated everyone
And everything
And everywhere
And life.
I do not hate you
Because I love you

I think.
It's been a while since I've added anything - it's kind of hard to post these.
Thanks everyone for being supportive to all the amateurs like me out there. (:
(p.s. I'm sorry about the f-bomb!)
Yesterday wasn’t so good.
Sometimes when I think about it,
Yesterday disgusts me.
I don’t feel very comfortable
Talking about it,
But even in the silence,
Yesterday squirms in the back
Of my mind.

Yesterday weighs pretty heavily
On my chest and shoulders.
I hear Yesterday in my cracking joints
And I see it sprinkled across my arms
As scars.

It is very difficult to look forward
When I know Yesterday is
Close on my heels.
I am constantly glancing over my shoulder
To be sure Yesterday hadn’t become Today.

I feel Yesterday deep in my stomach
in my neck and in my ankles
and I feel it in the moments of
Vision-going-black panic
and I’ll-never-sleep-again nights.

My brother reeks of Yesterday.
His name and face are
Constant reminders of the past.
When I see him, hear him, or think of him,
I crinkle my nose at the smell of
Pain and fear
And barely getting by
Fighting to survive
For reasons I could not put my finger on.

My only comfort is that
Even if I crumble into nothingness
Today
Even if in the next moment I collapse
And everything looming above me
Comes crashing down…
Even if Today I die.
I will always be sure that I did not collapse
That I did not stay down
That I did not crumble
That I did not die
Yesterday.
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