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Glenn Currier Dec 2023
The breeze stretches and cools the season
along the country road
variegated light, leaf-filtered
from trees that lean
in rivalry for my eager eyes.

Their foliaged arms dangle, then drop
an amber snowfall all around
as if to awaken me
to the autumn creep
into my bones that click and tick
with each tottery step.

Earth awakens me to the beauty
in this splendorous season
of the gliding swaying passage
of life in alteration
and spiritual invitation
to bathe in the slow current of creation
along this road
and its cool and bright possibilities.
I S A A C Aug 2023
stomach aches, illness
heartbreaking stillness
craving a remedy but avoiding the potent
heal in increments, cry in instalments

stomach aches, imperfect
only 3-4 days i am working
other than that, diving as deep as the ocean
explore my brain, ruffle my feathers
distill my vain, sew the pieces together
Dave Robertson Apr 2022
Have a care,
they said
if the wind changes you’ll stay like that

and I think I missed the breeze
that fixed me in place
in among the hurricane days,

but the aches and pains
don’t shift no more,
just there
to be muted
by whatever suits
and ties
Simran Modhera Jun 2021
There's something unsettling
about this feeling of loving hopelessly.

My toes
are constantly ready to push off and
dive into a pool that's empty.
It holds no water or promise,
but I get up and jump
again and again.
This is what  reparable souls are made of
Magic, drunken thoughts, and bravery all wrapped in delicate skin.

My mother has warned me
of this feeling before.
and how it ends in tissues and stitches.
But I call her and urge her indiscretion
to my father and her emotions.

I crave the feeling of feeling stuck in your gut,
where your body aches but it’s
wrapped in silk sheets.
that consume my mind wholly, constantly, agonizing and yet
I stand on the diving board
ready to crash again.
CedeAloevera111 Mar 2021
It's not a bad thing to make mistakes
But overdoing it can make aches.

Sin came from our desires
It is a force that tempts us to lit our fire.
Sin causes lives into distruction
And make people cry in unsatisfaction.

Naive people,sinning to earn self happiness.
Selfishness is the start of fights.
War, and more sin which is made by human kind.
Phil A Dec 2020
My head feels like an overstuffed pepper.
Stiff stained starch spread over my eyes,

And very hard to! Burning hot.
With a nose full of stuff aptly named snot.
Ears full of dough, paining deep inside in need of relief.
Aching back, shoulders, knees, hips, neck. GOOD GRIEF!
Sleep! Oh I wish I could just roll over and sleep.
But my stomach keeps nagging me as I try to count sheep.

No, it's not Covid, but I'd feel better dead.
Just a bad cold, with a stuffed pepper head.
Paul Idiaghe Nov 2020
snow spills
like stars shredding onto soil.
suddenly I’m sinking,
& the world weighs like a wound
wrapped in the white, wet wool of winter;

autumn appears in amber, already
pulling out my pieces—
again, it aches;

death dawns in darkness
& I dance, drenched of the desire
to dream—breathing and breaking
bonded before, now they birth
a boundless burden;

nests its nails into my neck;
& I’m bone-broken, body-bloodied,
sprawling scarlet across my skin;

eclipsing with you,
I lose my light, looking for love,
& all of my colors cease to conceive;

sun sits
on the saffron spine of summer
but the melancholy doesn’t melt away,
dreams do;

skies spout
my sorrow in spring—
garnished with green grounds, I grieve.
Seema Sep 2020
The stale air still carried your scent to my inner muse
To flourish the dead feelings which once bloomed into a forest
Like the silence of a midnight street where even the lights flicker
Walks my two feet with my never ending shadow
Soaked in the moonlights dew, a humble handful residue
Of my dying love...

©Seema Sen, 2020
AmazingsanPoetry Sep 2020
Poetry.. The bed of repose.

He once thought.. He has forgotten the pathway to the bed of repose, where he deposites all weight of his troubles, uproar, burdens, aches and miseries, a bed of repose where he finds peace, a reflection from the divine stir. But literally not,  cause even a blind man will not forget the scent of his bed of repose, a place where he has no worries of crashing, stumbling or falling.. Despite all the constant tumultuous stir, the gigantic upheaval upon upheaval, Quasi-typhoon from the resulting uproar beneath, aches and miseries, he always creeps, crawls sometimes even rolls and feel his way to his bed of repose. There he lays all his burdens, cause at the end no room or heart is actually enormous enough to accommodate his burdens.
Not so blazing writes, poetry is home sweet home.
John McCafferty Aug 2020
Soon is the time to take a break
The body aches as high
energy starts to dissipate
This vacuum burns quick without a wick
For your sake vacate to an empty space
Absorb, recharge and wait
Before shadows turn to creep in place

Dedicate some wealth to yourself
Cleanse and replenish vital health
Prioritise the time ahead
This is not the start nor end
Regenerate in wake
More work to come in a second phase

There is only so far one can bend
Patterns formed from social habits
No linear trends
A new way of living is needed to mend
(@PoeticTetra - instagram/twitter)
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