Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
I want nothing more than to be left alone.

yet there's this child
Clinging to every
Step I take,
Reminding me of
All the spears
Our mother
Chucked at our eyelids.

I want nothing more than to be left alone.

yet there's a little rebel
Churning the bile
Inside my guts,
Screaming at me
About all the sharp edges
Of the road we walk on.

I want nothing more than to be left alone.

yet there's all this responsibility
Weighing me down,
And dragging me
Towards the edges
Of this broken glass path.

I want nothing more than to be left alone.

yet theres an old man
Whispering from the haze.
He tells me to turn back
From this destiny we share.

All that he wants is nothing more than for me to leave him alone.
time sobers
blurred moments
slurred statements
deterred growth,
and hurt faces
aces
Steve Page Feb 26
I'm full of long complexity
in this shell of masculinity
You see a pale reflection
of the inner deeper me

I'm not a likely poster child
but believe you-me it's true
I span across the gamut
between them, us, me and you

Don't judge this balding grayness
by the pallid, saggy skin
Start an honest conversation
- find the truer child within
Started in a very different place and the fifth draft landed in a more honest place
Anais Vionet Feb 17
I’m so excited about this election
about America and our direction

We’ll trust old men
to make big decisions
elderly men
of compassion and vision

Men who were there
when the work was done
when we went to the moon
and warred in Vietnam

A glorious age is at hand
we’ll be safe in those trembling hands

One who launched an insidious insurrection
Another who can’t follow simple directions

They will grasp what needs to be done,
our land will be free and efficiently run

We’ll trust old men
who think with precision
to keep us safe
with complex decisions

Men who were there
when the work was done
promoting corporate advantage
and environmental damage

A glorious age is at hand
we’ll be safe in those trembling hands

I’m so excited about this election
about America and our direction
Robert Ippaso Feb 14
I know I'm slightly losing it and Jill sees that now too,
So all we can but hope for is to Bluster and to Woo.
What If I sometimes falter with names or something more,
Only Fox is bent on keeping that lame and pointless score.
The rest of my fan Media provides me with great flak,
While I air my inner Irish and repeatedly attack.

As to the clueless voters I truly feel for all,
I quietly do get them, as the choices do appall.
Trump is but a cannon with a worn-out rusty bore,
Little in the barrel spraying mayhem aft and fore.
And to my friend Kamala, words truly don't suffice,
But no-one of sound mind would want to roll that dice.

So what are we now left with that possibly makes sense,
To getting people voting and off that dreaded fence.
I'm quite the only choice if truth be clearly told,
Despite the fact I'm quirky and obviously quite old.
Thank goodness for the knowledge my team will see me through,
I bless HIM every night for this weird creative crew.

They tell me what to say whenever I might need,
Have me practice all **** day to show that I can lead.
It's a challenge for them all but what about for me,
I’m sure it’ll be worth it in the end as you will see.
And while this plan unfolds I’ll keep a low profile
Speaking ever less as has become my style.

There is one thing that worries me far more than I would care,
Jon Stewart's now resurfacing with his weird confounding stare.
Throwing comments like sharp knives as a rapper from the hood,
And jabs like some street **** with a blistering left hook.
I’m asking my top people to rush him off the air,
The answer that I’m getting is pretend he isn’t there.

None of this a problem, the story of my life,
I cherish a good brawl and every dose of strife.
Abortion is my ticket with progressives by my side,
This alone will stem the frothing MAGA tide.
Just watch me now perform with my wily stash of tricks,
For if Trump is made of Teflon, I’m made from Scranton bricks.
Satirical and humorous take
Alien Jan 11
The love of my father was boxing
seeing my father slicing
The wind with his bare hands
Shadow boxing by his lonesome
Like if he was fighting the wind
The wind was his sparring partner
the sounds of his fists cutting through the air
I saw the violence and art
my dear father moves slower
After many decades
his punches have lost its sound
and his movement
has lost rhythm of time
the wind has beaten him over the years
it has taken my father all he’s had to fight
His last fight  
Even the wind has taken the last wind out of him
Hawley Anne Jan 10
Sometimes forever is shorter than we think,
so we take people for granted then their gone in a wink.
We never can know which goodbye is our last,
we all should stop trying to live life so fast.
There was a day probably some time ago,
your mom kissed you goodnight for the last time and didnt know.
There was the last time that you played outside with your friends,
but on that day none of you knew it was the end.
One day you just stopped beliveing in magic,
and stopped looking for fariys outside its quite tragic.
Because we all grow up and then we grow old,
and we stop finding magic in the stories we're told.
So take pleasure in the little things that life throws your way,
because you just can not know if todays your last day.
Steve Page Dec 2023
We are each floating, and so it is right and kind to notice and greet those floating along side us - we are each driven by the same flow to the same sea but within our own stream (some main, some minor), but all heading down and meandering, slowly slowing, unless we find resistance and find cause for rejuvenation - and of course, we do.  We all do.
Lessons in life prompted this.
Zack Ripley Dec 2023
My 500th poem, on my 9 year anniversary of writing. Perception of time.

It seems like nothing can humble you
faster than time. It affects everyone,
regardless of race, gender, or age.
And yet, it somehow feels personal
when bad things happen
depending on what stage of life we're in.
But what if it isn't time that changes us.
What if it's our perception of time
that changes us? When we're young,
time seems to move so slow.
But the older you get, all time sees to do
is go, go, go. What if we never lose
or run out of time.
What if it's the stress of living that's committing the crime of breaking us down.
melli7 Nov 2023
I contain multitudes I will
it so
multitudes more than I maybe
can contain comfortably I
seek comfort in
discomfort
Next page