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Anais Vionet Jun 16
I drew stick figures
things were simple

in a pencil world
mistakes were erased
you could start over

but an inchmeal awareness nagged
- the sky isn’t gray, it’s a liquid blue

but crayons were complicated
you couldn’t erase things
mistakes were irrevocable.

and there were 148 colors in the big box
keeping them in rainbow order was work.

growing up is hard
BLT Marriam Webster word of the day challenge: Inchmeal: gradual, or little by little
David Hilburn Jul 2022
Bridge on fire
Flames noted for their honesty, justice
Given a stoic chance, the element of a sire
Waiting on the God given stir, of heaven to spice?

We walk with ourselves and a name
So allowed, so meticulously reasoned
By the tides of tomorrow, the edges of shame
Will us to life, the self and same, since seasoned

Rain may come, a harrowing guidance to destiny's future
Fortunes of simplicity and chaste, the gall
To step forward, and ask a land in all curiosity
Is a found and timid laugh, our only way to an answer's fall?

Succinctly the embittered path, with a rue
Time mushrooming into secrets and pains where with all
Hello, adding sincere to a bonfire of vanity's, a could
And a shoulder of compassion from here to sight eternal...

But the fire persists, the devotion of silence's choice
In the stir of accept, and where winds know a callous insist
The terror of a failing humanity, with a salt to its fame, if not voice
Where has irony and its conscience been, the eyes of hate we visit?

Little harmony, the stuff of patience and liberty's dreams
Still a hand to hold, when peace becomes a risen sort, to avid lead
Long in the truth to overwhelm a shadow, we all know and seem
Where presence of mind has a lover, somewhere sending a remorse's kiss, to me...
Louise Jun 2022
On my own,
I would probably *****
and gallop around
like an untrained horse,
just doing whatever I please.
But with himㅡmy master, my rider,
I became a tamed, seasoned
and trained champion.
When he's on top of me,
he trots with glee,
when we jump
and into the air we flee;
I feel like I would be sold
with a worth far more than
a brand new Ferrari.
On my own, I am but a restless beast;
But when we canter together,
we grace the lands
and weather the storm,
we ride with such majesty
and with much ease and joy.
We ride and never worry about the fall.
Carlo C Gomez Jun 2022
A mix of
And Venus in furs

A minor astronomical event
Between luminous beings

Timean sparkles
Fast atoms escape

And in their wake
Baby satellites to bear

Carlo C Gomez Feb 2022
Tommy guns for insurance
And wads of sweaty cash
To build new empires with

But there are no guarantees
Crime, you see, doesn't pay
You can bank on it

So we already know how it ends:
They canceled his policy
And Dunaway with her
Robert Ippaso Oct 2021
I'm pining, they're whining
I want to announce,
Biden is flailing, Democrats whaling,
Give me the nod and watch me just pounce.

Timing’s the key, I know they want me,
But all my square minders
Scratching their head, tossing in bed,
Remind me to follow the words of our founders.

Fighting the British with forces quite skittish,
Washington uttered these very wise words:
“Your enemy's rotten, their gains are Ill-gotten,
They'll flutter and flail like little lost birds”.

With that thought imbedded, I shan't be
To follow the lead of a man I adore,
With Joe on the ropes, dashing all hopes,
More now than ever it's of me they want more.
Carlo C Gomez Aug 2021
and the King,
plagued up
to his neck
in denial,

turning remote
into staffs,
staffs into snakes,
and hounds,

shaking the sistrum,
singing gospels
full of mystery
to a god,
a girl,
and state of mind
he will never solve,

asking skies
of transulent
from the far corners
of his world,
for pharmacopia,

then granting
his freedom
in exchange
for a box
of hot glazed

and always
his little
wild petunia,
painted face
and percolating
skin smooth
as the eastern Delta,

her weighted down heart,
his tyranny,

his self-destructive tongue,
her asp

Carlo C Gomez Aug 2021
Strapped to the catapult
I sportively plan my escape
By listening to pictures
In stereo
Of the flight
Of a fitful fugitive
Who sculpted depressions in ice
Throughout the flowerbed
Where there is no true sunlight
Only its influence
And by inhaling this fragility
Onto glass
Lowering the thermostat
Like a guillotine
Until hypothermia
Took his oppressors
This coldness might well
Be everlasting
But then, so is the will to survive

Rajan Feb 2021
I and my colleague got out of our car,
We, the two men with a trench coat wrapped around us,
Walked down to the alley on that cloudy day,
A ****** scene it was, across the river bed,
Where once the pearly white swans swam.

There lied a dead young woman with a stab in her chest,
Through the heart,
With luscious red hair lied a beauty,
That enamors a thousand souls,
A blooming red rose aside her right arm,
A necklace made of scallops around her neck.

A blonde winged child crying profusely
With an empty quiver around his back,
While whistling doves hovered over us,  
And a purse containing letters from the shepherds,
And a commander.

And a man and a woman standing
Besides the body, were crying
And with sadness in their voice,
Saying about how without her
They will forget how to love in time,
And will never be loved anymore.

In such wailing times,
All I could do was to shed some pennies,
And I said them here are pennies,
To plant some myrtles in her memories,
Across these riverbeds,
And hope the swans swim in these rivers once again.
This is a poem, set in a fictional setting of 1800s of industrial England, where two detectives me and my colleague sees a ****** scene. From my point of view, I am witnessing the ****** scene of Aphrodite (god of love),
and I am describing the surrounding and people around the body of Aphrodite
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