Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
C Oct 2024
My grandad used to buy
Wall’s vanilla ice cream and
Robinson’s orange squash for me
When I’d visit him as a child.

For the longest time, food of any kind
Was just food and nothing
Was a treat or
Had to be earned.

Now I yearn for a lackadaisical meal,
For squash and ice cream,
For food to be food and it all to be good.
For when calculators were used in maths lessons and not to pinpoint the exact moment I overstep and
My figure becomes
Mathematically incorrect.

I want to re-learn how to exercise for fun and not punishment,
How to be happy and grateful for my fuel and nourishment.
Skinny doesn’t feel or taste very nice at all
Lemon Black Oct 2024
The grace of the divine speaks itself into existence
As we wash our clothes, mourn the past, and dine,
As we close our eyes and listen.

The truth finds its thereabouts
And reminds itself again
That nothing is meant to last—
The restless mind disrupts.
Peace and harmony constantly surround us. Occasionally, we catch a glimpse of this subtle truth—that we are part of it. Yet, as we approach this realization, the truth itself seems to reveal the wavy, impermanent fabric of existence. That’s when the mind interferes, as the moment was always meant to pass. We're left with a feeling of disruption and a longing to return, but this very desire pulls us further from the truth.
Sam Harty Sep 2024
I will never know what
it feels like to be
a proud black woman.
   >>>BUT<<<
I will never
pretend like I do.
I have lived
62 years
In this country
and I have seen
Racism,
******,
And
Genocide
And it breaks
my heart and makes me
feel sick inside.

I will never know what
it feels like to be
a proud black woman.
who's turned down for a job
because of the color
of their skin.
But there are roughly
1.3 billion people
in the world who do.
I can see there's
something wrong
with that, can you?

I will never know what
It feels like to be
a proud black woman.
accused of breaking the law
just for Walking
down the street at night
Or have everything
in my life
be a constant struggle
and fight.

No, I will never know.
But I'll tell you
Right here and now,
I will never let the
color of someone's skin
Lead me to prejudge
what they are like
---->within<-----
Pierce Samuel Sep 2024
Smile to all of them to make everyone's day better
But then your mouth starts to hurt
but you keep on smiling
because who am I if I don't advert—
my eyes from everything, they're all lying
It's 11 at night, I want to sleep
but sweat trickles down my neck as I weep
The labels are crushing me telling me what to be
I just want to recognize myself in the mirror and say "Hey! That's me!"
I am tired of being the stupid and dumb friend
but if I'm not, I might not be able to mend
Mend the souls of those who cried when nights were stormy
And I know someone would do the same for me
but it feels selfish if I don't say sorry.
GUYS I SWEAR I'M LESS EMO NOW. IK THIS IS NOT A GOOD POEM I WROTE IT ALMOST A YEAR AGO <\33 I'M JUST DOCUMENTING ALL MY POEMS ON HERE FOR MY SILLY LITTLE GOODREADS FOLLOWERS
Pierce Samuel Sep 2024
The bright light reflects
from my tear filled eyes
With countless vents
It is time to say goodbye
And I don’t reach out

My identity is a circus act
For those who find it amusing
I am not to overreact
Yet I am still self accusing
And I don’t reach out

I have to put up with more
Than anyone else
I have more to endure
In a world of parallels.
And I don’t reach out

I’m the human embodiment of Atlas
Holding up everything unfurled
But the sky isn’t just mine, alas
Not everyone is rivaled
And I reach out
Wrote this last academic school year, I was tired of being picked on for being trans *****
Saanvi Sep 2024
I have been to the depths of madness,
Yet I haven't lost my sanity.
I cling onto it like a mother
clings to her child's dead body.
I have seen my worst selves resurrect and being crucified
Under the weight of all my sins.
Yet, I have never willingly committed a crime.
Like the wooden dock at a port that holds all ships
from sinking to the wrath of the ocean currents,
I have harboured my evil
deep within me
With great power and diligence.
It's a quiet storm raging inside me.
My insanity threatens to spill out
to the edges of my constraints,
blurring the sight of blood on my hands.
For a tiny moment, my smile changed
giving way to something sinister lurking
in my soul.
And then it was gone like a fleeting wind
moving swiftly to a distant land.
But the wind has seen my self inflicted wounds,
She whispers the truth, she knows me truly that
I am a bigger omen than the crows and the raven.
Two tides clash fighting for control.
Day and night juxtaposed in a singular skin.
All hell is beginning to break loose.
The more I try to mend myself,
the harder the waves rock my ship.
The more I try to breathe,
the more the air begins to drown me.
In order to silence my cries,
it pushes me to a gentle hush.
Silence has never been this loud.
My insanity has never been this dangerous.
For madness and passions intertwined.
Daniel Tucker Dec 2018
In my New Day I arose from my
screen-tent-mole-hole-flimsy-bomb-shelter-for-my-soul
and walked down to the banks of the mighty Missinabi River
at the Mattice Landing
with dog’s leash in one hand and my right hand
leading lady’s in the other hearing and feeling tall grasses
swishing against my pant legs
and the crunch of course sand under my feet that once trod fields of green tall grasses swishing against my pant legs in the meadows and rocky woods of
my childhood and youth where I spent summers working

at my Auntie and Uncle's farm in
Canada's Northern Ontario region and in the woods and along the banks
of the Lackawanna River just over the **** behind
the home of my childhood and youth in the Anthracite coal
region of the American Northeast which is light years away from the land of my birth where I now live in this Northern Ontario port in the middle of a deep
                                     cold sea of countless
                                     converging
                                     never-ending
rivers
lakes
trees
swamps
bogs
muskeg
and mountains of snow
where snow white and black flies fly freely.

I am always trying to go deeper into the trees and bush
burning deep inside my heart of hearts to follow the Moses
that is in all of us.

This eternal Voice in pebbles crunching
under foot and tall grasses swishing and canoe parting
waters that flow deep in my mind and spirit ~ once only
winding past burning villages where humans **** and pillage
~ but now also following a more
pastoral             idyllic           and super-natural course.

A vagabond never quite understands the working-class
woman and man living their small dream with their offspring and slice of land.

I thought they were all ostrich with head in sand.

But I now see that we can't all afford to brood as I often do over the daily news.

They must rise early the next morning alarm clocks not set on snooze.                                            

work ethic
family hearth and home
days of scent
of freshly mown grass  
barbeques                                          
campf­ires
tea kettle whistling  
coffee maker brewing  
children playing  
TV and music blaring
dishes rattling
in sink or
swim in the lake

Loosen the watertight mind drum and just dive into the
crunch of pebbles under foot treading fields of green tall
grasses swishing against pant legs...

Not only wishing
but going deeper into the trees and bush burning
speaking to our primeval consciousness.

This eternal Voice in pebbles crunching and tall grasses
swishing
The whooshing sound of wading in a stream streams
through my soul as I savour the body taste of wet gritty sand
between my fingers and toes crouched down wet-crotch deep waiting long enough for minnows to tickle fingers and toes as mosquito’s pin-prickle skin

Watching creatures much smaller than I gliding
even walking on calm still water which we humans can only dream of doing in our motorized sleep.

I think I now understand:

To not be constantly mourning the plight of the human isn't being ostrich with head in sand.
I must keep gunning-off obsessions alluring stare.

I must taste life
    Smell and feel life
        Enjoy life outside of my troubled mind

against the backdrop of the latest holy war
and the imploding creations of our kind.
© 2018 Daniel I. Tucker

A poem from the living of my life.

NOTES:
"where snow white and black flies
fly freely": tons of snow arrives in November and piles-up til March into April!  Swarms of little 'black flies' that take a good little chunk out of ya.
That's where i live in the far north of Canada.  
Another dance through my life memoir.
Saanvi Sep 2024
I am just an image,
Like a flickering candle waiting to die
Like a glimpse of the sun on cloudy days
Like dead roses on my mother's grave
Like dried plants in the flower vase
Like the reflection in my lover's gaze.
I am just an image,
Like summer evenings spent on your porch
Like the first kiss that never happened
Like the scent of your perfume
Like the first time I saw you
Like one sided love and hopeless dreams
Like days that never end and nights that end too fast
Like thoughts that scare me
Like withered and dried sunflowers on my grave
Like my coffin's reflection in my mother's gaze
Like the life I wanted.
But at the end of the day
I am nothing at all.
I am just a  flickering candle waiting to die,
Just an image.
But all these memories that make
Me me are like fleeting winds
That pass away too quickly,
Sometimes too short for my liking.
Without all these moments, I am nothing
But just an image
In someone's eyes.
I wrote this poem as an ode to the power of memories and how they shape our identity. Moments in life define our existence, beyond that it's infinity.
Saanvi Sep 2024
There was a princess
lost in and dazed by springtime sweetness.
Picture perfect gowns and rolling meadows,
In her Kingdom
Spring went on and forever.
People wished they lived at such a place,
evergreen flowers and the youth of nature.
Wished they could experience it all.
But the princess was locked inside her palace,
woe the young woman couldn't touch the flowers.
She sat there in her gloomy chamber,
looking outside to the greenest grass.
She was sad and numb but she danced in her room,
wore spring gowns for there was spring at her heart.
She breathed in spring air from within the cold walls,
An ever longing desire in her eyes to touch the spring flowers.
Little does she know for she is spring Herself,
So she touches her heart.
Sometimes the answer lies within.
I love spring. When the season passes away, I feel sad. I realise there is joy to be found in other seasons of life as well.
Antonia Sep 2024
awareness or
the lack thereof
there is a self,
regardless of
the stupid things
you wish to be
and all those masks you hide behind

a sens of self
is all there is
it’s not a gift
that you receive
it’s that,
the only thing there
is

that’s all you got
that’s all you are
enjoy and swim in it
till dawn

it’s more than life,
it’s cheating death
it simply is,

the sense of self.
Next page