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Àŧùl Oct 2020
Anterograde amnesia bothers,
But my old memories are fresh.

The old ones are as fresh as hours ago,
And the cold ones are as sharp as thrush.

In my previous life,
I used to be a musician.

Guitaring and fluting my everyday,
Life seemed to sweetly fade away.

My 6th sense failed me on a sunny day,
Collided and off I fell from my bike.

I fell, and I fell even deeper,
Into a comatose state on a sleeper.

A 23-day long coma existed in my story,
The 42 days in the hospital changed my life.

I remember nothing from that stay,
But I carry the vestiges of a battle.

The food-peg on my tummy,
It was incised inches above the navel.

Now even the extra navel,
It becomes smaller as it fades away.

I have no regrets,
Just the memories refuse to fade away.

With her, I am creating beautiful memories,
And the old memories will be overwritten.

Old songs are sweet,
But new ones are perfumed.

Scented with the new romance,
They will thrive and be forever bloomed.

I am happy with her,
And I can only be happier.

Not that I am immortal,
But through my memories,
And through my contribution
To science, to love, literature & poetry,
I Shall Always Survive.
For my Mïŧālī.

My HP Poem #1893
©Atul Kaushal
neth jones Jul 2019
Don’t let the medium dry
Moisten This Creation                                   
by ANY MEANS necessary

It’s vulnerable

For This Creation to become pedestal WE MUST :

feed it
off of a capillary bag

mist it
under a dense healthy breath

lead it
to suckle an engorged breast

we risk it becoming husk ;
good only for digs and dust shops.

For This Creation, WE MUST queue

with our blood tapped
and ready

our breeding fluids
our various flows carefully labelled
and in sterile pouches

our donor cards filled out
steady for sacrifice

Keep This Creation wet
and it shall be a beacon
a call to awareness
a beckon of craft for us all
and not some common art-hole
Arts’ Monster
It’s vulnerable
(a toothed Whale out of water
  awaiting a machine strong enough
  to return it to the ocean)
EmperorOfMine Mar 2019
I'm not a monster
But I can be trouble
So I don't need people
To come and burst my bubble
But who wants to be alone
You monsters love playing games
Can you not wait till I am gone
To start giving me cruel names
From family to "friends" till we start over again
Why does it want me to suffer so
All I wanted to do was try to blend in
But here I am left empty in a one-man show
Often I'm writing, and I'd rather not be
Constantly wondering if this is meant to be reality
Begging for someone something to change this ending
I'd hate for the only love I get to be when someone is sending.
But I can't say that I don't get love and life
It's just I'm not fond of the distant love that's out of sight
So, be blunt and listen to my hone cry for you to come home
Cause I don't want to be here in this darkness all on my own.
Amanda Shelton Apr 2017
Upon unspoken words,
I lie next to you.

Like a whispering wind,
I blow my kisses into your beam,
as I watch you devour my dreams.

Our love is like a beckon;
no ships will crash upon our shores,
as long as our moon shines brightly
from our lovers moor.  

**© By Amanda D Shelton
CastorPolydeuces Nov 2016
Hold me close in your spindly arms
and beckon me into harms way
you know what I want and need.

I fear the dark and your caress
but in it I know nothingness,
my sweet dreams and darkened bliss
find a point on which to convalesce.
That last line bugs me but I can't find the right word.
Benjamin Novak Apr 2015
through earth and fire,
through water and trees,
No perils shall beckon me to my knees,

I seek joy I seek happy I seek light,
I seek nothing less than what is infinite,
and yet without hands I cant grasp it,
and without feet I cant stand still.

— The End —