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annh Feb 2022
passing overhead
clouds with their bottoms clenched, rain
on parades elsewhere
‘Hey sparrows
no ******* on my old
winter quilt!’
- Kobayashi Issa
Amanda Kay Burke Dec 2019
The worst part waking up each day
Realizing my life is still this way
I want to change
Be something more
Don't want breathing to feel like a chore
With a man who does best to make
Smile though his I only take
I am a thief
Happiness and joy
What I steal I don't get to keep and enjoy
I know wishing others to understand
Make them see it from where I stand
I just **** them with destructive habit
In pursuit of an unreachable white rabbit
I am sick of picking scabs on my face
Screaming to world that I am a disgrace
But distance between where I am at
Where I was
Is a reminder that
Nothing but the loneliness feels the way it once did
Am so hardened
My feelings I hid
Because no effort is ever good enough
No longer try
But I'm failing to bluff
They asked if okay
If I'm sure I'm alright
Lie but it's clear that my answers not right
Nothing hurts because I've gone numb
The awful monotony I've all but succumbed
Rock bottom and bottoms up!
Where I'm stuck between
Each day follow the same sickening routine
Either way I'm at the bottom...
why do you go to sleep in t-shirt and no bottoms?
he asks after years of
le marred marriage age

why for modesty and as a
sign of respectful readiness,

gazing upon me, you’ll see my x-small size,
tight bright pink v-necked t-shirt from Old Navy

making you reflect, my dear,
that this particular woman
is one confident sailor

gazing upon me, you’ll see my naked pure
intentions undoubtedly at the ready
per my
Girl Scout training,
“Be Prepared”
whenever help is needed^

making you reflect, my dear,
that this lady scout could probably
start a fire easy with just
one handy stick
and you,
‘rubber suit’ matching
my nighttime costume,
when our “couture au lingerie,”
exhibits a happy styling similarity
^ Motto: The Girl Scout motto is "Be prepared." In the 1947 Girl Scout Handbook, the motto was explained this way: "A Girl Scout is ready to help out wherever she is needed. Willingness to serve is not enough; you must know how to do the job well, even in an emergency."
Hank Helman Jul 2017
The band was exhausted,
Fall down tired and sweat happy.
But still on track,
Eye flirting and sending secret messages
To every girl they coaxed up
Onto the sandy wood plank dance floor,

But after six hours and 100 songs.
And now at 2:30 a.m. and the lights all up
A bit too drunk,
And way too tired to search out the tempo of the blues,
The drummer,
Buddha on his toadstool,
His shirt soaked with rhythm and stained dark green
From a steady sweat,
His boot, a robot after all these years,
Still tapped the bass drum lightly
As he dreamt of pizza,
Pizza in bed served by naked twenty somethings,
Who don't believe love has to hurt.

They, Bill and Sheila,the music gone
Continued to slow dance,
The beat replaced by the random ****** of shot glasses
Loaded by hand onto the top shelf
Of the dishwasher...
And to the scratch
Of the one armed bus boy with a push broom but no deadline.
The full moon had finally risen out of the sea,
Or was it the sun too tired to shine and begging for a day off.

Her arms were a tight hoop around his neck,
She knew how to hang onto love,
Her cheek to his chest, to his heart.
She'd kicked off her sandals and stepped onto his boots,
Her full weight a reminder that they weren't dead yet.

He'd always known how to lead and carried her with ease.
'Is this the end', Sheila asked him
And looked around at the nearly empty room,
'Not as long as we keep dancing' he said
And kissed her with a full tongue.
Part of what I'm trying to do here is literally paint a picture in the reader's mind. Many years ago I used to own a bar and I saw love come and go every day. Every once in awhile a couple who just seemed to be the couple who would stay together forever arrived and brought with them a special kind of buzz. I always wanted to know how they did it, how did it work for them while the rest of us were continuously unhappy. I never did find out but this poem is a toast to Bill and Sheila and to those who get it right. Love is slow dance that won't stop for nothin'. Party on poets.
allyson Aug 2016
the seasons have changed
we are back in touch and its like last summer all over again
the electricity
the euphoria
we are at the base of the tree that watched you grow last year
you are smoking your first cigarette and crying
we are swimming in the river, taking polaroid photos of each other in a thunderstorm
we are at our favorite coffee shop, despite the fact that you don't even like coffee
there is still an ocean between us
and now i have different things i am remembering
she is in your bed, sleeping in your arms
she is posting pictures of you kissing in the park and i am crying so hard that i go to the bathroom because i think i might throw up
you are flirting with her at a bar while i am boarding the plane to come see you
you are lying and compromising the times we had together just so she feels comfortable
and now
you tell me you love me even though you abadoned every single one of our memories
you are choosing her over me
and it is breaking my heart every single time that i inhale
although im no longer sorry about the front bottoms
i am sorry that i told you that i needed you
and you still picked her because it was more convenient
i am sorry you are realizing now that maybe you need me too
we’re riding in your best friend’s car
where yah tell me that I’m cute
I just bow my head and say
you’re pretty cute yourself
you put your arm around my shoulders
and tell me I’m adorable
my body responds by touching your leg
my head just thinks “how can he be mine?”
he sings outloud, “please fall asleep so I can take pictures if you
& hang them in my room”
I just close my eyes and bob my head
to this tune that reminds me of you
Daniel Bottoms May 2014
Walking in the forest an ocean of green,
Sunlight slips down through shallower depths.
Currents made of wind move this sea.
Winged schools  swim and hide from those bigger.
Such noisy fish nest here.
Death returns creatures and plants to the floor.
Crude compost becomes the energy of nature's milk,
in both ocean's blue and green.  

by Daniel Bottoms

— The End —