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Big Sal Feb 22
The water on the runways bubbling as it suffers too,

A father at a young age juggling what the mothers do,

Playing dumb, days to duck, memory will come if it blows up the rhyme,

Waking up, take the cut, check to see the son if he woke up on time,

He runs up with a zoom on the one-day smile when,

The sun is in his in room as his son lays silent,

He takes him up his hugs as he breathes upon the breathing,

He wakes him with a nudge and then sees his son is bleeding,

Half the dream is live pacing with water bloodless in the hells roamed,

Panicking and mind racing, the father rushes to the cell phone,

While he cries in fallen hells with the one hidden meaning,

And he tries to call him help but his son isn’t breathing,

The wisdom of the house where the fun cost a friend,

He gives him mouth-to-mouth as his son coughs again.

~

I kiss my wife and kiss their heads,

I’ll give my life and give my breath,

A bit advice with bliss in death,

You never see it coming,

I miss the lights and **** the bed,

I live to fight and live to bless,

A friend of mine is missing next,

And dead or free and running.

~

Racing through the house as it thunders on the farm with hoops to slam and head below,

Wading through the crowds with a wonder in his arms like Superman but better bro,

Playing with guns at ease in a box of wetter shirts,

Begging his son to breathe as the coughs are getting worse,

The weather’s always something like the books in a peer review,

He never saw it coming as he looks in the rearview,

The one day he failed at the doors of necropolis,

His son’s face is pale like a horse in apocalypse,

He plays the game of life with the water bound for peering still,

He begs to stay alive as his father pounds the steering wheel,

Walk through truth and madness with a hundred sins today,

Caught in loops of traffic as his son begins to fade,

The rational will thank me with a coffin to hunt for,

He wraps him in a blankie and he walks him in the front door.

~

Muse of a rose where the hunt’s leading fellows,

Tubes in his nose and his son’s breathing shallow,

Kiss his eyes and more for me when there’s nothing there,

Live the life an orderly on a rocking chair,

The water wets the bones of the blind with the dumb laws leading,

The father checks his phone for the time and his son stops breathing,

The sadness in his eyes is a prize from the blind,

He panics and he cries as he tries one more time,

Bloodiest of bloods and every ring to wear,

Nothing that he does and everything to fear,

A fading joy’s pride to his moms in a better room to dance,

His baby boy died in his arms and he never knew the chance,

The man that ends an answer with a very fun painting,

He stands against the cancer with his buried son’s blankie.

~

I kiss my wife and kiss their heads,

I’ll give my life and give my breath,

A bit advice with bliss in death,

You never see it coming,

I miss the lights and **** the bed,

I live to fight and live to bless,

A friend of mine is missing next,

And dead or free and running.
Enjoy this poem written in holorime.
I am your wife,
I do not have your courage,
I have a soul which cries,
Which is restless,
When you are sent on the Front Line,
Not knowing if you would return alive or dead.
And if you return home,
Wounded,scarred with traumatic
stress disorder,
I become not a wife nor your widow,
Just your caretaker,
My soul bleeds.
19/2/2019.
I know you hate it when I sleep
Because your anger is rarely more intense
Than when I shut my eyes
Comfortable on the couch
Wedged between the cushion and the back
Eyes heavy
Drooping
Trying desperately to stay awake for you.

I don't ever want to hear "I don't care"
Come from your mouth again.
Emma Jan 3
She loves you more than I will,
And Lord knows but you don’t love me.
Her circular curves –
Filled with such verve –
Blind so you can’t hardly see.
You could try to escape,
You tail-eating snake,
But your own misery
Is such better company
Than us mere mortals can provide.
You stew in your own **** unhappiness –
And I could be wrong,
To hate you for it,
But **** being right anyway.
Becca Lansman Jul 2018
I will peel off my skin like a tangerine
open myself at the core and ask you to take everything.
Drink my nectar
bite my fleshy organs until my insides leak down your chin--

leave nothing.

Devour each part of me
until i am skin on the pavement
an empty sack of desire void of usefulness
danming myself for not giving more.

— The End —