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Don Bouchard Apr 2021
Just done with the calm of ice,
Lake waters, frigid,
Writhe in fury,
White manes frothing.

Crouching on the shoreline,
I catch angled crashes,
Waves smashing rock,
******* shore lines,
Immortalize water's pulling shift
Wood and shells and moss,
Rearing high and slammed
Against the boundaries.

Ageless elements waging war:
Wind, water, and land,
Disrupting, tangling peace,
Superciliously ignoring
My transient observation
Of the winds of spring.
Cold wind this morning on the lake; snow flying sidelong over the waves....
n stiles carmona Feb 2020
"O woe, O why--" --O what a way to live!
Never finding what you hunt, scarcely saying what you mean,
with the audacity to worship those who can;
adoring all that's good, or brave, or noble; learning nothing.
Shameless indignity is the boldest you get:
compare them speaking their hearts against
the postmodern cowardice in all that you are.

Language is a gift you abuse:
you may as well have abandoned your voice;
paragraphs wasted on your camouflage of choice.
Half-built cities on foundations of beige-coloured water --
you keep the imagery pretty and the metaphor alluding to just about anything.

You're scared to speak if it's not been said before.
You're ashamed to speak if it's all been said before.
Reluctant to be original! Embarrassed to be derivative!
The shame is in the fact you don't bother!!
Would you say it matters if it's all been thought before?
Voiced before? Done before? Does it wound your pride
to know that your actions are barely yours?
Does it shatter your resolve, seeing your face in my words?

Omit the omnipresent and stay oblivious to obvious.
Can we call it thorough? -- this solitary hunt for truth?
-- almost commendable, almost fruitful,
had you only checked the blind-spot under your nostrils.

So... 'just shut up and say it'? Wow, noted. Thanks.
Tonight's been a blast.
You'd hate it.
based on a largely self-deprecating hypothesis that you can either be either emotionally available or actually fun to be around (i.e. what do you hold in higher regard, your compassion or your company?) - i'd love to be wrong on this one. i'd like to actually be both. churned this out in half an hour and yiiiikes it shows. remember, kids, to make fun of yourself at least a little bit BEFORE aiming your rage @ anyone who doesn't live the way you do (or, uh, do it afterwards. tomato/tomato.) mighty easy to get angry at your polar opposite but life's infinitely duller without them.
Leila Valencia Apr 2019
Every turn, I take...

I felt the trench of heaving suddeness
I felt the simple rush, to rush

I felt a clash!
With wants, and following the flow
And no;
They are not aligned

One is sacrificing, one is true
And it's exasperatingly terrifying

To listen intently
Steve Page Mar 2019
Lichtenstein crashed into Monet's garden under the mistaken impression that a pulse of pop would compliment the oil on water, but instead his WHAAM missed its target and his POW wept hot, bleaching the aqua white with noise and ripping the lilies to shreds.
'Oh, Claude,' he cried, 'it's a masterpiece!'
Prompted by a friend's painting which looked just like this.
Dominique Jan 2019
Beyond the sunlit smoke and spellbound parks,
Beyond the tongue tied smiles and piercing dark;
Beyond burning wrists and icy stings
Beyond poems that made love to awful things;
The story is painfully simple.

You really loved someone;
Someone didn't love you.
Inspired by a poem called "Beyond the Clutter of Poetry"
Sean Achilleos Jan 2019
Like two ocean currents that clash at sea
To be of the same substance
Yet so different
Like two lovers ill at ease
Once the storm of passion is over
All that is left
Are their differences
Written by Sean Achilleos 22 January 2019©
Sean Achilleos' Music is available on the following platforms:
Amazon, Apple Music, iTunes, Deezer, Google Play, Pandora, Saavn, SoundCloud, Spotify, Tidal, YouTube, Jango Radio, Nicovideo (Japan), IQIYI (China) and YOUKU (China)

Sean Achilleos' Book 'An Affair with Life' is obtainable from the following platforms:
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duang fu Jan 2019
is a mother yelling over the sound of the dishwasher
hanging grapes that dry against the yolk-orange wall
the local boy with mud under his nails
and the girl that smells like new york city
loud sunlight upon the hush still river
brown rust eating up white paint
father's office suit in the back of his dusty Jeep
screeching tires that tear past red-light lines
blood red sprinkles on the roadside's white daisies
birthday cake swallowed in tears

don't let these worlds collide,
they say -
for it only brings chaos
suburban cacophony hurts your ears
with a truth ugly to the eyes
leaves an imprint
like a sharp pendant pressed to the chest
written sept 3 2018
Kavya Mukhija Sep 2018
i. The world is burning.
A little above the place that
Seeks the greatest blessing of the sun,
It is burning with grenades and bombs
Flying around like table tennis *****
With children sleeping to the lullaby
Of their parents'cries.

ii. The world is burning.
A little far away from my house
Around the nook of the street
A group of humans are fighting
They're burning and getting burnt
The fire consumes their body
And the ego their soul.

iii. So when I asked mom to
Go to that nook that reeks of fire crackers
To buy the ice cream blue lagoon,
She kept staring at me
The way she would whenever I'd ask for too much.
I showed her the red colour thread that she had forcefully tied around my neck
Because she had said that it would protect me all the time
I kept waiting for her to utter a word
But she didn't say anything
And I didn't go
To the place that was burning.

iv. I saw on TV the flames that hugged the top of the houses
And danced on scooters
Making them blacker than charcoal,
Near my house at the corner of the street.
There were bodies on the street,
Frozen like sleeping statues.
They had those threads
Wound around their hands and necks
Not one but tens of them.

v. It's night time now.
I sleep hugging her
As tightly as my fragile muscles permitted.
The coldness of her body tingles my fingertips
And the roughness stings.
There are noises of people arguing
In the background.
But I,
I don't care.
Because they're burning the world
And my world is already burnt.

- Kavya Mukhija
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