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AbdullaJabr Apr 2021
Ergo this futile persistence
Clinging to worldly existence
Is like holding your breath,
Harming only your health.
In childish resistance
To the closing of distance.
Between death and yourself –
Laokos Sep 2020
~           *light on,
still-frame freeze of black bodied eight-legged life
     clinging to stained acrylic. we stare at each other pretending we're not real
until one of us moves.
it was me.
Laura Apr 2020
Time trickles from my upturned palms
In streams of oil and water
I’ve been trying so intently
To stop it
I haven’t had a moment to spend on anything else

I know that when we meet  
A lifetime will pass in a second
But somehow I’ll revel in the light and the darkness
Like the flickering of rapidly turned pages
Michael R Burch Apr 2020
Free Fall to Liftoff
by Michael R. Burch

for my father, Paul Ray Burch, Jr.

I see the longing for departure gleam
in his still-keen eye,
                                   and I understand his desire
to test this last wind, like those late autumn leaves
with nothing left to cling to ...

Keywords/Tags: autumn, leaves, cling, clinging, wind, death, flight, fly, flying, transport, free fall, liftoff, departure, bare, barren, leafless, skeletal
Michael R Burch Apr 2020
First and Last
by Michael R. Burch

for Beth

You are the last arcane rose
of my aching,
my longing,
or the first yellowed leaves’
vagrant spirals of gold
forming huddled bright sheaves.
You are passion forsaking
dark skies, as though sunsets no winds might enclose.

And still in my arms
you are gentle and fragrant—
demesne of my vigor,
spent rigor,
lost power,
fallen musculature of youth,
leaves clinging and hanging,
nameless joys of my youth to this last lingering hour.

Published by Tucumcari Literary Review and Poetry Life & Times.
Keywords/Tags: rose, love, ache, desire, longing, passion, autumn, leaves, clinging, hanging, sunset, lost, youth, joy, joys, yellowed, golden, first, last, final
TMReed Nov 2019
Two flapping wings deliver me
nowhere until my wits release,
white-knuckled, oh so desperately,
from you, my only masterpiece.
We grab carelessly, thinking little of how we will let go.
Poetic T Oct 2019
You thought that I was easy
                  to smoke,

But you vaped my lyrics,
    now I'm stuck in your lungs,

Cemented words that you cant exhale,
                          cremated within you.

Your drowning
                         now comatose verses,
           that you thought were strawberry


But when you swallowed,
                                              you never chewed.
Now you got razor wire cuts
                                             lacerating you inside.
  With every inhale of my lyrical chemical cloud.

You think I'm easy to swallow,
     breathing my verses that never leave you,
my words are like asthma on your generation.

Making you wheeze when you don't inhale
          enough of my lyrical verse.
   They tried to ban me,
every one wants to breath me in.

I'm like a exhale that clouds your thoughts,
         but you'll still smoke my verses till

you got tubes huffing and puffing.

             Knowing that your last breath

will have my words clinging to your lungs...

                               Me in in liquorice

kisses that will last on your lips.
       I'm the last kiss you taste,
                             my words will be

on your deathbed..

                                    Here lies verses
                                    that were simple
                                    but never left you.

                                      cremated with the words
                         ­            I choked on the lyrics.....
                                     but I'd smoke them again.
ZenOfferings Nov 2018
The cell phone rings once
But the ringing in my head…
...The sound of your voice
Namal Oct 2018
we walk through the years
along the tiring shores
of the ocean of life
not knowing when our paths
will fade away and be forgotten
among those of many others

at times, when the tide is low
and sun warm the sands
we find abundant treasures
scattered for us to pick
and claim as ours
we laugh, in happiness

at times, when the tide is high
and fierce storms rage
we barely cling on
to our frail dear life
waves reclaim our treasures
we scowl, in sadness

as the tides high and low
so do our feelings flitter
at whim and mercy
of the uncertain ocean of life
bound by the ropes of desire
to inevitable pain

if only we see the truth,

to see the scattered treasures
but to claim them not ours
to see the moods of the ocean
but to see them not permanent
then, and only then
the bliss of true peace is ours
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