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Aa Harvey May 2018
The future is unwritten.


Stop-go motion; let all the clocks be smashed.
Forwards or backwards, how do you feel about that?
Onwards and upwards; no turning back.
The future is unwritten, so here is a pen and a notepad.


(C)2016 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Keira May 2018
the ocean waves crash in and out
          in and out
                              in
                      and
              out
on a loop
            loop
               loop
                  loop
repeat after repeat repeat repeat
         again and again and again and again
a force pushes them
            a force pulls them
                                     push                  pull
                                          push          pull
                                             push     pull
                                                pushpull
like clockwork
like a magnet
-you & i
Tony Luxton Apr 2018
They call it still life. All
as still as death. Perhaps
the painter's hand was also stilled
in contemplation, rapt, fulfilled.

Glum fish, lolling pheasants,
bread and cheese, garlic, cherries,
apples, oranges, lemons,
but it's the light that pleases.

Ravelling, revealing vision,
casting shadows, changing shapes,
glinting glasses, devilling detail,
the time warp of the stopped clock.
Abigail Hobbs Apr 2018
How could you?
Did you too,
ever love me?
Yes, even half past noon
How could I?
Ever love you?
Because I think I could've
Yes, even half past noon
And in the a.m.,
a quarter to two
An odd way to love, waiting in time
Maybe I shouldn't be so kind
Having you waste mine
4/23/18
Danielle Apr 2018
White as the ticking clock face
You struck me. Violent.
Like running seconds dripping away.
Red fell from your lips
and ate my heart.
The numbers framed your face.
All dark ebony,
Dark and sharp enough to cut.
Wanted to write something with a Fairytale Princess theme, but it ended up darker and richer then I thought it would.
Lily Apr 2018
Your stomach coils and knots,
Your hands wringing in your lap.
Will they have missed you as much as you missed them?
Will they remember the fun times you had together?
Your palms start to visibly sweat,
Your entire body heat rising.
Will they actually be back?
Will they have changed?
Your heart pounds,
Your breathing quickens
As the hands of the clock tick,
And you wonder whether they will be
Gone forever.
farhan Apr 2018
Nature is a giant clock,
Where lives ticks like moments,
Every second, a destruction,
Every second, a moment of creation.
What then life is, the beginning of an end.
the getting old
process
is a year by year
progress

we're all inching along that
roadway
as the minutes of the day
parlay

our clocks are set for a certain
date
and the timer has an inborn
rate

aging happens to us
all
it's something we cannot
forestall

we'll be ancient in the course of
time
that's when we'll reach our
prime

life's well trodden path being
walked
our wrinkling moments all
chalked
Vincent S Coster Apr 2018
Pretty little mushrooms

Growing in the sky

8 feet, 50 feet, 100 feet high

Blasts of radiation  

Blows us all away

When it turns to midnight

In the middle of the day
This poem uses a childlike rhyming pattern to act as a chilling juxtaposition to the gruesome nature of the use of nuclear weapons. It is an anti-war poem and anti-nuclear proliferation poem that highlights the poet's strong belief in non-violence. It begins with the simple imagery of pretty little mushrooms, however, it quickly changes in tone as the mushrooms grow unnaturally high blowing us away with blasts of radiation. It then ends with the reference to the Doom's Day Clock turning to midnight in the middle of the day.

© Vincent S. Coster 2018
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