Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member


Stand there...      wait
Don't stand there...    breathe.
don't breathe...    just feel

Nah.   Yeah..
Ya-sure...  breathe&feel

Or wait...   no..

Ah,  there it is...    Yasss.    Good girl.

When you ghost me
I get a *****

just talking to myself..
and whistling
and singing Winnie the Poo songs
irinia Jul 8
Blue nothing. She considered miles
out the high window in the stairwell.
First, simple paper distances her finger

could trace, point A to point B.
Then the more difficult measurement,
that of closeness, like bonded atoms.

And then, hypothetical expanses
like those of the heart's vessels -
their length could circle the globe twice.

A plane seemed to crawl across the glass,
leaving a necklace vapor trail. She believed
in possibilities, that every atom that could exist,

already did, but still, she could not wear the red,
strapless dress she no longer owned,
couldn't lift her hair for his fingertips to clasp

pearls at the nape of her neck, his breath
fastening a shiver between her shoulder blades
down the small dip of her back.

She wanted to look into a large aperture
telescope, to view the farthest reaches
of visible space, where no energy had ever been

destroyed, to see into the incalculable vastness
of him in their living room downstairs, him
on the brown sofa reading. She wanted

him to put down his book, to think of her
on the landing, waiting. For him to move
exponentially faster, up the stairs two at a time.

by Jo Brachman
M Vogel Mar 15
I know your voice,
and it haunts me

almost as much  
as it doesn't haunt me..

at all

And by saying  'at all'
I mean--

in any possible way,


Perhaps yours
is not a witchery at all
but only  just a love..

ya...  one that is most
intimately, crafted 💖

.      .      .      .      .      .      .

"When the sun goes down
the armies of the voiceless--
several hundred-thousand strong
Come out  without
their bandages..

Their voices raised in song

And when the street lights
sputter out
they make this awful
sizzling sound
I cast my gaze toward
the pavement--
Too many blood stains
on the ground

Rhode Island
drops into the ocean
No place to call home anymore..
Lovecraft in Brooklyn

Head outside most everyday
to try to keep the wolves away
Imagine nice things I might say

if company should come

Woke up afraid of
my own shadow
Like, genuinely afraid
Headed for the pawnshop
to buy myself a switchblade

Someday,  something's coming
from way out  beyond
the stars
To **** us while we stand here..
It'll store our brains
in Mason jars

..And then
the girl behind the counter
She asks me how I feel today..

I feel like Lovecraft in Brooklyn"

👀  👀  👀

When love beckons to you,  follow him,
though his ways are hard and steep.
And when his wings enfold you   yield to him,
though the sword,  hidden among his pinions
may wound you.

And when he speaks to you  believe in him
though his voice may shatter your dreams
as the north wind lays waste the garden.

For even as love crowns you  so shall he crucify you.
Even as he is for your growth,  so is he for your pruning.
Even as he ascends to your height  and caresses
your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun,
so shall he descend to your roots
and shake them in their clinging to the earth.
Like sheaves of corn  he gathers you unto himself.
He threshes you to make you naked.
He sifts you to free you from your husks.
He grinds you to whiteness.
He kneads you  until you are pliant;
And then he assigns you to his sacred fire,
that you may become sacred bread for God's sacred feast.

All these things shall love do unto you
that you may know the secrets of your heart,
and in that knowledge,
become a fragment of Life's heart.

But if in your fear, you would seek only love's peace
and love's pleasure,
Then it is better for you that you cover your nakedness
and pass out of love's threshing-floor,
into the seasonless world--
Where you shall laugh..  but not all of your laughter,
And weep..  but not all of your tears.
Love gives naught but itself and takes naught, but from itself.
Love possesses not,  nor would it be possessed;
For love is sufficient unto love.

When you love you should not say,
"God is in my heart,"
but rather,
"I am in the heart of God."
And think not you can direct the course of love,
for love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course.

Love has no other desire but to fulfill itself.
But if you love and must needs have desires,
let these be your desires--

To melt and be like a running brook
that sings its melody to the night.

To know the pain of too much tenderness.

To be wounded by your own understanding of love;
And to bleed willingly and joyfully.

To wake at dawn with a winged heart
and give thanks for another day of loving;

To rest at the noon hour and meditate love's ecstasy;
To return home at eventide with gratitude;
And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart
and a song of praise upon your lips.

~Kahlil Gibran
step off the edge

From underneath the Shadows  and
behind the boulders
is a Saving Grace, within all
All alone, there is an abandonment
within our beautiful  refusal
to abandon,  our own selves

Chris, I wonder  where you would go
when you would go away
for all that time
Was it to feel, all alone..  the brunt of
the message  in you?

Ah my sweet  beautiful brother,
could they not stay up with you--
even for one hour?
Head, down.. against the tree
you leaned,

Alone..  so all alone..
in that no one knows..  or understands..
the burden of the message
that you carry inside of you

Alone, away from the crowds
Is the Gethsemane,   of your rise..

and then, the all too unavoidable


On the side of the dirt road,
an old Chevy wreck
I climbed through the window,
I sat in the back
I gathered my thoughts
with my head in my hands--
My next of kin, my list of demands

I slipped from shadow to shadow
I saw things I should not see
The moon rose high over the garden
The garden of Gethsemane

I know who I'm for
and who I'm against
I pulled the shades tight,
I built me a fence..
I dug a tunnel,
tunnel deep and wide

I sit at the bottom
and wait for the night

I slipped from shadow to shadow
I saw things I should not see
The moon rose high over the garden
The garden of Gethsemane

Morning has come,
clean clothes on the line
There'll be no tomorrow,
I rise and I shine
"If you swallow the coin
from the wishing well
Your dreams will come true
in heaven or hell"

I slipped from shadow to shadow
I saw things I should not see
The moon rose high over the garden
The garden of Gethsemane

Take my hand, down we go
Take my hand, love, down we go

Take my hand, down we go
Take my hand, love, down we go
M Vogel Sep 2021

.. will it scale?

Can its brick and mortar  ramparts
be penetrated?  

Probably not.

Now, lifted up;  
pinned  up against it
there is a *******
that will break through

Within the wall's crumble
there is a rebirth..

A Heavenly emancipation--
and the most beautiful  of flows

let freedom ring
CarolineSD Sep 2021
With such cold rigidity some are able to carefully build these walls
And I try to imitate the craft,
But alas, my heart is far too soft.

When darkness falls, gently, across these open plains of
Windswept grass
It takes nothing but a single breath to
Lay my spirit bare,
Fingers of the starlit night reaching into the wild
Tangles of my hair.

And how easily I let these barriers
Fall all the way

All the weight I’ve carried upon my shoulders dropped,
Just like that,
Just like a soft and silken gown
Strewn across the cooling evening ground.

And how I also crumble and fold,
How these painted walls
They do not hold

Because I am not afraid of love
And I beg the floodwaters to roll like raging
Oceans whipped by cyclonic storms
And I bend into the breaking of the stones
And my heart is screaming
Let them fall!

No, I do not try to cage this eternal seeking of my soul, so

Let them fall

Let them fall

I will always turn towards the sunlit warmth of love,
Arms reaching forever out
Though it may be better to arm these walls,

I will always let them fall.

I live breathless and free in the breaking.
That's what love feels like
M Vogel Jul 2021

Within the horrendous act  of letting go
lies the gift of Life..  to life, itself

It is  within their  honoring,
that the dead, are brought back to life.

I killed you off  in my head,
when I made you mine, beautiful girl.

   You were never mine.

The crave for Love's Freedom   fights
with broken-nailed claws

And I become a young little boy,  again
surviving,  inside of my own head--

Inside of this man's  body
now, hardened

letting go
by never truly letting go

I can let go  of it
You have limits for closeness
Distance has no limits
If you can remember any distance story
You end up in seeing closeness
Cause closenesses are memorable
Not distances..
My Dear Poet Apr 2021
I hold a very little box
with very little things
little thoughts
little clippings
of smaller things
I often fold myself up
and place myself in
waiting in my little box
there sitting
for a little time
for a little while
I’m not asking for much
I sit with a little smile
nothing bigger than the box
nothing more than two
room for me
and a little of you
Next page