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Anne Jul 2017
Perched atop a table, surrounded by some jazz

Sits a pink rose as glamorous as

A golden age Hollywood starlet  

This rose is nocturnal, resides in her own darkness


The rose lives in shades of grey  

Like the remnants of cigarettes in a nearby ashtray

With the occasional ring of cherry red lipstick  

Her intoxicating perfume makes men sick


The fragrance of a pink rose

Never does as shes told

Circulates the room like a cloud of smoke

And dances around as if life were a joke  


Almost transparent in the full moon’s light  

A breeze knocks the perfume out of sight  

Natural Beauty is an oddity of her own

With blush pink petals, this rose stands alone


The fragrance drifts out of town  

Near some trailer parks, waiting for something to go down        

Traveled along the highway’s long, slick road

The fragrance belongs in a dream world of her own


Some dare to bottle her, capture her essence

Fools! Will they ever learn their lesson?

Somethings must remain untouched by man

For they have been beautiful since their lives began.
This poem is inspired by  

Josef Breitenbach’s artwork, “Fragrance of a Pink Rose”,

New York, 1945.
Morgan Gail Jun 2017
VI
i've got bandages over my rib cage
just beneath the skin
a thick, foreign material holding it all together
the silk ribbons i've tied over soft bone
in my attempt to compensate for the lack of
beauty in this frame  
this heart is so worn out i wonder
how it doesn't stop
even when it's breaking
it is beating
it's keeping rhythm
it's got the names of everyone i'm missing
tucked inside it's valves
i've got spirits of lost love haunting all it's halls
let my chest cavity be the church
the resting place in the body
i hear low voices singing sad hymns in unison
echoing against it's walls
bury me beneath the dust and rock in the mountains
so my God can carve me out of the marble
and i can start again
maybe i could make it through
without my bruised up skin
martha Jan 2017
each solitary shell encasing each glowing miniature bulb
embodies a memory
a feeling
a blur of seasonal rememberance associated with someone whose face you can't quite put your finger on
blue : sadness
red : anger
green : jealousy
yellow : happiness
concocted and connected through a dense cord the colour of coal we neglect to remember holds each lights hand and ties their souls together
Reflecting shadows on shards of broken glass baubels and the cheek of an ornate angel too delicate to cry
Their colour coded combination presenting a haze of neon and cheap affordable replicas of essential festive decor
But deflect your attention from detail and analysis
Caress the sight as a whole and take care not to delve too deeply into the secret each dull glowing ember might wish to divulge to you through whispers in a dark room left empty for too long
Before the dimming is inevitable
the loss is unnoticeable
it's secrets
unattainable
At least it faded before the power went out
I find myself staring into
the mouth of memory,

wet cotton, fine needles
and wine

my mouth turns wet at
the thought of it

to hold such history
in my mouth

and twist the knives that
my teeth make

into it
Bhumi Sep 2016
"I told you to not talk. Then why you're following me?"* She yelled at him.

"Because I love you"* he said.

"Haha, Joke of the decade." She cried.
"Okay, If you love me, then why don't you have Time for me? Why do you always shout at me only because of the work pressure? she further added.

Because I love you he said.

"No, you don't." she started crying.
He sat her on the bed, grab her hand in his own, in the knee down posture on the floor he was.

"I extremely apologise for not giving time to you. I shouted at you because I love you. Person shout on whom he loves. In fact, for whom I am doing this? For you baby. You're my everything. I want you to live a luxurious and happy life with me. Without stress for the future. I want to secure everything. " he explained.

She hugs him.

"I love you" she said.

Because I love you? he asked.
brock the badger Apr 2016
everything is flipping flipping flipping
sand made of glass light
real or not real?
changing and shifting
a desert
My consciousness an oasis
but also a drought
Kenna Marie Feb 2016
To the wonders yet for me to discover…
Come hit me so that I’m bruised.
Or better yet, leave a permanent mark. One that I’ll watch while holding a cup of coffee on a bitter frost winter day.
Sting my face with shock while my chapped lips whimper.
Beg me to listen when you come in a different form; whether the ruffling leaves or whispers in the wind.
Come on, be my friend that will align me  even when I am severed in half with fear.
Show me that I need to learn.
V Nov 2015
Do not bring your light into the dark.
It is not meant to be seen though;
It is meant to be felt through.
V Nov 2015
Truly brave souls plunge into the dark-simply to learn how to find a way out.
No time to refine the conceptual mind
Patterns are formed, developed,  defined.
Look within and you should find
Who bares the fruit at the end of the vine

Is reaching the pinnacle of perpetual life redefined  
Worth the risk of committing a crime?
Go, hide away.....
Run for cover.....
You can get what's been lost some other time

In the shadows as in the light
You still shine
Like a shooting star, afar, on a cloudless night
Past the moon, so soon, so bright

If you deny, it's a lie, not the truth
From all we were taught and we learned in our youth
All alone or in a group
Everywhere that you look there is proof

He who climbs the tallest tree
Has the rights to the fruit
Whether he's disheveled,
Or in a suit
Eye on the prize, worlds collide
No dispute.
If you get something out of my writing, then it was worth writing.
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