Elizabeth Zenk Dec 2018
Asphalt memories and concrete cries.
These cracks of life, formulate most of my thoughts during these bland journeys.
The most interest in these cobblestone pathways lies in the occasional determined dandelion or **** that manages to pop up through the stone.
The mundane life of such a plant never fails to amuse me.
Despite all the efforts, all the work, these ragged stocks of green persevere, but as soon as they thrive, they perish.
Turning into no more than a sickly brown line on the pavement below.
    The weeds aren’t what brings me down these roads, however.
My life manages to be even more interestless, and boring.
I wander back and forth this path, every single day, wearing away the cement that brings me to these stainless steel buildings.

However, I’ve reconciled with the crisp morning strolls, for the night is much less forgiving.

    Sometimes the streetlights bend, twist, wind, and twine with the tears that form in my gaze.
The streaks of sorrow that trail down my face as I leave to go home for the day.
Macabre figures dance in the background of my distorted vision, chasing me down in the dark.
I wonder whether or not this is my imprisoned imagination, lashing out at me.
Starting a war I never asked for.
The thing that is brave enough to bring me an ounce of sanity is the waxing moon,
rising up from its shadowy imprisonment.
I wish I could be the moon
Nai Dec 2018
Out of the darkness
In the middle of the cold night
Grew a rose from concrete
Under the stars' light

No need for the sun
Or rain
For it was nurtured by the tears of the stars from feeling her pain
Rizna M Rameez Dec 2018
Old people
Have had more time
To develop a concrete set of ideas
Of the world
From which they are not prepared to budge
And cannot either

For once concrete hardens
It is never softened
Love, Knowledge, and Faith
Come in.
Early 2018
Everyone takes life differently as some people have unconsciously decided to take life this way.
Jodie-Elaine Nov 2018
He awoke on frozen concrete,
The broken glass.
Locked door, let the house run down around us,
At least we’re safe, right?
We had Time on our hands, we always said we’d go Someplace,
said our youth was a tragedy.
We’re our own worst enemies, silent screaming, kicking ourselves out the door, glass limbs.
Your hands fumbling over the catch of the lock, unmending the hinges.
The last glass we owned skidded off the other side of the table,
Throwing itself, disembodied and disfiguring
onto the floor.
We were empty in that last glass,
Cold eyes at means to an end.
Staring at the broken glass, wishing
To his sleeping form
It would glue itself back

It would glue itself back
To his sleeping form.
Staring at the broken glass, wishing,
Cold eyes at means to an end.
We were empty in that last glass,
onto the floor,
Throwing itself- disembodied and disfiguring-
The last glass we owned skidded off the other side of the table,
Your hands fumbling over the lock, unmending the hinges.
Glass limbs.
We’re our own worst enemies, silent... screaming, kicking ourselves out the door,
Said our youth was a tragedy,
We had Time on our hands, we always said we’d go Someplace,
At least we’re safe... right?
Locked door, let the house run down around us...
The broken glass.
He awoke on frozen concrete.
mirror effect vilanelle-like poem, 2015. I've forgotten the name of this poetic technique. If anyone knows please tell me and release me from the niggling bug of not remembering
Allyssa Buenafe Nov 2018
You became a filler,
An absent minded,
Twisty winding,
Pothole and concrete based filling.
Baby you were the rock in the pit of my stomach,
The ache in my heart,
The memories in my brain,
My nerves aren’t shot my dear,
I’m just in pain.
Selectively I am...
Indifferent to my suffering,
Indifferent to my heart,
Indifferent to my feelings.
Pondering on the concrete in my stomach
Izzy Aghahowa Nov 2018
maybe the words i said
couldn't contain themselves
into their strict meanings
and suddenly
i revealed my headspace

Suddenly you are a part of it
my dark twisted struggle for
a body removed
with a body that won't
will not
move from its concrete place

it's a different kind of silence
one only few learn about
gracie Mar 2018
Shake me

Til the sad falls away
Til my heart breaks so cleanly
That you can staple it together
With love or
Some kind of metal
That won't melt in the scorching

Hold me

Til my hands stop
Til warm clouds of
Breath escape my lips
And drift up into the
Smoking atmosphere
Between our

Shatter me

Til glass scatters across the
Til no amount of superglue or
Soft words
Can fix the wonderful
Damage you leave
Jen Nov 2018
To find

As if
A Phantom.

Holding your soul,
Close to your body.

A Cocoon

Rolling, rolling, rolling...
To where?


Then crystalizing
Over sudden sunsets,
Across the horizon.

Moving towards
As concrete
Fails to set
Within them.

Swept up
On the stairwell
Of a helix,
Waiting to
See where
It ends.

Caught up
In the never-ending
Space of Obscurity
That sometimes seems
This poem might not appear to make sense at first.  It came to me as a visual image that suddenly popped into my head as I was thinking about how I feel about a life situation that I've struggled with for a while. It actually has dual meanings as after I wrote it some subcontious thoughts also surfaced.  I've heard poetry is good therapy and believe it. So the inspiration came as the sun started to go down as it does now at 4pm.  I was thinking about a piece of life, closed my eyes and saw myself exposed and ***** laying in a dark, empty space. Then I realize it, and so my entire being rolls itself up in a cocoon for protection to find that my mind is very abstract and struggles in this concrete world, especially around a lot of people who are very concrete and black & white thinkers. It's time to find a new field but it seems like a big leap. Just thoughts and visualizations put to words....
Next page