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Eric Pon Apr 26
Definitely doomed,  correctedly single


In my mind's eyes beginnings twinkle.


Ceasing snowfall to pollins sprinkle


Through parted lips felt psychic tingle
Deborahlee Feb 7
inside my soup cup, a fly swims the backstroke,
dives from the spoon to my tongue and I choke

scream as the porcelain saucer tossed broke
and out from the waitress's eyes rises smoke

chef bombs me with eggs, curls drip yellow yolk
run as he yells slobbering ~ this cook may ******.

a guy on a bicycle falls breaking a wheel spoke,
the busboy laughs at him - the man sees no joke

red bloodshot eyes rage - he ***** slaps the bloke
pile-drives and jabs with the three stooges poke.

dogs trailing cats chasing toads in a stereo croak
stop to mark the ground but the busboy they soak

standing as the hostess throws a bottle of coke
she pegs his forehead and ricocheted glass broke

seeing the ice for his lump I jump up - then spoke
of the green head flies in the cubes gag and choke

chaos erupts - a food fight hits and flying dishes broke
police cars roll, folks scatter and I duck behind an oak.
a play on 'what's that fly doing in my soup'
Arianna Feb 4
Tension: tendons stretched
In straight lines.

Lines: invisible

Of the body, poised,

Strings in harmony
Tumble free

Seemingly: perfect.

Curtain call, purple

Controlled: a whirling,
Twirling bird.
About a bottle of wine. For every couplet, take a sip. ;-)
Jack Shannon Feb 4
Not that he was light on his feet before,
But Twinkle doesn’t dance anymore.
He doesn’t talk a lot, and when he does
It’s jumbled and mumbled, we make a fuss
Trying to understand just what he means
Up/down, left/right, yes/no, joggers/jeans
When once he’d clear a buffet in a blink
He won’t eat his lunch, let alone drink.
He made mowing look easy, I struggle
And instead of him I’m the one the dog cuddles.
As wobbly as me on ten pints or more
Inevitably we’d both end on the floor
Always clean shaven has turned awry
With a full blown beard it’s another guy
Sat watching the same **** telly
New fancy chair and slightly smaller belly.
Twinkle gets grumpy when there’s a  cannula to insert,
Doesn’t trust the nurse when she said it wouldn’t hurt.
Breathing was easy for Twinkle last year
But not so now, it’s why we’re here
Waiting for a bed in a place where there’s plenty,
The problem is that none of them are empty.
Doctors a-plenty and many nurses too,
The only thing lacking is something to do.
In Game of Thrones jammies he sits in his chair,
He says he’s hot rather be in underwear
Or anywhere I think, just not on this ward
As everyone here is terminally bored.
A poem I wrote whilst visiting my Step-Dad in hospital, thinking about how his illness had effected my life and his.
Breeze-Mist Nov 2018
This place is now an empty shell
A remnant of my changing self
A colored, gilded chrysalis
That hides what beneath is amiss
And yet I still feel this passion
But in a muted, far fashion
As the strange lights overhead drone
A growing des're to go home
I still have a lot of the same feelings I did about this place before I left, but even though they're still strong, they feel less pressing/more distant than when I lived here.
Eric Pon Jul 2018
Im a poet and a painter
And a meandering musician

And I've hopes that somehow my
Art'll pay for my tuition.
I know it's not about the facts
Or my intuition
I wont believe all that I'm shown
For I know its superstition.
And you know Im not a doctor
Or even a practition
But heres some medicine myself perscribed
To help with this condition.
The dizzyness and neasuea
And the most dishonest vision..
May this writing reach my soul
In its keen perscision
And help me make every right move
Help make the right decision.

When there's so many unfathomable things we are
I choke on that recognition.
Matthew Filipek Jul 2018
Weep, sweet angel flower,
Weeping her coral blossom dim.

Bloom, smothering fumes,
Blooming within the stifling kin.

Hum; her gloaming eyes—
Humming an awful requiem—

Instill, in all, indelible air.
Be still, sweet angel flower.
M Ward Jun 2018
The air was crisp and faintly green
The wind was light, the scene serene.
I gazed upon a sprawling field,
As viridescent waves revealed
A lone black cat, soldiering on.
His eyes as verdant as the lawn.

He strode with purpose, without pause.
He writes his tale with the path he draws.
Black dagger, shimmering bright,
Piercing the grass, a shard of night.

Where was he going with such haste?
What delights of life would he taste?
It did not matter to him nor I,
But he knew a freedom that could not die.

I daydream often of that field,
And of the life that it might yield.
To trot assuredly through lush domain,
The burden of choice all that remains.
To feel the wind upon one’s face,
The grass and sun, a warm embrace.

The black cat’s life proffers this wisdom,
The path is forward that leads to freedom.
Hannah Christina May 2018
I dare not listen to the news.
I squeeze my eyes shut and refuse.

Torrential cries and senseless violence
I look past to hold my silence.

Is this so wrong?
It's not as if
My worrying the world will shift.

I do not know if it is right,
But I will skip the news tonight.
Hannah Christina May 2018
My soul cries out for truest peace
But flesh trades rest in mindless ease.

My soul, it yearns for truest love
But flesh says pleasure is enough.

My soul will strain for freedom dear
But flesh holds comfort out of fear.

My soul will long to show pure love
But my flesh decides it's done enough.

My soul wants selfish thoughts to break
But my flesh will live to only take.

"Enough," my soul arose and said,
"I will not rest 'til Flesh is dead.

"It can't be done in just a day,
But I will fight and find a way.

"I'll struggle hard as it holds on
And grapple with in 'till the dawn."

I'm choosing not the path of ease.
Now I will fight for truth and peace.
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