Cities have taken up the sky.
They are not clouds. Their lights
Are polluting pools in which stars shrink and drown.

The rats must also
Learn to swim—
Or sink—

Their bubbles of air
Rising up – the last of it
Before the final in-breath

Draws on water.
I bless the days in which
Nothing happens.

What relief—
That no soul of mine
Has been snatched away

So cruelly.
Lock up your daughters—

Protect them or
Send them forth. Let their
Voices rise

As seeds blown in the
Wind. Protect us from this insanity—
Our innocence blown away.
Her tears, suspended from one cheek
Like liquid tassels
The other, immune
And dry as the dust bowl
There are two sides to every story
Yet this one is beyond two dimensions
Her explanations have layers upon layers
Like an ambiguous onion that begs to be undressed
And once exposed to the air, its bitterness once again
Provokes her tears
I do desire to ride down the rocky path
The one that steeply descends to the shore
Where anger will put to flight
And heap upon me, understanding
And a daughter's trust
julianna Feb 23
A middle-aged couple
Stares out their front window
Happily watching the workers
Busy on their front lawn, digging a hole.

They had lived in this neighborhood
For three years
With their three precious daughters,
The family dog, and only two trees.

The mother would often complain
Because the houses looked bare
The father was sad,
Said the air was stale.

But they know well that each day that brings a trial
Brings a blessing, too.
Today, the dog is barking
And there's plenty of work to do.

Still, they smile.
Because today they get a brand new tree.
The Dedpoet Jan 31
Who I was
Is not who I am,

     Quarter Moon
Beams of Where's
My Daddy tears hit
And the lonely nights
Have taken toll on me.

Where are you now
Little GIRLS?
I want to see you,
I need you,
I'm better now.

It's ok Daddy,
Echoes of the crescent
Regret arc over my soul,
And the hint of seeing
You again drives me to think
You still remember me,
You still love me,
I regret everything.

Just because I'm your father
Does not make me a good one.
I live for your future, even if I am not apart of it.
Cyrus Gold Jan 24
Lost in conversation at a party
with a friendly person
I ended up almost tardy
but the event was worth it

This woman older than myself
had lost her youngest son
He had a bout with depression
and used his father's gun

A teen that never listens
comes with the territory
Blamed herself for doing the same,
called it her "horror story"

A touch of blue hit her face
as she remembered his smile
Her hands continued to shake;
they had been for a while

It got me thinking quite a bit
of what we leave behind,
be they achievements or kin,
by them we are defined

We tell the world of our struggles
with words and demonstration
and teach the kids how to live,
preventing devastation

Our legacy will continue
past their life expectancy
and through the passage of time
raise their dependency

The stench of death is rotten,
but still our biggest fear to date
is living life to the fullest,
yet remaining forgotten

And not to mention
raising sons and daughters;
we do our very best to keep them
from the guns and slaughter

Living in the here and now,
ever considered a future
where your experience today
will tutor newer users?

So* leave your mark - *be it poetry, melodies,
artistry, pedigree, even guiding infancy or
serving in an infantry, believe in your legacy
You're remembered infinitely.
Martin Narrod Jan 23
A Fancy Word For A Plug    
     That’s how it opens, from the end ripped off, the open end. Good bread, meh. The best bread I can find
here right now.
     every afternoon someone finds everything they’ve thought they’ve ever needed in the trove of glances stalking their eyes stalking back at someone only
      five minutes ago they may have called them, stranger, but brilliantly they have hope now, or the illusion I had thinking I’d be able to please every woman I’d ever take to bed
     being fifteen years old can do that to someone who spends nights after high school smoking his father’s marijuana. It’s funny how glances and stares are all a single man needs to feel empowered by a woman
     like he’s just captured his muse in a butterfly net. This is before he learns not all lepidoptera are butterflies, before he learns to transmit his rattling indecipherable hormones to her antennae, but never to touch the wings.
     He is a stalker of wing-touches, with a fancy diet to guide him through the unforgivable minutes he tricks himself into thinking he can make anyone happy, he carves a topaz vase he hoards the few moments before any voice should trammel these moments whose preciousness isn’t foretold by nearly a decade.
      Everyone wants to escape someone to move from one silence to another, they put on a show if only to escape everyone they ever went begging eyes from in a not so distant past.
      I used to last eight or nine times a day in college, I made a collage of faces for a Freshman-studies course, as if there was no price too vain for me to expose my soaked and fleshy junk. That was until I started guilty catching stares, taking away a gaze from another’s gaze, becoming Casanova for a moment, then again it’s still hard to resist something I know six billion people are wanting to put inside or be put inside.
Anaya c Jan 23
my tears will disappear
and i will heal once more
this is a now forever, never ending process
our love and our memories will not ever leave
these parts of my mind have been closed off
the life here has faded like your voice overtime
time has ripped you from my memory
all of you has left me only leaving the painful memories
i'll forever live with
i try not to think too much
because i expect a miracle
i know you won't be there when my nights seem eternity
those nights spent pondering you
and it will bring the heaviest oceans to my eyes
so i continue to wait
remaining broken
for the day that will never come
when i can hear your voice once more
and recover myself whole again
the love shared between a daughter and her mother is powerful and unbreakable // dedicated to my own
my head can be crazy, my head can be sane
my head can be home to the worst kind of pain
the kind that revisits - unwelcome, unkind
belittle the days that were good to your mind
it leaks into dreams so to make of you less
attacks you at night when you’re trying to rest
but this is what’s crazy and this is what’s sane
your mind is an altar, a product of pain
the kind that will knock ‘fore it opens the door
acknowledge the body that lies on the floor
the kind that shows empathy for you and me
erases the days we could never be free
mothers, daughters
Julia Hones Jan 6
In my childhood years
you planted curious seeds,
fountains of wonder and devotion
that continue to spring and splay,
grow and evolve
into blossoms of hope today.

If I had to express my gratitude
I'd have to paint all your talents
on the canvas of life,
for the older I get the more I comprehend
your fortitude, your support,
 ongoing humble presence,
distant yet close,
and your light shines inside me,
like an eternal blessing
that will live on in my daughter's heart forever.
My mother is an intelligent talented woman, and her love is and will always be a blessing to me. My father's love is also a blessing.
Next page