the day will come
when I wont feel the need
to check up on you

sooner than I could have hoped

You were once vast, large and never lied
Stretching far and reaching high
Now you are a wooden twig
Pulled away and Broken by a pig
The pig who didn't care for what used to be
the magnificent tree
who sat in my yard by the garage and the pool
In which, you had rule,
over all those tiny sapling oaks
who now look up and mope
Because trees are limited and rigged with beehives,
but many see that as the loss of their wives.

This was brought up many times during Earth Day, Pencils. So we owe them and Conrad Gessner, for inventing the pencil. Some people bury their family members in their yards, under a favorite tree, so that is where the last line came from.
#50

This orange sunburst
creamed the side of
sage hillsides that
were just getting
ready to wake up
but didn't have the
opportunity like
everybody on the
other-side. 253-
61-0000
another filing
errand and soon
to be another error
down, down, low-
down I'm going to
get going now, get
getting out of your
way for now. 509-
24
-0786
bleeding edge
bleeding days
sleep comes and
goes as fast as the
morning sunrise.
how awful it is to
experience that fat
old sun crest the
hillsky, bringing news
of yesterdays tomorrow.
one then two, then three-
and it bleeds into the
next and the next
and then there ain't
no more room to bleed
into, and there ain't no
tomorrow's parties to go to.

It's a far cry from
those days that'd cry out for a
cry off in full cry.

Lori 3d

tigers and lions and bears will be children's stories
one day.

we consumer society so much plastic on our faces
relying on fossil fuels for money and survival

setting the ecosystem off its center like the tower
of Pisa we keep using using and taking taking

the land is our mother will we abandon her? everyday
we stomp huge carbon footprints over her garden

take a step back see black smog rain clouds so
paint the sky brushstrokes of gold, blue and white

if our land is off balance and disrespected
our lives will be affected

humans will be stories the mother Earth whispers
one day.

georgic prompt. i think this was a lazy one.

i went through my mid-life crisis at twenty.
i dare say, that doesn't bode well for my longevity.
five years on and now i've done
twenty-five arbitrary circles
around the sun. a quarter century
spent spinning like a top
upon this pale blue dot.
one year older and i've only grown
colder at the thought of a life
stuck, stranded on this rock.

in the grand scheme of reality,
i am but a solitary blip in a lonely corner
of the Milky Way. the galaxy gasped
and, in the blink of an eye, i passed
once more into nothingness—finite.
with my last act, i'll whisper,
"it is finished" and breathe
a sigh of relief.

but a piece of me will last an eternity.
like the hammer of the gods, i was forged
in the core of a dying hyper-giant.
my bones are fashioned from star-stuff
and to that same dust i return, inexorably,
tugged apart in the fusion of the multiverse,
scattered to all corners of the cosmos.

when humanity is long extinct, molecules
that once belonged to our bodies will cling
to each other and build new bonds.
i'd like to think that i'll find you there, lovely,
rotating and waiting for me,
adrift in the fabric of space-time,
so we might embark on a new journey
and spend a moment or two entwined.

National Poetry Month, Day 22.

She rested her head against the windowsill, tracing her fingers along the rigid, empty patches of wood where that white paint used to be. Once up on a time.

The little whisps of hair that lay limply at the back of her neck became startled as the cold from the windowsill carressed her cheek.
Her eyes turned to the night, where the sky nursed the stars. Pockets of light screaming out into the blackness, before fading into the day. As her mind began to drift, She wandered what promise lay behind those diamonds of light. What would she find if she took that blanket of black by the corners and shook it. What would she see.
The girl sat there, her finger still tracing the chipped paint; running after her lingering thoughts. She sat there untill that familair flame grew bright, bleeding night into dawn. Morning came. the dew settled once again.
Fresh from the heavens and as she turned away, her finger stopped. She breathed a sweet sigh. A sigh filled with secrets, covered in beauty. Then she stretched her legs over the side of her bed, the crack from her toes an unapologetic symphony that her feet sang having spent the night bunched up cross legged by the window. Walking across her room to her bedroom door, she reached for the handle, turning it slowly, opening the door to another day.
Another day painted by mercy and given by grace

     © Raffi

Dedicated to The Greatest Poet Alive

We wake up
In our tiny house
And I feed you a slice of pineapple
'Cause you're my junebug

I grab my shotgun
And head out into the city
Ready for a day of hunting
And merrymaking
Among the happy band of thieves
I call my Extended Family

The rising day
Lets the sun come over the skyscrapers
And hits your skin like a blanket
Perfect

It's one of those mornings
Where you want to overthrow the government
But just can't fill out the right forms
So you lay a steaming log in front of City Hall
Instead
For what they've done to this country

Trees sway in the radiated wind
Bees are scarce
But I got my shells
And I'm diving into

Another rising day.

Will our hero live to see another day?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=71ubKHzujy8

"I woke up."
   And wished I was dead.
"I walked through the house."
   Like a zombie.
"I kissed and hugged my mother."
   And my body was in so much pain.
"I ate my breakfast."
   And felt sick to my stomach.
"I grabbed my clothes and got dressed."
   But I stared at my scars and cuts first.
"I started my schoolwork."
   And wished I could disappear.
"I turned in assignments."
   But I already knew what my grades would be.
"I ate lunch; I had a sandwich."
   I didn't want to eat. Why do they make me?
"I went back and did more school."
   And wished I wasn't alive; did I mention that already?
"I did my chores."
   And thought of all the ways I could leave.
"I ate dinner."
   Because they always make me eat.
"I did more school until ten."
   Then collapsed into bed, not wanting to exist.
"I laid in my bed wide awake, thinking, until about two a.m."
   I didn't want to sleep 'cause I don't like nightmares.
"I thought about life, conversations, etc."
   Ways I could off myself, why I hate myself, etc.
"I finally fell asleep around two-fifteen."
   The nightmares get worse and worse.
   Please don't make me do it again.
   I don't want to live another day.
   Please don't make me live life.
"Then the day started again when I woke up at about five."
   Please.

April 19, 2017.
Lori 6d

her head on my shoulder tugs
on my flyawaykite heart

his high five assurance lugs
the dragtagtag off my mind

its chlorine salt sponge bugs
off driednegativityink away

her concave half spoon eyes slugs
in comfortproximitymaximum

its blood dipping words mugs
thebelljar off the shelf to fly

sylvia's swanwords inspire

Create your own words prompt. Finally tried it out. It's fun. Started reading The Bell Jar by Slyvia Plath. Her style of words and imagery is so weird and I love it.
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