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neth jones Nov 2022
i must hustle    cause i’m made of spoil
moist rice skin
            thinly incases  soft fluttering organs
mucus coated   elastic  chicken bones
                                          run throughout my parcel
they prop me      doe-ing before the lumy screen
     (the screen that volunteers us all)

emaciating into my work
      through this communal portal    i'll detonate my legend
    my spirit shall decant and dispel gladly
in the world remaining
    my cadaver will become acclimated
                        and re-meat the soil in an easy spill

         no longer alienated     my work will be    utter

original version

I must hustle    cause I’m made of spoil
moist rice skin
            incasing soft fluttering organs
bones prop me      doe-ing into lumy screen
in that world I’ll emaciate my legend
before    in this one     I re-meat the soil

A locked grave, a confined space
My heart pounding, a tight brace
the strongest oppression: time’s pace
alone and lost, I was chased.

Run, run, run, as fast as you can
Or do as some say: start, lest it began
But now it was too late, the attacker was behind
Edging close, a knife in her hand -

We will soon meet, at the time she feels
But there was a last resort, for those who were weak
I could leave the chase and fall off the cliff
Or just remain and receive death’s kiss

Arriving time, time has arrived
Slash, slash - a blood splash
A red boundary formed, impossible to cross.
Deadline - that’s what it was called.
Too many assignments due too soon. Relatable much?
Traveler Dec 2020
In my waking
The chaos sinks
I waist no time
To stop and think

The moment is now
I ponder my world
My deadlines
My children
My special girl

Pet my dogs
Sip my coffee
Hit a bowl
Write a poem

Work out
Play guitar
Walk in nature
Off I go
To bed alone
Traveler Tim

I’m going to get a job one of these days...
Sabila Siddiqui Jul 2019
Time is slipping.
moments are fading,
deadlines are approaching
and emotions are changing.

Everything is
and reforming.

It's a tightening feeling in the chest
that catches my breath.
But then I exhale
letting it loose.

Life is moving forward,
days are coming close,
anxiety is getting worse
and I don't feel prepared.

But I have today,
I have this moment,
I can make something of this time.
Little by little,
day by day,
it will be alright.
Daniel K Apr 2019
After the two, I underestimated you.
Time was wasted till four days left to finish.
Piece of cake drove me insane.
All the more did I rip my hairs out
When you gave me that smirk
Daring me to complete you if I could...
The more I tried the more I knew,
Petrified before the reality
As I scrutinized at my reflection in the mirror
With saggy eyes that lost its light
And back at you; unfinished masterpiece of Frankenstein.
Chained down by the inscriptions of nightmare
I give up all hopes to be free.

The last 2 days I perceive to be
Long yet way too short.
Truly the hands are moving forth without mercy
As I am writing this poem instead of
My 3rd ten page paper.
Arisa Mar 2019
**** the deadline.
****** the word limit.
maul the teacher.
tight sentences,
so concise,
stabs my heart
wasn't worth it at all.
I don't want to shrink my work, you hellcats.
Lois Jairam Feb 2019
2 Months before School year end,
And 2 days before our possible end,
The Pressure is high,
And the Hope is low,

How can one survive the one final blow?
Two last?
No Three last,
The Four Humps on the Road,

Either we jump towards the challenges of life,
Or fail to do so as anxiety runs with us,
And Hope is, flickering in the air,
But hopes only that flicker would be enough to light the road,
To see the hurdles quickly,
To guide ourselves,
For us to live our life fully in the future,
How can one survive the final blow?
annh Jan 2019
skidding down the slopes
of a Friday afternoon
deadlines looming fast
my rickety toboggan
- clattering alarmingly -
navigates the final run
and with a sharp turn
delivers me sweaty-arsed
but still in one piece
to the door of my weekend
at six on the dot
What a
It would be
To speak to yourself
So cruelly,
Lying to yourself,
You are only worth
As much
As your productivity
Due dates;
A revolving strain on time,
A resulting
For proven effort;
Our productivity
Our professional fate?
We look inward,
And contemplate,
And find
Our update
Is late
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