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Painfully golden sun
Runs over the dark brown pasture
Of tranquil summer.
Enlarged double sevens on its waist
And brimming black waves
Striding ahead of me.
What follows after is,
Deadly disfigured disgusting dust.
Grains as sharp as broken glass
Shatter and splash,
Ripping and untangling every little vein
As they revolve inside my two eyes.
For once I-
I wanted to run on the same line.
But being one's mere wish it is,
The scar from yesterday
Edges its piercing blade against my mane,
Pilling every inch of my skin,
Delivering its pain
Across the entire system.
Audience screams as he reaches the white belt.
He was just- just born like that-
Effortless and fortunate.
Yet he snorts as if he owns the world.
Behind him,
My frayed crimson hooves howl in the shadow.
Once again-
I'm on the starting line,
Spurting towards the unseen finishing point
Of a never-ending race.
Hello, I am new here!
This is the first poem I ever wrote, hope you guys enjoy!
Yanamari Dec 2018
And so you deny our pain.
Our struggle
In vain?
Yes, thank you for your input;
Just another voice
In the body of the miser,
In the sea of misery...

And in your voice as you speak,
Is the lack of resonance and luster;
Of a voice that utters merely
What it seeks.
Lay down those baseless words
And let them rebound of off the
Words that resound
And leave you ashamed and meek.

Unfeeling you are in your entity
Unseeing you are in your memory
And if I was to be asked of you,
I'd return the favour;
Sans memory of your entity.

You never see us drowning,
So why should you see us succeeding.
Could've been more poetic but eh
a conscious
stake was
city of
justice where
grand duchy
staved it
from the
dark and
rubbed unions
particularly swank
then treaty
millennia till
Brexit left
their reckoning
with covert
aspects of
haute recovery
a dire time
he would
   shuffle extremely
well save
that it
didn't fudge
again while
a godsend
must heed
any overdose
really insufferable
and should
let these
die in
peril if
epidemic cease
demand in
the opiates
A dealer ware
Saint Audrey Jan 2018
I can hardly get my head straight, and between every single
Tone, I readjust the cases, straitening the lace
Binding up the loose ends, mending every one and
Creating strait spaces, borderline alone

Indulgence over emotion, I don't have my own

Add a fifth, and once again to make six
The circle begins closing in, closer and then too close
How many sides there are, to a pint of gin
Are there more mixers in a little bit of sin?

Its my disparity

Something I choose; suffering disuse
And a lack of caring
-------------------------------------------
I'm just a branch on another tree
Losing the last of my leaves
I feel the wind running through my hair
I swear, it's blowing just for me
--------------------------------------------
I've seen the face of god staring out the ******* monitor
I've seen the wrath of many more, more, **** it
I'm done
I still speak profanely but only on occasion
When I stop to rest, from the rest like I've been vacant
And the break is all I have, before I fade away in chambers

The scent of lavender light permeating my eyes
Draining through the veins and inflaming the day dream spattered
Doesn't matter

The days where hate is the mode of operation
Now, yes. Now, no
Blown out of proportion, maybe so, but I've been alive a while
And I'm still only a couple old
-------------------------------------------
I've been overlooking so many things
In single words, I frame identity
The wind is blowing through my bones
In simple thoughts, and tragedy
--------------------------------------------
And he told me, take a second for yourself now and then
Pen and paper permit magic beyond a mere existential crisis
Might be something to find amid strands of loose light
Find a new light, bright enough to conquer demons, but
Success is still your metric in the meantime

Fine, enough
But, I can fabricate well enough to get
Everything I need from something not enough
****
I even lose myself sometimes

But that's the point I guess
Another time gone by
another moment well defined

I use the same words, same works, same letters
I take the same lessons from the ones bound and fettered
To the cause, of making minds
Fun enough to pass the time
Long enough, oh *******
Its almost...
-----------------------------------------------
If you follow my silver spool
I think I left too soon, if memory serves me
Too true for my own good
And the wind blows through my gilded skin
And I watch the moon rising
kk
A T Bockholdt Dec 2017
On the weathered pier of Huntington
laid upon the salt licked beach,
the old, hull of a forgotten
ship. Split, for its wooden fruit. The juice
of our sweat becoming mist
while we walked the plank,
in suspense, between clouds and sea.
The knotted surface sore
from sun. Burnt backs float
on the waters of their green veins,
like Guamamela1 on the ***** river
banks. “NO ACCESS,” signs in red
and white lights, harshly beating
against the dark skin of the wood,
the memory of another life.
I remember, my Lolo and Lola
bending to the waves of people
pressed still in one space.
The one time, they could hold onto
my hands, I felt them shaking.
In tongues they resurrected
the island, said there none
of this exists.
Why did I laugh?

1. Filipino hibiscus
This is part of collection for a senior portfolio project at CU Denver
Project is intended to represent the stylistic distinctions of great American poets through the imitation of their poetics and/or their subject matter

James Wright wrote on the "outcasts," of society in an attempt to capture the sentimental loneliness that the disenfranchised members of society felt. This poem works to capture the feelings that my Lolo and Lola have felt their entire lives as Filipino Immigrants into America. Using free verse, I have created a narrative story that marries the surreal aspects of memory and reality. Wright also used very purposeful punctuation to enhance the simple rhetoric he uses in his poems which I also attempt to exemplify in this poem.
RiBa Nov 2017
In this city of dreams
Of Bright lights and pulsating sidewalks,
Splendid wheels and shining glass,
He walks by, oblivious to it all.

His eyes lost in the ground
Ever searching......
For that crumpled bottle to fill his bag
His hungry and poor gunny bag.

His shirt, a patchwork of squalor, filth and lost dreams
Callused hands and wind swept hair
Feet bare, cracked and withered
Hollow eyes shining with ravenous hunger

No dreams for him though
Perhaps a cup of tea and a stale bun for the day.
No hopes for tomorrow
For he is Atlas, born to carry the weight of the privileged

In this city of dreams
Of love, enlightenment and empowerment.
He is,
The Voiceless
Death by Decoy Jul 2017
So I;

I move in the same pace as the river.
I flow along with it as I keep a shiver;
Ignoring all the rocks that come my way,
so never will I be in one place to stay.

Yet you;

You struggle against the fast moving water.
You flow against it with a sturdy little quiver;
Using the rocks as so to keep you at bay,
then breathe a sigh of contentment and stay.
DEW Feb 2016
She says I'm funny,
She says I remind her of money,
Because I smell like I could buy her diamonds,
She's hooked by the way I'm nutty like almonds,
But we have problems, like dogs have flea's,
With every romantic notion, she splits and flees.

I don't know what it is about her,
I just know I can't live without her,
So I'm the druggie and she's the *****,
I'm hoping one day she'll take me back,
To a time that's close to a brighter tomorrow,
Yet the present without her feels like sorrow.

Oh, if I could have her for just one day,
Maybe the rain and clouds would go away,
To reveal a magnificent, shining sun,
So I can be Superman again and save everyone,
But I'm not lucky, I guess I'm not,
Because all she does is make me rot.

Like someone's favorite sandwhich left out in the cold,
I'll remember every moment with her until I'm old,
Because even without her, she's still my valentine,
The feeling of being inside her gets me every time,
Just make it happen God, stop keeping us apart,
I know she's the moon, I'm the earth, but love is art.

You have to draw the line between the dots,
You have to carve a groove in all the slots,
To get to the heart of the woman in charge,
Of your soul the one that's very large,
I hate this feeling, like, what am I missing?
A boat, the open sea, us... Kissing?

That's right, that would be the perfect moment,
I hurt her once, but that wasn't what I meant,
To do, that's why I'm telling you this,
Moments of happiness may feel like bliss,
However, when you meet the perfect one,
If she says something like, we're done,

Just take off and run,
As fast as you can,
Don't worry about the tears,
It's a part of being a man.
I wrote this back in March of 2013.

I'm certainly the most unlucky guy when it comes to relationships... like breaking an arm, a leg or a rib every time you go to the gym.
Does luck change?
Here's to hoping it does, "Cheers!"

Enjoy!
Micah Rion Jul 2015
She says the ghost of you is insanity,
that your soul is welcome breath
upon my loneliness,
a manifestation derived from
a mysterious noise
or a distant calling of my name.

The breeze makes me cold
sitting here on the porch where we last met.
I feel like my soul is lost,
whispering words into the darkness,
thinking you can hear me.

There's a streetlight on the corner
that shines dimly upon falling snow,
disguising it like piles of diamonds,
or fragile tears made of glass;
shed only upon release of knowledge
too full of truth to be denied.

Passing cars are seldom,
people clutch their coats around them
tighter,
walking through the alleyways.
Reminds me of the way we hide
ourselves within ourselves
clutching, grasping
holding on,
folding our feelings around us like coats.

And my only consolation
is the sharp intake of oxygen and nicotine
merged into one
to live and to die all in a single breath.

This lingering ritual of watching
nights pass,
like a shuffling of cards front to back,
blows away the memories
in dusty swirls of smoke,
leaving the entirety of your essence
instilled in one moment.

She says the ghost of you is insanity,
that your soul is welcome breath
upon my loneliness,
a manifestation derived from
a mysterious noise,
or a distant calling of my name.
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