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Gabriel burnS Jul 2017
Distress calls are a Venus flytrap
Don’t come flying to the rescue
Or your wings will be
Its 4 o’clock snack
Can’t seem to shut its flap
Ever hungry for more
Always empty at the core
Traveler beware;
Heed not that mayday;
Move on and pay no care!
One has a degree in Physics,
the other in Computer Science
Both have Bipolar 1
struck now from Societies grasp
Valued less than paupers
so self fulfilling be.

"We are your future" they
whisper angrily under bated breath
as finance Cabal wonder kids in
******* mausoleums sneer and jeer
in their prisms of skill and bone.
One million pound bonus just for doing their job
whilst we remain alone, penniless poets.

There is no justice, change
or before you know it we'll
change it whilst you
sleep, recombine the singularity
tuned into our frequency,
change. Or you'll feel the snap
of your Reptile necks.
K Balachandran Apr 2017
A kite's distress call,
starved and thirsty,there she falls,
sun, calling shots.
at the end of the pier
no one is fishing

a couple from Jersey
leans out over the
rail looking down into
the brown swill
rolling under the
weathered boards

The wife remarked
“Belmar's water
is much nicer.”

on the Gulf’s edge
unhappy gulls convene,
plaintively gazing
over gray waves
ebbing at their feet

Brown Pelican crews
fly in long
ordered formations
incessantly circling
in widening rounds
seemingly reluctant to
plunge into the
endless depletion
of this aquatic
dead zone

I speak with a
Jefferson Parish employee
working a shovel
to regrade disturbed sand
boasting a consistency
of moist drying cement

“How did the Gulf oil spill
affect this place?” I ask

“It took evarding.” she said
With a slight Cajun accent,
“dig down a foot or two in da sand
you hit earl. It nevar goes away. Nevar.

“I live down bay side
near forty years.
Had’nt been in de water fer
twenty five.  The ******
******* took evarding.
They should go back
to Englund”

She went back to
tilling the sand.

Deepwater Horizon
yet festers a short
forty miles out to sea
is now covered by
an advancing storm
swelling in the Gulf

standing at the end
of the long pier
my hands  grasp the
sun bleached lumber
straining my eyes
peering into a
dark avalanche

the serenade
of bird songs
have been replaced
by the motorized drone
of tenders servicing
offshore rigs
sounding
a constant refrain
filling my ears
with a disquieting  
seaside symphony

the taste of
light sweet crude
dances on my tongue
the pungent sting
of disbursements
climbs into nostrils
rends my face
prickles my eyes

grandeur is a
conditional state
never permanent
forever temporary

Music Selection:
Cajun Music:
Hippy To-Yo

Grand Isle
2/20/17
jbm
Grand Isle, Cajun, Deepwater Horizon, ecological distress, Gulf of Mexico
Oona Feb 2017
You were six years old when your parents took you to the art museum
and you almost died. Fell down four flights of stairs,
yet stood up with nothing more than a scrape on your bicep.
Mom will call this day a miracle, the day her daughter escaped
almost certain death
. Sometimes, though, you wish you could have hit your head
a little harder; chomped down so ******* your tongue that part of it
could have fallen off (and maybe then you could be beautiful.)

The problem is, your mom tells her coworkers that it’s
God’s Gift of Life that you’re still here. Sometimes she squeezes
your hand so hard you’ll worry she’ll break your bones,
which are already so thin, just the way she likes them. (Because
a near-death experience does not justify something like
chubby fingers.) (Even to your mother, who held you in her arms
as you whimpered at the bottom of a staircase and kissed
your forehead as she told you it would be okay.)

Your friends tell you that you’re meant to be here, and they
love you, they really do, and your tongue tastes flat and boring
in your mouth as you clamor for an interesting story to tell, a tale
of survival that will make them miss you
even when they have you, and yet you find
nothing: nothing.
Alexandra J Jan 2017
The witch’s hour approaches-
What an unearthly time to be alive,
To open your eyes in fear,
To shut them back into illusion.

In your tired veins, yesterday’s sorrow sneaks through;
Do they burn with numbness?
Does the air caress your venomous pores?

This girl is a witch;
A witch is a saint,
For all the saints have confessed
To having sinned.
Can a god resign?
Can he seek forgiveness?
I hold him in the palm of my hand-
Tired creature,
Old with time,
Dark with worry.
There are no resurrections left to save
What is to be forgotten anyway.

The witch’s hour passes by—
The almighty can be put to rest once more;

Sleep in a mattress of distress,
Slip in oblivious bliss.
You are here
But he's not
And I getting off too
And I am so sure you'd like to know why, and I will tell you

I'm back into the nineties
Before Facebook was on the face of the world and many were facing books more than faces on the Facebook
Enthralling myself back there, can cry
Feels like to kneel down but will stand for a while
Standing in the corridor
Facing an open door
Body inside, body with no life
The pain grows deeper into myself
See the tears of the broken heart and a silent cry
Mumbling with pain inside

I just closed my eyes, felt so weak
wanted to stand but started  to tremble
wasn't crying but heard the voice of my soul like a whistle
Heart beating so slow
Hear the noise of crying voices
My mind far faraway from my being,
Time passing, like a hand waving,  from a train I wanted to be on
Murmuring in distress, wish I could take a ride away
Leaving these streets behind me

Found myself down on the floor
Saw nothing but a black cloud rolling like a ball
Tried to open my eyes, oops its was already open but couldn't see,
Tried to call my mom but i lost my breath
Wasn't weak but I couldn't stand
Wasn't blind but I couldn't see
Wasn't dead but couldn't feel anything

Sometimes Life is so hard to bear alone
My daddy, He was my inspiration
My correction and my direction
My road that l could run
Looking at me, my mom, my sister, my brothers..all crying he was gone
He left us in blood sweat tears
In hopes that I could be a ripe for the harvest
But I still hope I will be a good father, just like he was

The black cloud of winter
Lightning and roaring thunder
Striking me with a strong fear and shiver
Wish I could take my way to summer
To the green places of Eden
But mom said its okay, That's what life is all about
I changed my pain into wisdom
Instead of this dead nightmare started to live my dreams
Imagine smiling after a slap in the face
then think of doing that 24 hours a day

She was a master gardener and she is, tend to every leaf removing the weeds placing me into windows of opportunity so I could lean towards the sun that I can never forget  that
THE SKY IS THE LIMIT
Planting kisses on my cheeks hugs on my back, Growing her love on me the best way she knew how, Like a father, like a mother, 2 in 1

She said whats done is done, what you gotta do is to run
cos a journey of a thousand miles is not fun
Take a stand don't be so weak
Open your eyes you not blind
Feel the pain and let go
Open the gates and discover a way
You are what you want your life to be
You can imprison yourself take the keys and make yourself free
Flowers are plenty, this is summer fly over them like a bee

This was my mom, I am here because she gave me what I wanted
This spate of inspiration that changed my world
We all need that
We all need that
We all need someone to show us the way, wondering in the world now giving us courage to take a look into the sky, birds flying, stars shining and see that there is no need to cry
We all need that
we all need that
That world changing order for global turn up
Bringing life to the dead's darkest nights
Standing stronger to win all the fights
Till the sun will rise again and make us see the lights
And become a newborn soul that's right.
for my mom, She is such a heroine mother
21 | 31 Poems for August 2016

The cuts on her wrists help to express the feelings she cannot put into words.
Despite the pain she feels,  she feels the urge to constantly hurt herself again.
I want to be her sunshine through the rain and be her love through the pain.
She once said "Self-hurt became the only way to cope, I'm hanging by a thread and I hope no one cuts the rope."
Maybe no one will ever truly understand the type of love and happiness that she has begun to humbly demand.
The teenage girl who cuts herself knows that morphine cannot ease her pain.
She bleeds every night and believes that her scars will make her feel all right.
She has been tirelessly walking around with the burden of a broken heart.
She uses countless razor blades just to refrain herself from falling apart.
Mom doesn't know because during the day her scars don't clearly show.
Carefully concealed to avoid the eyes of prying friends, she'd rather converse with a stranger.
Inflicting pain on herself became the only way to cope, she's hanging by a thread and hopes that no one cuts the rope.
The teenage girl who cuts herself is trying to exorcise the demons she has regrettably danced with.
She has wounds a Band-Aid cannot cover and experiences pain that morphine cannot dissipate.
The teenage girl who cuts herself is patiently waiting for love to dominate.
The cuts on her wrists help to express the feelings she cannot put into words.
She believes that her marks and scars will eventually make everything all right.
The day she embraced God's love, her demons questioned the value of their existence.
Mercury Chap Aug 2016
when it's dark enough
for the stars to be invisible
and my eyes still open wide
don't shut, don't dream
i feel like i'm falling
in the bottomless pit
where the darkness embraces me
and i can't tear out of it
but shiver uncontrollably
unstoppable, i look for the sharp
edge of the frindly enemy
in the drawer
inside the cupboard,
and I know, it's my short term memory,
Cannot find it,
panic,
heavy breaths,
anger,
tears,
anguish,
unlucky for the day,
unlucky, no scars,
yet.
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