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Dave Robertson Jan 2022
The limited palette of the January riverbank,
#nomakeup #nofilter
just the burst capillaries and thread veins

A tired earthy visage,
still allures the blackbird and wren
who never truly got the hang
of saying when
and feast past decency

The idea is to recuperate
and re-emerge fresh and green
but truth seems more like this molasses mud
that hold boots firm
Isabella Jun 2020
Hurting fixes broken hearts,
It numbs you til you fall apart
And wonder where the pain went.
But it only goes dormant.
the dreams are forgotten quickly
no longer a source of interest
of mystery
or even sadness
they are simply accepted and left to vanquish
into the ether
the years
the words
the search for fire
in a dormant soul
the light is flickering
the voice is quieting
the vision of a kindred spirit
is all but blind hope
the poet in me
meanders alone in his thoughts
that are short and void of secrets
he no longer hears the call
no longer seeks the path
to discovering
the perfectly articulated
cant think of any
smokey basil Apr 2018
i am sitting on a cobalt blue stool
in your placid, dull kitchen
with my head in my hands.
you're gone.

there is a hazy
veil of grey
that covers the late
afternoon sky
and a stagnant silence
stretching to the ceiling.

everything is still;
the empty glass
in front of the
vacant violet vase
your ill-fitting
jean jacket
that is lying on the
dark wood.

my stomach crawls around.
my eyes are almost shut.
my legs are numb.
you are not here.

only the clock ticks,

and tocks.
It's been a couple of weeks since I've written but I have a lot of drafts I'll hopefully finish soon.
r Jan 2017
My problem
isn't with the philo-
sophical side,
but lies moreĀ 
in the how
and the when and
the courage
Spike Harper Jan 2016
The hesitant hand speaks through the white abyss beyond its dark eye.
Worlds are created here.
And words of love alike.
Men and women have died clutching and wrestling with this enigma.
The need to be understood.
What need is there when what is counveyed.
Was never captured at all.
Forcing more and more blackened guts onto a surface for criticism.
Only to claim the meat bellow grade and tossed away.
It's the output that heals.
That begins its torture like tools to ****** about the mind.
Plastering over more wallpaper with graffiti.
Trample over the art created to assume the role of the next tramplee.
Be humble yet there are no holds bared once the summit is in sight.
This cataclysm has taken enough of me.
And this righteous path.
Can only play granny for so much longer.
Before I too will grow fangs.
And tear this pointless paper to shreds.
Spike Harper Dec 2015
Lasting is the haunting lament in the wind.
Gripping the muscles in spasms.
And hate.
The tourniquet is holding the viscous demon at bay.
Only the rabid nature beckons all the more.
This smile is one of pain.
Casting a redundant image into the film reel.
Called perception.
Just as the mirage fades.
Does walking in circles make sense.
Only to find the room is so much smaller now.
Stripped of valor.
Can one sense what always seemed to lurk right behind the eyes.
And just as the ringing attains piercing volumes.
Splintering the very ground.
Shattering the existence that was said to be so precious.
Ironically the only one dancing is my shadow.
A jester in the fading mist of memory.
Jordan Fischer Dec 2015
We live In a land where the people romance the reality
Instead of embracing and facing the realism  
In attempts to make it better for these little boys and girls  
Not realizing they are implanting pessimism
Causing their minds to be closed with frailty
And the creativity within that should spark and swirl
Instead lies dormant, Suppressed and concealed.
Leading to people who know nothing and have faith
That they know everything.
Every second we blink is a second we miss,
a second to a minute,
a minute to a lifetime.

Every second we hate is a second with a grimace,
an ugly, twisted anger,
misdirected and ill-tempered.

There's no sense in hating when loving is easy,
see the good in the people,
the heart and the humanity.

But instead we choose not to see these,
and we invite the evil,
right into our souls.

If only we saw the potential we have,
our species misguided,
our love is unbridled,
our hearts undecided,
our minds are divided.

Love is compelling,
enough to move mountains,
till then, it stays dormant,
under rock and granite.
Copyright Barry Pietrantonio
my love is like a glowing rose
that grows in an ebony chamber
forever there to stay alive
forever to remember

forever to remember there
how strong once burned a fire
defied the sun and blinded day
so high it dared aspire

some day a storm again
will blow through open doors
will stir the slumbering ember
and raise a flaming rose of love
that burns the ebony chamber

— The End —