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Eduardo Moya May 3
He wants her
      to smile.

He wants her
      to be calm.

He wants her
      to be happy.

He wants her
      to enjoy life.

And he wants her,
      and only her.

He wants her
      to be his wife,

But the two can't
      go together,

And he needs her
      to be fine.
annh Dec 2018
The opposite of end-stopped
Poetry; the trick with enjambment
Is to never complete a sentence, phrase, or thought
Within a single line of verse; but instead allow
The syntactic unit to run on
Unexpectedly, like a distracted self-drive tourist
Attempting to navigate a multi-lane freeway
Without indicating
Lizzie Jan 2018
Barnaby hands me my daily
  cup of coffee, but this time, it's night
  time, and the coffee reminds me of the war
  but not the allies annihilating the Germans or Japanese
  but the war between me and him every time
  he confesses his love to me, the words pierce
  through my heart
  I will never love him as much as he loves
                                        me, I'm disgusting
  like the taste of the coffee
                                        just beans in water.
I wrote this for my AP Lit class about the painting, Nighthawks, based off the girl in the red dress sitting with the man.
Keith Hoerner Apr 2017
Dis ease
It seeps beyond your body
Into our shared lives

We are in a  
L          o          n          g                g          ­o          o          d          b          y         e
I want to hold you,           push you away

Your tongue liquid in your mouth
You convinced you said mortgage
Me convinced you said month


We are in a  
L          o          n          g               g          o          o          d          b          y         ­ e
I want to take your disease, dis ease, and swallow it


As Originally Published in Mid Rivers Review.
Matthew Harlovic Sep 2016
you straddled
my mind with
the way you
drew a narrow
line between
what i knew
about you and
what i have
come to find
but you raddled
my body with
designs, never
once drawing
one of a benign

© Matthew Harlovic
Summer Kurtz Jan 2015
I keep the tears in my head just for the night.
It's past the hour to be sad and I might
Feel the urge to set them free another day.
So I seal them tight, quite tightly away,
Until the time returns again for salt
To run and burn my cheeks because
This bucket of mine has a lot of leaks.

I can't seem to patch them up well
Enough to hold the product of those sixty minutes,
So the bucket swells and overflows its lip.
It's why my thoughts tend to slip, I think,
The days too long for just one hour,
That time spills and becomes a scattered shower
Full of my ills and my unpleasant days.
rained-on parade Dec 2014
Can't you see how
it's a long way
from the haunt of the
stars stop shining
when you shut your eyes.

I sometimes
break my lines
blur between happiness
and being awake I
can barely feel anything
when you speak.

It's not quietude, nor
speechlessness it's
the way my mind grows
into a cancer of memories-
how one potentially harmful
dies everyday like clock-
work can't make time
stop the way you

I break between
my lines some-
time pours into your eyes.

We can speak in fine tongues
and drink wine older than our hours
but when it comes to you I
let my tongue tie
itself in a knot.

I tend to
break into my lines
which is why you could never
know that after I said I love
you never came.
My favorite figure
of speech en-
Tafadzwa Chitagu Nov 2014
My Sundays aren't the same anymore
Everything about you that I thought was holy
is now just a ghost.
I feel your presence, but if seeing is believing,
then I've always been
Blind and Paranoid.
I'm on my way to 66 poems
that testify your love is sacred
But I feel I'm closer to 17 that prove it was only
the "Big Bang" that took place inside my ribcage:
An explosion of nothingness
causing one explosion after another
Two hundred and ninety thousand,
three hundred and thirteen to be exact
One for every hour and 33 years to complete the cycle
before it all ends
and everything else is revealed:
the reason for your extinction
or better yet, your
Kayla Hollatz Nov 2014
My father is a lion with his mane cut
                               and slicked back, learning to walk
                   on hind legs, back arched high.


             ­         My mother has a wolf in her chest
             howling for light, for the
                                          lantern hanging in the sky.


                   ­                            My brother has a cage
                                                            ­        for ribs
                                                        but so do I.


I am a wild safari:
             a bathing elephant, a sleeping
                                               tiger, a brilliant peacock fanning its
                                  feathers, waiting to
     **** its head and release
          a warrior cry.
Last poem written for my last poetry class. I thought it should be documented here.
thegirlwhowrites Nov 2014
what i find so
fascinating about you is that
you never seem to start or
end where you are supposed
to. no, you have your own
pauses and stops, and the
more i try to follow
you, the more confused i
get. is there any pattern or
sequence to you that i can
decipher? is there
a glitch in your equation which i
could probably unscramble? believe me. i find
that you are more beautiful in your
insistence not to be understood. i liked that
about you, as that tells me i don’t
have to struggle so hard. but, baby,
i still want to try. let me still
get my paper and pencil out to attempt
to solve you, like that algebraic equation
i can’t seem to ever get right. honey, i am
not giving up on you, the same
way i got headaches over those questions that
tested the logic out of me, eventually leading
me to ask whether i was really intelligent enough to
figure something out. but even then, even when
i am out of my zone and completely
uncertain, i will still follow this
fascination through. who
knows, perhaps, eventually
i will find the right spot, the precise
timing, the exact
variable needed to complete the solution to

for j.e.
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