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Dusty old and gray
Always either spinning or perfectly still
It creaks when it spins
Like the bones of an elderly woman  
One bulb is almost burnt out flickering on and off
Wanting the motivation to stay alive but losing it anyway
Losing it,
Losing it,
and now this bulb has run out of light
Now encompassed in darkness
Two bulbs remain shining so luminously Optimistic like they’ll never burn out
unknowing the impending darkness to come
that they are unable to pause
unable to slow
unable to stop
I’ve never seen a ceiling fan and it’s bulbs like this before
Excuse me if when I said an elderly woman instead of human triggered you it just sounded better
Steve Page Mar 23
The bridge character
is essential to the narrative,
it's just not HER narrative.

And later,
as if because the readers
have asked for more,
as if something about her
caught their imagination,
prompting fresh fan questions,
she features again
and the panels frame
more detail,
more of her back story,
her motivation
and perhaps we learn
her true name.

In a few years time
it may be that
a reader develops into a writer,
or perhaps an editor,
and a story is commissioned
telling HER history
with colour,
with space
and we see, at last,
her scars
and at last we see
the essential essence
of how she came to be.
And we identify
with HER.

But one night
when we look back
when we read again
that first appearance,
we realise that there remains
some unexplained detail,
a few missing pieces of her jigsaw

and as we put the final touches
to our too tight cosplay,
we wait, with hope
for her OWN title
that just might reveal
her full narrative.
Reading my back catalogue of comics.
luna Mar 13
knowing there is no way
i can meet you
being aware of
the distance between us

makes me think
how i have put you
in a shelf
where you might not

dreaming about
your perfection
and wishing to meet
like you

like you
there is no you

is not real

we both know

i made “you” up
Where Shelter Feb 20
~for Allison~

she loves your poetry,
ok you think,
cause you just love her his-stories of her/here life,
the children, the musician, nominate her as daughter,
her poetry and her yay’s spontane-us,
we are fan fanatical
of each other

and she describes us perfectly -

“So I am an idiot standing in a sad storm of letters that are unrelenting”

ok you think,
not bad, for surely
only the most precious things in life are

Herselfher Feb 12
She was a worker
After all she had demands
She didn’t like to ask for help
She didn’t need a man
Yet, she suffered every day
Longing for a hand
To guide her
And make her understand
Maybe, even be her biggest fan
Motivate her, man!
Maria Etre Feb 1
I blame poetry
for turning
my life
Toxic Venom Feb 14
Deaths call
By: Shelby Yanzer,

Vanished, the snake ready to strike.
A burst of flame in from the five statues.
“ Look out” he shouted.
Jet of green light and snake had struck.
Swooped opened,
the jet of green light burst into flames.
Fell to the floor flightless.
The snake sinking it’s fangs into him,
Vanished in a wisp of dark smoke.
A few seconds only as dark,
Shimmering and indistinct upon the plinth.
Struggling he was gone, water fell with a crash.
Master sure it was over, decide to flee.
For the first time frightened.
The hall was quite empty, sobbing,
still trapped feebly on the floor.
Then, he was dead, pain beyond imagining.
He was gone.

Red eyes that did not know end,
They were bound by pain, and there was no escape.
“**** me now” blinded and dying, every part,
Screaming for release, “if death is nothing”,
Let the pain stop, Let him **** us, end it.
As the creature was lying face down on the floor,
There were voices, through the hall,
More voices then there should have been,
Opened his eyes, now lay flat on his back,
He could not hold his head,
The floor reflected the emerald green flames,
From all the fireplaces along the wall,
Pulled himself back to his feet,
He was there, spun around, he could hear footsteps.
Death came running to join them.
Death was surging into the room,
She had slid over its surface, lay sprawled on the floor,
And then she ran at him although he dodged,
He sprinted back up the room and was safe,
Momentarily frozen by death,
In spite to watch for a moment.

Suspended in mid-air, what looked like objects flew,
Like rolls of film, what would happen.
He was sure it would not be anything good,
He darted, already caught by his outstretched hands.
The thin ribbons were spinning around,
He tugged and tore at them, tight against him.
Trying to sever the eyes, they would not break,
Thrashing against his bonds,
Immobilized, a jet of red light flew from death,
Hit her in the face, now sideways unconscious,
The oncoming death.
But nothing happened,
death shot at him missing him by inches.
Two left fighting, death shot silver streams of like like arrows

In the same slow voice, she was both foreign,
confused at him and muttered,
Resort to crude sign language. Turning back flustered.
Pleasure for violence, anxious now, death and bad omens.
Didn’t understand, did not answer, writing her last note,
Silence, loss to understand, fury in her eyes now.
Your awful, struggling, ringing to understand.
Tears in her eyes, her answer was no,
And he had tried to act as though he had not heard deaths call.
I wrote this kind of like a fan fiction from Harry Potter
Kleigh Oct 2018
Performing full of passion
Watching you through my vision
You catch my attention
And I ended with admiration
You don't have an exact description
'Cos you're the best than my expection
And totally beyond my imagination

Before, I live for nothing
As you came it's worthliving
You are life changing
You give my life full of meaning
Everything you do keeps my heart beating
You are the reason behind this feeling
You keep my heart trembling
Can't help just keep on admiring

It is not an obsession
Just giving me a daily motivation
And become my life inspiration

You always makes me smile
Even the distance between us are
thousand miles
This kind of situation is totally fine
I love you as a man
But you love me as a fan
I love you even though you are not mine.
Dedicated to a man I never have
Toxic yeti Nov 2018
The gold fish named Tony (a poem)

Happily and freely
Does the fantail goldfish
Named Tony
With out a care in the world

Tony thinks
The world is a peaceful place
Yet he does not know
Much of what goes on
Beyond the fish Bowl

But it is better
Then hearing and seeing
The bad things
That happens outside of the
Fish Bowl

So freely and happily
Tony swims
Ignorance is bliss
When you’re a fantail goldfish
In your little slice
Of paradise
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