Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Live as if flying
Good things are coming your way
Goals within your grasp
Taking an optimistic approach for once
My Dear Poet Oct 28
Do not fly higher than the sky
although eagles often try
keep your head instead, below
where worms squirm the earth
and grow
along roots wrought from trees
crouching out to open seas
when cages are without keys
crawls a hope, when wings can’t set
you free.
Path Humble Sep 6
“where time is the fly and age the fisher of men”


”until I fell forward
into fall where time is
the fly and age the fisher
of men, then when winter
begins all will be forgotten,
where time is the fly and
age the fisher of men”

excerpt from “The Fall” by Rick Richardson


that words from a different ionic state, jump as embodied ions from screen to the throat, evicting a guttural current of exclamation, you believe even with the half-heartedly palpitations from  remainder of my damaged pumping heart, that these words were always intended, just for me…

boy and old man coexist, the pottage of memories stirred,
and the time is fly, and I drown in the miracle of greenest grass of
Yankee Stadium at age eight,
oasis, heaven, a child reborn in a sea of Bronx concrete,
and the swallowing up of my boyhood is forever marked henceforth, the hook has caught me, and I am of the age
once and forever

not a fisherman, but a fisher of men’s souls,
mine own is my best bait,
hooked line and sinker, and
wisdom and words
elude and delude always, 
 like summer is perpetual and aging a construct,
time does not fly, but slowly laps and waves
eroding our myths and ourselves upon a continuum with
no ends


yet I believe,
in miracles of
fish and loaves,
and that our individual continuums
will exist beyond the artifice of constraints
mortal time and that poems are
the forever chemicals within
even when our blood no longer spills

yet I believe!
a tribute to one of the best poets around
In this room, there is always a fly trying to leave.
It never quite makes it.
It buzzes angily off and on against the glass pane.

Through the window July treetops are a green forgetting of other seasons. Winter is a dream, shrouded in leafy abundance. Spring is a thought of Summer before it came.

On an island in Denmark, you drink white wine.
You are mellow and tipsy, you say.
Hares play in front of you in a field,
They rarely think of leaving
or playing a better game.
I S A A C Jul 12
Upon the announcement of my arrival
my ancestors weaved brillant threads to make a quilt for my bed
with steadfast hands, they weaved themselves a plan
who i was to become, what kind of man
upon the days of my arrival
my ancestors fantastically wrapped me up in the quilt of blue and red
this quilt housed me for many seasons
itched me, pinched me, left me cold at night
bit me, tripped me, straggling my rights
the brillant quilt made to protect became my golden cage instead
their plan created my strife
their plan corseted my life
after years spent suffocating in the threads
i decided to break away from the plan
emerging like a little chick out of an egg
i chose to live my life today
still the foundation laid was unscathed
every trigger sent my heart into disarray
independence fortified, return to the egg
the quilt might be itchy, it might be tight
but it is easier than learning how to fly
Sky Jul 9
How do I
make the stars fly
so I may wish forever
That peace be easier
like simply drifting
down the river
the water
and you start
to sink
You can watch the bubbles
dancing with the stars
A smile frozen in time.
a fly, bloated, buzzes
trapped between the window and the curtain

i hear it bump against the glass
the wings crumple
the fly falls
landing unceremoniously on the windowsill

after a moment, the fly is once again airborne
returning to the window
to continue its exercise in futility
Crow May 14
wind shuffles
through the long grass

seeded heads
in the percolating afternoon

broiled air
heavy and lethargic
laboriously ascends
its unseen ladder
into the barren sky

Arcady sings
from a place
of unimaginable height

the song
is a whisper
at the precipice

I am the wing
that awaits your breath
to take flight
Mark Wanless May 2
the fly carcass stuck
on wall ten years monument
to a life well lived
relahxe Oct 2020
𝘖𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘱𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘴,
𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘴𝘦?
𝘞𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘰𝘣𝘫𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘴,
𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘣𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘳 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘶𝘴𝘦?
𝘔𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘭 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦
𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘹 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘵
𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥
𝘰𝘧 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥?
𝘖𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘷𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘩
𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘯 𝘦𝘺𝘦,
𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳,
𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥

𝘐𝘧 𝘐 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘢 𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘱𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳,
𝘋𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘐 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘥𝘰?
𝘐 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘧𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘵
𝘍𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶
Next page