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Is that danger in the distance?
Or do my eyes deceive?

****.

Like dark clouds
gathering above mountains.
Like how the young see their futures.

(Though it's not like the world hasn't been ending
this entire time.

In billions of years the sun will explode.
In hundreds, our planet will be just dust and stone,
and the bones of industry.
And at my rate
I'll self-destruct by sixty years of age.

But) what is this thing that sticks and stings
and irks
like a mirage?

Not the flavor of fingers dipped in deliciousness.
Not the freshness of a newborn babe.
Not the scent of flowers.
Not feet in a hot bath.
Not fumbling a lovers face,
frolicking through foxglove fields,
flitting a fiery frevo,
finishing first.

No,
none of that.

It's not a thing,
but a feeling.

Fear
Fear
Fear

And it sticks and stings
and irks,
like a mirage.

-
by Aleksander Mielnikow | Alek the Poet
I have returned.

Make sure to follow my profile to keep up with my new works. For extras, please check out my Instagram, @alekthepoet
Jennifer May 5
clouds tumble gracefully across
the velvety expanse
like some frightening titan
reaching down from
the void of heaven,
blackened and ghostly.

breaking apart and
welding together,
some mighty, sickening
war must be bringing that
chill, that quiver in the air;
storm’s coming.

dark Nyx, my soul trembles
when i think of eternity,
the vastness of beauty and
of trepidation that hang over
our heads like some spinning
mobile.

i am so afeared i could weep
or dance.
Premonition
by Michael R. Burch

Now the evening has come to a close and the party is over ...
we stand in the doorway and watch as they go—
each stranger, each acquaintance, each unembraceable lover.  

They walk to their cars and they laugh as they go,
though we know their bright laughter’s the wine ...
then they pause at the road where the dark asphalt flows
endlessly on toward Zion ...

and they kiss one another as though they were friends,
and they promise to meet again “soon” ...
but the rivers of Jordan roll on without end,
and the mockingbird calls to the moon ...

and the katydids climb up the cropped hanging vines,
and the crickets chirp on out of tune ...
and their shadows, defined by the cryptic starlight,
seem spirits torn loose from their tombs.

And I know their brief lives are just eddies in time,
that their words are unreadable runes
unlikely to stand in this waterlogged land
when their corpses lie ravaged and ruined ...

You take my clenched fist and you give it a kiss
as though it’s something to be loved,
and the tears fill your eyes, outshining the night
and all the stars ringed high above ...

and you whisper, "It's time that we went back inside;
if you'd like, we can sit and just talk for a while."
And the hope in your eyes burns too deep, so I lie
and I say, "Yes, I would," to your small, troubled smile.

I vividly remember writing this poem after an office party the year I co-oped with AT&T (at that time the largest company in the world, with a lot of office parties). This was after my sophomore year in college, making me around 20 years old. The poem is “true” except that I was not the host because the party was at the house of one of the managers. Nor was I dating anyone seriously at the time.

Keywords/Tags: premonition, foreboding, time, loss, death, office party, wine, laughter, shadows
Bad Luck Feb 2013
The rain keeps falling
As dry as a drought.

                       “ Rain drops heavier than water,
                           When it’s laden with doubt.

He said,
                       “ The ground simply can’t hold it
                                     … So it must go without.


               ” You’ve never known water to stain,
                  But you’ve never felt this kind of rain.
                  It’s thicker than your skin.
                  It stains your clothes and what’s within.
                  It sounds like hammers as it pounds -
                 And yet, the ground won’t let it in.

          So it flows like a river that only gets bigger;
          It runs like a force that knows no remorse.
                     Despite endless efforts to stop it -
                     It still runs like a faucet…
                                        With nowhere to drain. "


But if the ground holds no plants, is the water so vital?
Is the rain’s sole purpose this lifeless recital?
The ground stays so strong.
It holds fast, like pure stone
But can one stay so long when one’s so alone?
When one is forced to move,
               Will the ground or the rain?
And when the first one has gone,
               Will the other remain?


For now, they coexist,
Each facing a challenge it can’t resist -
Both unstoppable and immovable,
                              They hopelessly persist.
As complements, they combine
                        With the product of a flood.
But the water that’s collecting
                        Has the consistency of blood.

There’s a heart behind this water.
It pulses, instead of flowing.
So you turn to the only man you know,
             for parting words with danger growing.
And he says, as you leave:

               “ I wish you luck where you are going.
                   My son, you’ve only seen the rain . . .
                    . . . The winds are not yet blowing
.
"Bad Luck: In a Wakeful Contradiction" is now available on Amazon in paperback!

Link: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1691941182
Seán Mac Falls Jul 2018
~
Suddenly goose bumps
Condensation on kettle
Cold sun showers come
.
Simra Sadaf Jun 2018
the blackest abyss brooding,
dark and foreboding,
scarred memories sewn
into every fibre of your being.
Amanda S Mar 2017
kisses turn into monsters my
mind can't conjure up
they leave an ocean of pinks, purples, and blues,
yet I say nothing

this sharp - teethed demon
comes after me as fast as
a bullet can go

in my head,
i run rapidly, to the edge of the world,
but physically,
i stay as still as the sea

if I move,
he will come after me at supersonic speed
and i'll drown deeper
under these pink sheets
*for all of those whos consent has been violated*
Pauline Morris May 2016
Vibrant orange clouds against a baby blue western sky
Signals that the night is drawing nigh
The steely cold fingers of the darkness will soon be around my neck
That leaves me with the unnerving feeling of being a miniscule speck
Like the pinprick of light in the heavenly sky we call stars
It leaves me in pieces like I've been hit by runaway boxcars

Night time is when the world falls eerily silent, and my mind sets to roaming
Down the hallways of my memories I start floating
Soon like fireworks they begin exploding
My mental state quickly is eroding
My nights are always a coal black foreboding
Seán Mac Falls Mar 2016
Winter birds gathering
White sea spray clouding the bay
Before the snows come
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