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Bekah Halle Jan 1
The time taken was not what I dreamed
of, craggy paths, dead ends, or so it seemed.
But now, with back a turn, I see a glimmer,
Of the bigger picture, that calls me nearer.
With eyes wide open, listening ears;
A heart full and a spirit clear,
Peace and acceptance: my purified pearl.
Thomas W Case Apr 2023
If you can no longer bear life's clenched fist, it's random smashing of all your hope, dreams, desires, and passion,
be drunk.

Be drunk on wine, music, poetry by the pages, or, on the agelessness of the silky moss covered pond or the fog thick meadows.

If you would not feel time's ticking brutality, be drunk.
If all memory does is remind you of the losses, the deaths, the divorces, the regrets, the remorse over your high ideals and standards, and your much lower behavior, choices, and antics; when life seems anti-climactic, be drunk.

As loneliness becomes like a rotten tooth, hot flashing pain, and the stain on your heart and hands won't come out, be drunk.

Whether it be *****, poetry, nature or music, be full, filled, consumed.

Until the glare of this cruel world becomes a soft gentle blur, be drunk and entombed.
Mark Wanless Apr 2023
full oblivion
or demand of consciousness
i am i am i
LC Apr 2022
sweet, full, red apples
plucked, crushed, pulverized to chill -
loved in scorching heat.
Escapril Day 5! The prompt was "crush." I used the definition "a drink made from the juice of pressed fruit" to create this poem. I hope you enjoy it!
Andrew Rueter Feb 2022
Pain is the payment we pay
to do anything worth doing
Raven Feels Feb 2022
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, version two?

I feel content
for I thought it to be satisfaction in a poem sent
yet the polars are polars
despite a fine line in between growing bolder
for I define my own definition
satisfaction is the acceptance fulfilled
of having a cup half filled
yet content is the embrace of the enough
it's so humble to be touched
appreciating the made
for the reflection might be a blade
for the youth
for the drain for the truth
the empty half & the half full state
hoping for a better taste
from the cup before
lips to stumble none or nor

                                                            ­                     -------ravenfeels
Jordan Gee Feb 2022
Will the apocalypse be one of fire?
Will it have the aftertaste of sulfur and asphalt?
Beware the madness and the mania and 8 eyes on a face…
Quick! fill the bathtub with water - I hear sirens.
I saw a wheelchair and it was on fire - rolling down the avenue,
certainly an omen, if nothing else.
I sat on a bus with three strangers leaving Point Loma, California.
One guy was reading the same book as me.
Wild Comanches, Lords of the Plains, Enemy of Everyone.
It was the taste of sulfur and asphalt when the Comanche horde came
riding over the hills like Genghis Khan, kicking up dust devils with their horses' hooves.
It was a smoky plume of final endings way out on the staked plains of the high Texas prairie.
-10 degrees celsius and the rain is liquid, still.
It's been raining warm milk and ambrosia.
We’re feeding from the Breast of the Sacred Mother.
We’re gnawing on the bone of the Law of the Holy Father,
His Holy Word tumbling down into our ear holes.
65,000 national landmarks strewn about a major American City,
And even all the row homes’ tofu facades fell off and crumbled into dust
like the expression on my face once I learned the true scope of what I’ve done.
3 shakes of a lamb’s tail doesn’t cover the time it takes the
man in the mirror to skin my whole hide.
Sometimes the honesty of my reflection is the scariest part.
3 shakes of the snakes rattle and I'm already off into the Astral,
floating half lotus on a sheep skin.
Sulfur and asphalt?
I’ve climbed and transcended that frequency’s ladder.
The Bardo is in my rear-view with eight legs and
my silver cord dangling from behind.
I’ve hosted my egregore for four o’clock tea and crumpets.
I slid down my silken sutratma
back into my heart
and I can smell only
flowers and embroideries.
Songs of grace and truth sifting through my ivory grill
welling up from the living wellspring of my devotion and
smack dab onto instagram.
Only 3 grams short.
I found my heart in the upper room,
hoisted up by the feather at the opposite end of the scale.
10 sleeps from here to the Black Madonna.
What came first?
The ego or the ****** Birth?
There ain’t no apocalypse gonna scare me
I break a 3 day juice fast with a bowl of sulfur and
there’s flowers growing up through the pavement.
Three ***** of a crow’s wing and
the smoke of my sage fills all the lungs of the World Mother,
the Black Madonna and a can of gas.
Ain’t no apocalypse gonna scare me.
I fly to the Comanche moon and back on a set of butterfly wings.
One bottle of Bufo Alveris and I blew straight out the top of the Causal Egg.
Hardened and vitalized by the sheer weight of the cocoon.
Sometimes to let them struggle is to save their life.
Three hairs plucked from Shiva’s Body and planted like apple seeds
and you get a grove full of
fruit trees that will never
go fallow,
and die.
I’ve been to the Bardo.
And you wouldn’t believe how loud a man can scream.
I rode all seven stars of the Pleiades back down into my body;
crashed the car somewhere along 81
near Goldsborough exit, Lackawanna Co. PA.
All I wanted was a blanket to shield me from the shrill howling
of the wind.
But Orion got to me first and I came close to truly losing my mind.
But what is heaven for the spider…
is chaos to the fly.
And there ain’t no apocalypse that ever scared me.
its cold in the bardo
Notepad Jul 2021
half full
almost empty
porcelain cracks
beautifully dripping
slowly in time
seconds away
still full
of emptiness...
Shofi Ahmed Jul 2021
Rain in the eyes
has been for so long.
Now is a mo
parched Sahara is all in all.

Above the sea
is only the Moon.
The gap in between
is never short.
Nor for the night to sigh
left no teardrop
no more!

Now who dwarfs who
the sea is full
the moon is beautiful?
Johnnyqu33r May 2021
May your silver beams illuminate
My crown rusted and weathered
Damaged by salt and course Earth
Gusting air howling and stealing
Leaves aged and clinging heavily
To what was their childhood home

Might you offer to calm my sea
Being roughly pushed and pulled
By your beautiful but ruthless phases
Crashing into my manicured shores
And undertaking my ships and
Seemingly innocent ******

You sit up there so far above me
Unapologetic for what you wreck
But such is this timeless ebb and flow
And your light does guide me home
I am humbled and thankful
Grateful for your pale embrace
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