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Eu Claudio Oct 2014
look at them
cattle being loaded in tricolor wagons
"Mind the closing doors"
the shepherd says

headless chickens trying to find a seat
bulls butting the walls
everyone is scared
they fear that the dog next to them
rips them inside out

so they just pretend it's fine
it's time to read the Evening Standard
let me show you my new iphone
I've been playing Candy Crush Saga
and I've become pretty good at it
you know?

The next station is Victoria
said Hall 9000
that's where I got off
and left the rest of my comrades
they are building a windmill in East London

and me?
I'm just a donkey
I don't really want to get involved
Tuesday Pixie Sep 2014
Because it's the little things
That mean so much.
We've just got to be brave enough
To take that step
And bridge the distance.

I was sitting in the bus
Tears held back.
They smiled at me
They gave me paper cranes
Made from bus tickets
They reached out.

He was  brave face, drowning
I paid it forwards
He took my offering
"His name is Scruffy"
No questions, just acceptance
It felt right somehow
He hugged it close.

A line of strength and support.
A hug, a smile, an invitation.
An open ear, a look of compassion.
- Something to show that we,
Other humans that we are,
We care.
We see your suffering and
We care.
It's these
Tiny.
Little.
Things.
They bridge the gap.
They mean the world.
Thank you Matthew Rae and friend. And thank you to all the rest of you who have supported me during hard times.
ZL Sep 2014
Tiny gap

inbetween my teeth;

Two lovers

waiting to meet.
Akemi Sep 2014
Apart in my lust
I separate
Disconnect
Break

There’s an infinite space where these fingers once entwined
I rise above my own flesh just to watch it die

Languorous apathy
I slept as death whispered
Through the murk of my self-inflicted
Desolation
Regressing until my heart withered from its bones
6:38pm, September 10th 2014

I am all space.

Inspired by: https://barrowband.bandcamp.com/album/though-im-alone-2
Jahanvi Goyal Jul 2014
Generation gap, a beautiful distance
Epitome of TLC , a sweet sweet sense.
Grandpa’s stories about magical world
I sit fascinated in his arms curled.
On seeing me, his lips twitch a smile
His loving aura, leaves me beguile.
Albeit the gap, he understands me best
His laps are my favorite place to rest.
His eyes glitter up with joy,
With me he’s always frank, never coy.
Warmth from his hands makes me stronger,
He is getting old, I wish he stays longer.
How can any ever neglect them?
He is such a find, my own lucky gem.
When parents talk rude to him,
My eyes pool tears that one can swim.
They accuse him of not understanding,
Has daddy forgotten his days with him on the swing?
Grandpa gave up all for our good fortune,
Today they tell them their thoughts don’t anymore tune?
When I ask, momma calls it generation cap,
I believe with bad, they should roles swap.
This tired old soul soon won’t breathe anymore
The thought kills me, in pain I roar.
Grandpa is not a pain, you better understand
If in your old age, you want me hand.
Generation gap, a beautiful distance
Epitome of TLC, a sweet sweet sense.
Barbara-Paraprem Jun 2014
There’s a gap
between
unconsciousness and unconsciousness.


© Barbara-Paraprem, 2014
kris evans May 2014
burning hot like a candle's wick
now is he the one who make you sick?
is it the same old man you once
admired more than your loved ones?

who has changed; you or him!
to make you feel so dim?
have you ever thought how you'll feel
when the time'll come for you to kneel,

before your own lads,
when they toss their loving dad?
do hesitate before you start to gasp...
about the so called generation gap

have you ever happened to think
even for a lapse of a wink,
for whom the wick is burning?
isn't it you ; who is gaining,

the light of his great sacrifice?
pouring straight from his orifice
is the glorious part
most of us fail to byheart
the verses of an open book;which had
the love of a dedicated dad.....
dad we are never born apart.....i love you..
I gently rest on you my hands,
to reshape you, like the ocean does the sand.

I gather your wrists in my palms.
Lying skin to skin, pushing shudders through our calm.

My blistered smile, revised, renewed.
Color returns to me. I regain my hue.

For the longest, I tried to refuse.
I claimed the smile on my face, was not at all because of you.

You must have done something right.
or filled some sort of gap.
because every noise that's not your voice,
just sounds like breaking glass.

— The End —