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sgail Jun 23
lately, time's an unremembered ghost
floating thin and haunting me with empty sound
and if I need to yell
to send it back
I'll open my mouth and I'll bring it down

what's been asleep's dissolved into the air
I'm back and the trees are a little fuller,
faces more beaten
time is winning
but if I need to blow it up to clean it,
I will

when I see you, sour light around you
I wonder if it's because you never left
and your eyes do not change
they never did
but I feel you crumbling hiding in the black

I want to wash you up
get you better
get you better
pull the little roots up
get you, better

lately, time's an unfriendly ghost
floating thin and haunting me
with empty sound
and if I need to yell, to send it back
I will open my mouth just to bring it down.
going back home after a year
I wrote this as a song
Itunu May 4
Whatever you do, remember you were, you will be, and you are

Great.
George Krokos Jan 31
At times one has to go sideways before they can go forward
when attempting to reach that place they’re heading toward.
________
From 'Simple Observations' ongoing writings since the early '90's.
Zoe Mae Aug 2021
It is what it was

It was just because

that's how it's always been

Now

It's not what it should be

nevermind could be

yet here we go again
LearnfromBOBD Jul 2021
Got me down
No more love.
Hold me now
No more loss
Its your first
You are his last
You've be scared
Its so quick n fast'
I wrote you the songs
I wrote you the poems
I saw you in the dream.
Imagination I think.
There was someone I love
I invited her to the dream
She came and I was happy.
It was fun having you here.
All foreplay, oh yea
the moment I want a kiss,
I saw it was a lucid dream.
I took coke while going home
I was stuck in a threshold.
Now i almost lose hope
When she left, i tried.
When i left, she cried,
I'm awake now
Oh I lie down with my back,
my head rested on my hands.
my dreams were clearer
and easier to remember.
Mark Wanless Mar 2021
i'm going to the
liquor store the liquor store
i am going to
Man Jan 2021
we speak on what we know
when we only know nothing
but from nothing where do we go

it is, from whence we came
so fitting it is we know it
and yet, think of it
can you?

deaden your thoughts
let the stimuli
pass you on by
and breathe in
newfound freedom
Rob-bigfoot Dec 2020
The stars naughtily play hide and seek,
A dark game of trickery and deceit,
But our love is forever sunshine and moonlight

Tides remorselessly ebb and flow,
Leaving pristine sands with no prints to follow,
But our love will never be washed away

Trees bud and then burst into leaf,
And inexorably fall in Autumnal grief,
But our love only knows Spring and Summer

After blissful cloudless days, sunset is alas inevitable,
Darkness readily follows gloom, so predictable!
But our love bathes only in the glory of sunrise

© Robert Porteus
A bit more light hearted and fun that some of my more recent offerings. Fun is good!
Ricki Nov 2020
I am the pendulum that swings
left.                                                           ­                                 
                                                                ­                                          right.   left.                                                
           ­                         right.
left.              
         right.
I find myself in equilibrium, now, nothing is afflicting me.
the slightest nudge-- a gentle push
and
now I'm swinging violently.
left.                                                           ­                                 
                                                                ­                                          right.   left.                                                
           ­                         right.
left.              
         right.
  Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
Why can't I think?
I'm left.                                                            ­                                
                                                                ­                                     I'm right.  
I'm left.                                                
           ­                            I'm right.
I'm left.              
            I'm right.
I can't breathe.
I've lost my sight--
blinded by the salted tears I breathe, and choking on my tongue,
I can't think.
I can't speak.
Why are you screaming at me?
I am the pendulum that swings
left.                                                           ­                                 
                                                                ­                                          right.   left.                                                
           ­                         right.
left.              
         right.
Breathe. Stop Crying. It's fine. I'm fine.
I'm alright,
I'll just brace myself for another ******* night of swinging
left.                                                   ­                                         
                                                                ­                                          right.   left.                                                
           ­                         right.
left.              
         right.
I haven't wrote a poem in like a year oops
Chris Slade Nov 2020
At this time of my life
I find myself wearing hats…
I’m not happy with my head you see,
In short, being able to see it
it just doesn’t thrill me.
Not through those depressing, disappearing strands.
So it’s that time - It’s hat time!

Hats are warm, comforting things;
take it off and, for a while at least,
it feels still there - a phantom hat.
Not quite as spooky or worrying
as a phantom arm or leg - after that
severed limb thing, but right there!
It really is that time - It’s hat time!

My Grandma Lamplough,
that’s on my mother’s side,
was an avid knitter of things to order,
She was even a freelancer for Jaeger…
matinée jackets, mittens, cardies, pullovers
But in later days mostly just tea cosies.
If there was no immediate customer in mind…
“Everybody needs a cosy and one size fits all”
she would say… and anyway,
commissions were rare for cosies back in the day

She’d wear it boldly herself
with handle and spout slots front & back, proud
She’d start the next one and announce
to every visitor right out loud…
”Hey…Do you want a cosy for your ***?
Mr Watling, the milkman, he had quite a lot!
But then he showed up every day!
A quart is it Mrs L?… and yes, I WILL have a cosy today!

Me? I’ve never fancied a toupee, wig
or go in for a Bobby Charlton tribute gig ….
I’ll be happy just to settle for a beret,
news boy or Fedora… to hide the offending pate
and avoid the comb over till a later date.
Meanwhile I’ll maybe settle for Grandma’s cosy special?
My Grandma was a cosy knitter extraordinaire!
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