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Matthew Bright Oct 2024
Eleanor and Charlotte ,
drifting in sunlit reverie ,
see Marie Antoinette at her
easel
and the beginning of her
sorrow .

How many cherubs , smiling ,
fixed scribes of shimmering
light ,
recline incumbent in vast marble halls .

When ,
frozen in Time ,
two maidens in a doorway ,
pass a ceramic jug
between one another
for eternity .

A man yells ,
seeing people back in time ,
that they were
too close to the chapel .

Look , over a bridge ,
past an aqueduct ,
lay an unkempt meadow ,
where the mood was unnatural
and unpleasant .

While behind dull meadow ,
the treeline was
as woodwork or tapestry .

Flat and lifeless ,
as a shadow without
light or dark .

No wind stirred the trees
and the two women
felt an unease of dreariness ,
as if walking in someone else's dream .

" Wherefor the Trianon ?! "
The gardener stopped his labour

" You will see a fine lady
   in summer gown
   and a large white hat . "

And suddenly he was gone .

Then , finally at the gate ,
a large man ,
in period costume
and born of a malevolent star .

Dark cloak and
smallpox scarred ,
he stared forebodingly
under brim of black hat .

Cronos , Father Time and
Death .

The Future was stalling .
concerning the historical story of Charlotte Anne Moberly and Eleanor Jourdain ... their visit to Versailles in 1901 ... and theory of a  ' time slip '
Jack Groundhog Oct 2024
The moon rose up
and the moon looked down
She’s watched the Earth
spin round and round

And kingdoms rose
and empires fell
The moon just waxed
and waned a spell

Her one bright eye
has seen it all —
she’ll still be there
long after we fall
Jack Groundhog Oct 2024
There is no pity in Berlin,
a place of prickly wounded pride.

A city of angels
who fell like scars of lightning
from gunmetal grey skies.

I watch old silvered rolls of film
and see flying columns of seraphim
as they march on by
row upon row
eyes ablaze
flaming swords drawn
in a parody of paradise.
They descended into hell
and are seated
at the left hand of the Kaiser:
Gott mit uns.

This sullen scene of no regret
stains the present with the dead and past:
It fits the flinty nature
of the blunt Berliner
under the ashen skies of winter.

I trudge across a gravel path
in the bowels of Berlin,
hear the grinding crunch
of brittle bones below,
and gird myself for the grim winter ahead.
Inspired by a visit to the Spandau Citadel in Berlin, an old star fort used by the Prussian military right up to World War I.
Jeremy Betts Oct 2024
Thoughts berate with little truth
While memories choose when to lie
Often words spoken change nothin'
Though time and time again they try
Feel free to take your unspoken to the grave
What is spun by the victor is sung forever
A good liar proclamation should have been taken as a warning
But judgment sees through even the best of pretender

©2024
Ethan P Jones Oct 2024
Miss hoodoo mother bake me a pecan pie
I’ve been gone for too many Christmases
Blood soaked magnolias splayed before white linens
Smell of a fire just stifled out, stifled out by blood
Cheeks still glistening when I came in the kitchen
“Are you searching for something or running from it?”
Fields crowned in white, soil fertilized with sweat
With heartbreak
You’re fertile, the warmth envelopes me
The birthplace of something blue, something used
I can’t say when I’ll be back again, the road is long
I’ll keep your song with me, chords of pain and comfort
Your scars are visible at the supermarket, whispered about
Billboards of turmoil everyone drives by
Lips ache for a taste of your lemonade nonetheless
I think about my time in that home, in my home
If I should have boarded that casino boat
What number would those dice land on
The one thing that I did wrong
Emery Feine Oct 2024
We have left our past completely behind
No longer able to live in the present
Always looking for something new to find

We've burned our history and its branches that extend
Say we cherish the tree as we bite into its burning apple
And cut it down every day, with no end

We give our attention to a small thing for a day, like the apple now rotten
But the next day our focus will have decreased
And by a year it will be completely forgotten

As a society, we are forced to move on
And wander away from everything we loved
And everything you hold dear is now long gone

We swear, but can't bear the remembrance of all
We lie, we try to forget the small
We leave, we grieve to solely grow tall

And we break, we take from the world we've won
We'd stop admiring, and firing a book rather than a gun
And we've chased, and replaced, to get closer to the sun

And we've forever been progressing, moving farther and farther away
That now, in the end, not even time will be there to stay
this is my 81st poem, written on 2/10/24
Louise Oct 2024
But that's it, right?
People are forces of nature.
We are nature ourselves.
And nature sometimes hurts,
if not often. Or always.
We call them calamities.
But why can you find the word “calm” in it?
But that's just how it really is.
That's nature, literally.
But that's it, right?
We touch and we destroy.
Because people are forces of nature.
We kiss and we wave goodbye.
Because we are nature ourselves.
We're like ripcurls that hurts.
Almost always.
We are calamities.
And that's just how it is, right?
God made us to either kiss or ****.
Why do you think womb rhymes with tomb?
That's just how love is, isn't?
It could save you, yet it could shake you.
It could help you, yet it could hurt you.
It could be the most giving, generous
yet it could be unforgiving, disastrous.
It could be your calm and serenity,
and it could be your storm and calamity.
"Baler" series, part one
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