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Brian Yule Sep 2020
Might we not linger
Longer here a while
Within this silken web we've woven
All yester's threads cling soft
The spindle, rusted & golden, lies
This finifugal hold dead hopes oft have
Time's sinews blinkering prospecting eyes
Might we not linger
Convenience sighs
Left Foot Poet Mar 2018
cellphone to heart, mobile to immobile, electric dead to living

you know that sleep and I are but passing acquaintances,
when it drops in, to heavy my lids, it is through a cracked window slivered, just enough for a Pan boy to grab me and away me to Almost Neverland

when the alarms sound that it’s sleepy time,
(quite like that quiet verse)
no time to delist the “those pre-shluffy to do things,”
cell drop upon my chest, like an open mic,
then the raging observatory tapestry begins!

the cell lies directly above my ventricular chamber,
and communication is live, the brain cutoff switch, well, cutoff

all manner of imps, devils, rejected poems, angels and
Greek gods and some Indian as well, stand in line for to make
free calls via a beating human message call center, utilizing my friends and family verizon plan to register complaints,
close out unfinished biz, or just contact, friends, family or other
mischievous imps or even you, in other time zone worlds

though my brain may not interfere, like the CIA, it records all
conversations and give me a list of new poem titles, notions, stories glories and wrenching heartbreaking heartbreak,
requiring “fleshing out” when I awake from my three fingers
of scotch, glass eye tears drops made me drunk,

damning this transmigration chorus of voices that offer up a treasure of divine humankind’s hopes and travails,
and the occasional call on the divine’s 1-800 confession line,
hear it all, my chewing out by one particular god of mine who does not suffer my criticisms well of his ungodly actions, nope not sweetly and

when else would he dare contact me, except when no edgewise
words of mine can appear to contradict his mealy mouth excuses

did you musty misty mistake  my poems  as the product of
the miracle water wages of my imaginary inspiration,
no, not, from the replaying of your desperate exclamations,
the cancerous shrieks of loss and prickly investiture of the aesthetics of soft whispers and solitary foot treads,
that is where my insanity is bred, and tumbling s-words, sworn

don’t consider it eavesdropping as there is no signed rental agreement, consider this unfair warning, if you should secret use my cellular line, your everything is now ******,
your genetic material is materialistic mine and my poems yours,
this bittersweet sentiment is a measure of our bloods commingling,
your tears and impish silliness, are shiny hidden within mine

somehow I feel compelled to state this unique statistic:

I love you

4:47pm on 3/11

who writes poems like this?
silly old boys with gray hair, standing on one left leg.  but you knew that, right?
JT Nelson Jun 2019
I tried to walk
I tried to talk
I tried to fly
I tried to yell

But my feet were locked
But my legs were numb
But my tongue was still
And my lips were locked

Was I trapped in a dream?
A bad dream for sure
I mustered no emotion
Except fear for my future

My eyes couldn't blink
And couldn't move
My arms, fingers, toes
Also locked tight

And then as people stared
My heart began to glow
From the warmth of their smiles
Shining on me and my pedestal.
From a dream I had where I could figure out why I was unable to do anything except observe. I guess it would be considered a nightmare but I remember the feeling I had of joy knowing people were enjoying me like this.
emnabee Jul 2018
Wasted space
Borrowed air
Dead weight
Catatonic stare
Doesn’t matter. Don’t care.
Silverflame Jun 2016
She is hiding behind the tall pine trees.
My thoughts are all twisted. She is calling for me.
Her silhouette is now stored, burned into my eyes.
She spoke with a voice that disrupted the sky.

It’s only her and I in this misty forest, all alone.
The path I came from is now gone, overgrown.
When I take a step closer, I simply go nowhere.
She stands completely still, guiding me like a flare.

Everything is quiet, except for all the voices in my head.
They scream her name, coloring my ears with red.
A distant look is embroidered on her face.
She is captivating; I might be in dire straits.

I’ve been wandering for so long, in so many years.
Now I stand in an awe of her, stuck in second gear.
So I’ll just stay here forever, looking at her in despair.
Because if I turn around, I am afraid she might disappear.
Spike Harper May 2016
Remedy this.
Believe the wound will close.
Pray the blood will cease its flow.
And when the inevitable happens.
Pray that the shattered remains.
Will find its form one day.
These icy shards feign comfort and warmth.
Contort the mind to reach out.
And paint by numbers.
First encounter.
Second chances.
Third and so on.
Down the list.
Until hands have gone numb and colorless.
A life less than that of which what stood.
And somehow still in motion..
Just as any monument that commemorates the living long since past.
Snow Wolf Sep 2015
I'm on the border
I'm on the edge
I'm over the line
I'm going to fall
Can't speak
Can't sing
Can't scream
Can't yell
I'm going crazy
Losing my mind
Losing all sight
I'm going insane
Can't walk
Can't dance
Can't run
Can't move at all
Through the silver lining, I've gone.

— The End —