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MicMag Aug 23
My heart is a stone
Rolling slowly uphill
At an easy, steady pace
They say life's not a race
They say you're never alone

But it's all just useless, I know
Gravity grips hard with each step
This treacherous ***** grows steep
And helpless, I sow what I've reaped
As I plummet back to the valley below

Pulled two directions by my heart beguiled
I climb, fall, climb, fall, climb and fall again
Still longing for you, for those days long gone
And still trying like hell to get past this, move on
My feeble heart forever stuck in this Sisyphean trial
we fall down again
erstwhile love pulls us back
life leads us in circles
not a straight track
our hearts remain anchored
to endless flashbacks
til death turns us all
to eternal amnesiacs

(Another old found poem reworked and reshaped, probably all for naught)
The wrecking ball long since
     demolished boyhood house zen
located at 324 Level Road,
     a once rural residence,
     which soulful yen
I called home
     since February 28th, 1968, when

Boyce and Harriet Harris
     (my octogenarian
     widower father, a transplanted urban
cowpoke father, and late outskirts
     of poker flats mother) than
experienced livingsocial in the country,

      cuz aforesaid domain didst span,
and encompass,
     one hundred plus acre estate
     listed in national register
     as "Glen Elm", where ran
woodland surrounding a golden pond

     favored by Canadian Geese,
     but under game plan
of commercial developer Donald Neilson
     (a tall lumbering
     "all business no play doh" man

blueprints drafted for
     an army of vinyl city
     exemplifying Little boxes
     on the hillside ditty
Little boxes made of ticky tacky...gritty
material upending wildlife refuge,
     ah...what a pity

yet, impossible to stop industrialization,
     the das capital way
spurring thy preferential longing
     for nature preservation oye vey,
and to make a million bucks in USA

if land left off limits
     for propertied class today
then in the near future,
     an aggressive builder will sashay

confirming prophecy    
     scooping up gobs of profit
     out maneuvering competition
     analogous to a marathon relay
race quickly witnessing little boxes
     to sprout all the same

     by construction workers,
     who hammer away,
nailing steady income,
     viz all work and no play,
who maxim eyes

     American middle class dream
     asper buying affordable home
     after acquiring a mortgage to outlay
their limited choice sans, may
be there's a green one and a pink one

and a blue one and yellow one, how zing
free enterprise, and they're
     all made out of ticky tacky
     held together on a wing
and prayer they all look

     just the same ring
with a round of row zees
     awash manicured lawns
     with generic grass seed
     that doth spring

to life with synthesized,
(yet deadly) chemicals meant
     to guarantee wrest
ting control might and subdue
     so nature forced

     to become nsync from in vest
ment plot purchase
     as proving grounds to test
a money bagged well paid
     laborer at leisure time

sprawled asleep in comfy hammock
     a much needed self deserved rest
whereat successful proof
     evinces "American dream"

     no matter quest
necessitates becoming linkedin
     with fast paced lifestyle
     attendant ulcer inducing "pest"
keeping up appearances,

     where younglings nest
scolding woe begotten kith
     if flawless grounds get messed
by clod hopping kids and/or smart pets
     upsetting calculus figuring formula

     determining trigonometric
     landscaping tangential
     to maintaining perfectly
     squared off turf especially lest
the neighbors cease becoming hospitable
     and stop offering gold plated invitations
     to such honorable humble guest.
Lily Apr 2018
I’m strapped to a table,
An old, wooden table, where
I can feel the peeling wood digging
Into my back, causing me tangible pain.
The ropes wrap around my whole body,
Constricting my chest and cutting into my arms,
Making it almost impossible to move or even breathe.
I hear a long low buzz, almost imperceptible.
After a short pause, it starts again, louder.
I can’t find its source, as the space I’m in is
Pitch black, an enveloping, smothering darkness
That almost suffocates me in its desire to conceal.
The buzz comes again, louder still, and I feel a
Pounding in my head, as the sound waves travel through
My brain, disturbing it, sending wave after wave of pain.
A sort of sadness seeps through me with each wave, and
Soon I begin to see shapes and shadows, forming a
Realistic picture in my mind’s eye.
Every bad, sad, disgusting, angry, intolerable memory
That I possess is being relieved, with each buzz,
Another memory, another sadness, another heartbreak.
Before long, the buzz hacks into my future thoughts,
Showing me the worst possible outcomes to future situations.
Death.  Destruction.  Chaos.  Evil.  Heartbreak.  Discord.
I squirm on the table, trying in vain to escape,
The ropes wrapping tighter around me, as if they know,
As if they know I’m struggling, that with every memory wave
I’m losing more and more of myself, more and more
Of my good memories as the buzz increases in magnitude.
My mind is imploding, the torment is so great, I feel like
I won’t survive another wave.  That’s when the soft
Laugh comes at me from the shadows.
A cool breeze blows across my right ear, and a
Whisper of a chuckle reaches me, immobilizing me,
Making me stay still in pure and utter terror.
A cold, calculating shiver runs down my spine, and I realize
There is no escape from the confines of my mind.
Josie Oct 2016
The sound of divorce is resounding
It makes my ears bleed
The fact that you would do this to me is astounding
And still my ears bleed
The sound of divorce is intolerable
It makes me feel sick
You've made me extremely vulnerable
And the sickness grows.
This is for a class project.
Sally A Bayan Apr 2015
(fourteen lines)

Every day, we start our usual pace
unaware, how we follow, get ourselves into the race
going fast... becoming faster
sliding up and down, like a roller coaster.
It could be on one fine or not so ordinary day
on an unknown place along the way
we fall....get lost.....we stray
To find our way back, we retrace
But when speed becomes intolerable, or unbearable
we then pack up...we conclude, "today is unmanageable."
We inhale...exhale...settle.........make up our minds,
say, "tomorrow is another day..." we leave the past behind.
We walk anew as the day begins...keep up with the pace
try to do better... to stay within the race...


Copyright March 2015
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

***when will we ever slow down?  Any chance we get
let us find some be silent
to be alone...just thinking..listening....reflecting
lenten season...or any season...**
Lauren Rose Nov 2014
Grateful for you
That's what I am
Blissfully unaware of how hard it must be for you to love me
With my irrational moods
And my seething rage
And my hastiness to say that you're wrong
I'm a ******* nightmare
I don't know what it is that makes you want to stay
Maybe you were cursed to love a girl so intolerable
So intolerable that everyone else in her life leaves

Maybe that's why you stay
You see how few people can even stand me
And you've taken it upon yourself to stand me
And stand me for the long haul
Because you look in my eyes and you tell me you love me,
That you want me,
That you need me.
And I can see it's the truth.

But sometimes I pity you
And I wish I were strong enough to sever the connection
To protect you from further torture of loving me
But I'm far too weak to let you go
And I'm far too selfish to think of you over me

But I want to say that I'm sorry
For all the moods I go through in a day
And all the stress I must cause you

But if it's any consolation,
I love you from the very bottom of my heart
And you are the most important thing in my world
And if I could change myself,
Become more tolerable,
More lovable,
I would for you.

— The End —