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Bruce Adams Jul 2019
on ruby jacobs walk, a
small girl
asked us for money for ice cream.

she eyed our cones
                                yours, lemon
                                mine, strawberry
with a child’s hunger
glinting and opportunistic
as she held out her palm for coins.

i was not yet accustomed to the shapes and sizes,
to a dime being smaller than a nickel,
and in any case wanted to preserve them for souvenirs
so we shook our heads and walked away.

a year later, writing this poem,
i learned that ruby jacobs was a local restauranteur
who, as a boy,
illegally sold ice creams
for a nickel on the boardwalk.
                                                a nickel is the larger coin
                                                the size of a ten pence piece.
                                                i know that now.

the wide atlantic rose from a sloping manicured lawn
                                like everything here,
                                                           ­     the airborne flag
                                                            ­    above a wide pavilion
                                                        ­        a fanatic wedding cake topper
                                                          ­      against the blood-blue sky.

        i slipped
out of my shoes and let
the white sand burn my feet,
and jaggedly fill the spaces between my toes.

the atlantic held open its arms
though we weren’t, as we imagined,
                looking east
                looking home
but south to new jersey, across the bay.

the gnarled boardwalk was a
song of the twentieth century
        a roll-call of mass-market capitalism
        here in the city that didn’t invent the concept
        but certainly perfected it:
                                                hot dogs
         ­                       ice creams (we’ve covered that)
                        fridge magnets
                baseball caps
        i bought an espresso cup with a picture of the president
and the caption:
i stopped to take a photograph
of a space-age building from the fifties
which turned out to be
                                        a public toilet.

from the sunbaked d train,
brooklyn spread out beneath us
the houses garnished with flags,
then the city coughed us up on seventh avenue
and night fell five hours early.
lua Sep 1
i became an island
wrapped myself in an earthen blanket
and crawled into the ocean

i slept, the most peaceful sight
fetal position as i embraced nothing

i became an island
lost at sea
disappearing in the high tide
my sandy shores raked with coral
under the moon

under the moon
when i rise
to watch the waves lick at my soles

under the moon
i became an island.
KieraYale Aug 24
Language drips from his tongue like honey,
skin kissed by the light of God.
Feeling a dryness filling my sinus,
altitude ascending,
rising mile highness
in the quietness and silence.

Incline scaling side of
this piled detritus,
climbing mountain of vileness
just to see off this island.

Blindness fills irises
seeking lands and their tyrants,
kingdoms fighting
incited by shining diamonds;
but all eyes can spy is
skyline's vibrant twilight,
clouds bathed in violet,
stars aligned with waves
riotously violent.
Wrote this one a little over a year ago and somehow forgot to post it on here
Nigdaw Jun 27
you are venomous
I said
she smirked
and gave a little hiss
we are washed up
on snake island
a one bed flat
where a monstrous building
has been converted
into lamentable
living spaces
for lonesome souls à deux
neighbours plague us
through paper thin walls
but we have found our own
strange happiness
in our serpent coils
Larry dillon Feb 3
I woke up with a noose around our neck.
I thought it wasn't real,maybe,
a scene from a dream?
The snapping of the tree branch.
You use your nocturnal carte blanche
for just this one thing, it seems?
Every night you're given another chance.
Shrubbery snubbed your success, this time.
Instead of being caught by the bushes,
We could've collided into those boulders below!
Luck decided to show.
Intervened when there was no one else to.

I stranded us both on this island:
it's just me and you.
What delusions helped shape your one truth?
This island is a (psychological) poker table for two.
I deal from the deck.
We play a game reminiscent
of four-hand Omaha.
Sitting across from each other:
It always ends in a draw.

You know I can read your poker face.
You know I detest the one desire you chase.

Make your excuses:
They won't help you leave this place.
I see the ace up your sleeve:
It has always been homicide.

I wish you saw this body same as I-sacred.
Its purpose is to serve us,not be desecrated.
Everyday I pray in its name.
you prey.
plotting its demise at night.

One temple.
Two temperaments.
Your one-way fight.

at the Altar I pay tithes.
We are two alters-tied.
You wish to ***** out my life,
Yet abhor the idea of suicide.

I will never leave your bloodlust unchecked.
Your worst intentions(what do they reflect?)
You once could reside in the heart of the city,
Near the coast, by a bustling transit station.
I emerged that day to save them all from you-
You planned to derail a monorail
with a distraction,
Disguised as an altercation.
denied you your reverie
Of a premeditated killing spree,
stranded us intentionally far out at sea.
your constellation prize now
is trying to **** me.
You plant your ***** traps in the dark
while I'm sound asleep.

One morning
and water welcomed our lungs.
Weights wound round our feet,
took us down deep where fishes sleep.
One morning
and smelled smoke clawing at our throat.
Only one entrance in and out of our cave.
and of course: you'd set the entrance ablaze
One morning
and was in a daze
You had consumed something similar to peyote.
Slathered our skin in spices with a savory glaze,
then left us to be eaten in a den full of coyotes.

One morning
    awoke   And
One morning I
This morning I
and this time. instead of death traps ...
my notebook was nestled in my lap.

ripped out pages I had written
-directed at you-
you glued them to trees with their own sap.
Splayed them out like Hansel and gretel,
for me to follow like a trail or a map.

But I'm no fool.
Luring me on a paper trail to buy my trust.
Where are the trojans that you've hidden?
Trying this new scheme
to occupy my attention.
I know you wish to slice and dice.
If I lose and you win:
we both will pay the price.

Yet, still I follow your route.
I have hope for what you want me to see.
I will always love you
because you're a part of me.

Maybe we can play a new game?
Learn from one another?
I know you think I'm your enemy,
but I've always seen you as my brother.

Shudder-I smell death.
I approach a clearing in the woods.
why have you brought me here?
Atop an amalgamation of numerous dead fowl, fish, rabbits, (those same) coyote
and deer.
A single piece of paper;
clear off the guts and grime.
Tears in my eyes, holding the paper dear.
That single sentence you wrote down:

I never thought I'd live to see this day.
That one line,

that one line was all I ever hoped to hear you say:

        "Together at our Altar we will pray."

A story of an alter-ego stranding himself on an island, trying to reconcile with his other half, who has murderous inclinations. Inclinations which are directed squarely at him every night.
Farah Taskin Jan 16
It was curious
that the horror stories
were not false

Believe it
or not
The pairs of glassy eyes
the horrific shadows
the blazing ignes fatui
the strange cold
the ghostly celebration

Termites, spiders, ants
and bats are alive
the rest are dead

The spectres and the skeletons
roam the island
they were **** sapiens

They exist betwixt
the cryptic hallucination
and the paradoxical illusion
**** sapiens is afraid
"There are more things in Heaven and Earth,.........."Prince Hamlet(SHAKESPEARE)
Louise Aug 2022
My body is a tropical island
Full of wonders, views are grand
A spectacle of various rare terrains,
overwhelming for the unadventurous
and exhausting for the meager brains.
My body boasts of all the different
exotic textures and new colors,
something your waiting eyes
must be ready to marvel at.
My body takes pride in its
mountain-like curves;
not exactly the perfect shapes
but awe-inspiring, like a painting.
something your anticipating hands
has to feel thrilled to touch.
However, my body is also known
for its extraordinary yet abrupt movements;
scary for most and sensual for some.
Like earthquakes and typhoons,
you'll never know when the rhythms come.
Something your foreign familiarity
would either be thrilled or petrified about.
So I welcome you to this island of mine,
leave your worries back to the shore,
clear your soul and free your mind.
Leave exhilarated and in monsoon,
my rainforest flora forever in bloom.
Come... if you dare...
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