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Jules AA Apr 4
Do not look.
If you find something that is beautiful,
You’ll never be able to see it again.
Do not look.
Do you fear like I do? That the rolling clouds
And layered sunset will remind you
Of simpler days? This is why
I cannot look.
Every so often children throwing tantrums
Catch parent faces, bracing fallen sourness
Where outlines wrinkle rosy outlook sadly
Raisins having pits

Logan Robertson

1/16/2019
Read CC's blog at Poetry Soup, describing  sapphic stanza with a jux. I found that form interesting, spent hours marveling and researching. I attempted my first one. Not sure if this is correct-11/11/11/5. In this poem I wrote of a parent coping with a child's misbehavior. The effect of such leaving a wrinkled image much like a raisen on the parents face with the juxtaposition at the end of the poem, which is a play on words, too, raisens/raising.
Autmn T Oct 2018
Cling tight, fear of falling, fear of flying, fear of being, and fear of leaving. I cant stay without wanting to leave and I cant leave without wanting to stay. You hold me and I push. You push and I cling. Always wanting what I cant have. Life calling for me and me clawing at it in response.
Pali Jun 2018
#3
i am a typhoon from the pacific
he is a hurricane from the atlantic
we never meet as wholes
only fragments of our beings get to
collide
acquaint
meet
see
sense
become
Jade Mar 2018
Purple.



The colour

of bruised knees

(pain)

and lips begging

for oxygen

(breathlessness).



A hue

caught somewhere

between blue and red

(two extremes).



Blue for misery,

brokenness

(frigid, the tundra),

blue like the ocean

(drowning, an ode

to Ophelia).



Red for anger,

passion

(burning, the inferno),

red like flame

(gasoline for blood,

playing hide and seek

with embers).



Ultraviolet radiance

(blinding, turn your eyes away

the Purple).

Vibrant

(well, not so vibrant)

yet dark

(sometimes, too dark).



Soft

(just as the lilac

blossom is)

but harsh

(the bee that devours

the blossom's nectar).



China Doll complexion

(rosy cheeks,

skin the colour of moon dust)

paralleled against whirling eyes,

surging pools of burst blood vessels

and flared veins

(dear god, the Madness!)



Poetry personified--

counting syllables

instead of counting sheep

(a spoonful of codeine

to wash down the tears).

Words engraved into flesh

(wearing sadness like it's

crushed velvet--lovely);

these ink-stained wrists

(or is that blood?)



Empty band-aid boxes

(the scars still ache

whenever it rains)

and empty liquor bottles

(enamel eroding,

mouth swimming in froth).



Fearful of the night,

for the night will 

surely bring the mourning

(A seer-- forever dreading

"tomorrow").

Self-medicating with

Antihistamines and Tequilla

(Witch Doctor,

burned at the stake

in another life).



Dreaming in pastels

(when the insomnia

permits it)

but existing in a

grey-scale reality

(inhaling this pain

like it's cigarette smoke).



"A penny for your thoughts?"

(Haven't you forgotten?

They've stopped making pennies

because this world no longer

has any use for them).



A reflection in the mirror

(glass shatters,

pupils collapse in on themselves).

 ̶B̶e̶a̶u̶t̶i̶f̶u̶l̶

(Please,

take away this body!)



"I love you..."

(unrequited,

not pretty enough

to be touched).

A serenade for him(s)

(rejected letters,

"maybe we should 

just be friends").



Eternal

p

l

u

m

m

e

t

t

(wind knocked from lungs,

soul plucked from body).

Lips shatter as 

the kiss the cement

(step on a crack

break your mother's 

back).



Mother,

who named her child

jade

for the gemstone

nephrite

( ̶p̶r̶e̶c̶i̶o̶u̶s̶),

for the green,

Mother Nature's

chromatic blush

(wilting dandelions,

forsaken wishes).



Green.



(green?)



It's a colour that

never quite suited

a girl like me--

a girl with a purple soul.
LLillis Jan 2018
A thrown dead stick stuck
In the tree. While I ponder,
The dog is dismayed.
Justin Soberano Aug 2017
Fires and forests and bright eyes of tigers,
Snow and cities and dull eyes of strangers.
Of the mind and of the soul is my own,
Of the lips and of the eyes is your throne.
Despair and depression of my own mind,
Hopeful and joyful are your god-like smiles.
Nights so cold filled with god-awful nightmares,
Days so hot filled with your devilish heat,
A whole days' worth of **** figures of speech!
You have introduced me to poetry,
I fell and I got shot and I just died.
A poem of falling in love, falling out of love, falling in despair, falling out of hope and antagonizing my everyday. But one thing remains, you introduced me to poetry, dear, and that is irreplaceable. I might have stopped loving you, but I am in love. With poetry, that is.
moquino Aug 2017
she
she wrote
on her hands
so she wouldn't forget things
like she forgot that
someone acting like they love you
doesn't mean they want something from you.
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