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july hearne Oct 2017
five of them rode in the car,
the boyfriend, the girlfriend
the friend of the boyfriend,
the friend of the girlfriend
and the friend of the girlfriend's friend

the car pulled over to the side of road
in front of the high school's school yard
across the street from an apartment complex

the friend of the girlfriend's friend got out of the car,
crossed the street
and knocked on the door of one of the apartments
she might have rang the doorbell,

either way, the door was answered
by the sixth person,
***, teenage, and racist
wore a lot of make-up and had referred to the girlfriend
as little brown girl everytime he had talked to the girlfriend's friend
on the phone, at school, after school
"little brown girl"
he kept on calling her that
said he could never be friends with "little brown girl"

"too brown"
he said

if he didn't already have his make-up on
when he answered the door
then he was putting it on
while the girlfriend waited in the car
with the boyfriend, the boyfriend's friend
and the girlfriend's friend

when the boyfriend, the girlfriend,
and the boyfriend's friend got out of the car
and hid behind the bushes on the sides of the highschool
the friend of the girlfriend's friend walked him out
to the front of the highschool
and the boyfriend, girlfriend, and boyfriend's friend
all ran out from behind the bushes

he certainly had all his make-up on then,

the friend of the girlfriend's friend ran
and the girlfriend's friend waited in the car
lying down in the backseat

there were some screams as she put her fingers to her ears
screams she happily forgot about later
Star BG Aug 2017
The Vessel I live in
is of Human form on Earth.

The address I live at is
in the country of my heart.

The street I live on is
Love Avenue
Compassion Lane
Abundance Road
Joy Drive.
Peace Crescent
Harmony Boulevard
Freedoms Trail
Bliss Highway.

And the heart is my roadmap.



StarBG © 2017
Macy Opsima Apr 2017
the smell of this place
will soon fade at the back of our minds
each thought & memory
will soon be broken into uncompleted lines

one day we will find our feet back
walking the ground where you first fell in love
touching the halls that are now a different hue
to see if they've forgotten you

tales of fairy & lore
will soon be covered with dust
your firsts and lasts
will soon all be eaten by rust

the place of our childhood
though many years have grown
its ceilings may decay
but it will always love to be your home

the trees may bend and left forgotten
hidden behind tall buildings & lampposts
most of what you left behind
will soon all be ghosts

familiar faces with unfamiliar scents
they wont expect you to stay same
tight bonds will melt into loose ends
and they will forget your name

my name isn't carved into something historical
all of this will be washed by the rain
how bittersweet it is
to travel down memory lane
Seanathon Apr 2017
As I plod along at a placid place
I ask myself most often if
My mind will ever approach that place?

If I’ll I ever be able to move along
Down that path
Be it into the summer or out of May?

“Your brightest days are yet to pass!”
Or so they say, with each differing dawn
And yet I am still unsure of such path, nowadays

Be it winding or not
How they stretch out before me, and bend at a distance
Turning just around the cornery edge
To entice my mind to stray away

How I’d often jump from rock to rock
Devoid of fear, in my younger days
How I'd fly through the air without forethought
That is until I became aware of this present day

Though still I must, and will I trust in my ginormous feet
For it is time I value, and the steadiness which is found outside
That is, I'm seemingly less capable of turning off my mind

For I am afraid of not being able to see
And witness all the beauty which is stored away
Within such paths

For its there and within that which I expect to find
This path of mine

As a memory to create down each pasture lane
Must be simply folly and waste
To ponder such things with every day
This is what I see

When the decision stretches out before me
Not far away
Like a field of green

Whereas so many others are thus condemned to a barren wasteland
Simply put
Her lushness is just one of the things
That will make me stay
I know this season will not last. Forever and always. As will the next. We all fade in time and memory. But what really matters? To me? Perhaps I will soon learn to value effort the being, as compared to just the struggle to become.
Beau Grey Apr 2017
Half way up the hills
and eclectic group gather
at a narrow bar.

Leather jackets
occupy seats
by the door.

We sit
for a cigarette length of time
(cigarette length of time =
   1 x 10 minutes
            + ≥ 10 minutes before
                   and/or after cigarette)
and walk
the dimly lit corridor
to the bar.

We sit
at a table for two
against a wall.

The band plays fiercely.
I've seen them before.

Their moxie
always brings
a rowdy crowd.

Behind them
apple crates
cling to the wall,
housing quirky decor.
Books, globes and vintage cameras.

A projector casts
lollipop swirls
and a singing silhouette.

Drink specials:
tequila mockingbird

I spoke to a Serbian girl I know.
She always wears glitter
and hazy eyes.
The more questions
I ask her
the longer I can listen
to her accent.

We spoke about the age old
nature vs nurture enigma,
and the life long impact
of a child's first six years.

She asked me
about my art.

It seems
that's all anyone
knows me for.

Outside, again, we sit.
For 5 x cigarette length of time.

Around me
people talk...
                 and talk.....
                               talk....
                                       ta...
                                             l...
                                                 k.

I'm sober.
Too **** sober.

My daydreams are broken
by a man.
He's bubbly and smiles a lot.
I like bubbly, smiley strangers.

We exchange stories
of our current lives.
He's a graphic designer,
and tells me
I should merge my art
and writing
into film,
and gifts me a flashlight.

I like quirky, bubbly, smiley strangers.

I'm left to retreat
back into my own thoughts.
It's less lonely in there.

I sort through memories,
recite lyrics,
observe the people around me
and watch them closely.
Their body language,
the way they bring
their glass to their mouth
and blow their smoke.

People interest me most
doing nothing in particular.

But I miss something,
and I can't quite pinpoint what.

I'm sober.
             Too.
                 ****.
                         Sober.
Terry Collett Feb 2017
The narrow country lane
with high hedgerows
with whistling birds
and the far off sound
of a tractor in a field.

Benny walked close
to the edge
in case vehicles
came along.

He was going to meet
Jane by the lane
to the church.

He'd just helped
get the cows in
from the fields
and helped weigh
the milk.

He passed two cottages
on his left
where a boy lived
who said he didn't
like Londoners
and Benny said
tough luck
and now the boy
didn't speak
but gave him
black looks.

The tractor stopped
the field was quiet
birds flew
from hedgerows
in the distance.

He saw Jane
waiting for him
dressed in a cotton
flowered dress
and her black hair
tied in two bunches.

She smiled
when she saw him
and his heart
thumped harder
as he came close.

A feast for his eyes
her beautiful figure
and face.

The tractor began again
the sound coming
across the field
and hedgerows
which stood upright
like soldiers in rows.
A BOY MEETS A GIRL IN A COUNTRY LANE IN 1961
Julie Grenness Jan 2017
How do we get to memory lane?
Why bother to go there again?
Dull contemplation of the ex,
Lil' ole witch gives him the hex.....
Why bother to go there again?
How futile, trips down memory lane......
Feedback welcome.
egotist Sep 2016
by da lane
see thru da pane

far away dey seem
yet illuminate my dream

to da high lands I elope
to a dream of hope

in the pines I wander
in all da wonder

ain't a feign aint a smile
n few jive from a mile

few make it obvious
look thy incredulous

its all my pain
by da lane
see through da pane

---the egotist
a thought while i was looking through the  window pane of a bus.
Terry Collett Aug 2016
Jane sits there
on the grass
the sunlight

overhead
she's showing
me the birds

that she's seen
that morning
she's so near

I can smell
fresh apples
about her

her black hair
hanging loose
her dark eyes

scanning the
book's pages
slim finger

pointing out
the song thrush
and its eggs

I watch her
sitting there
a grey dress

covering
her slim legs
I've seen one

down the lane
in bushes
quite high up

I tell her
sensing her
so near me

she touches
my right hand
and holds it

squeezes it
then kisses
my right cheek

(Lizbeth would
have wanted
more of me)

come show me
she asks me
so we walk

across fields
to the lane
cows mooing

birds singing
hand in hand
walking down

by the stream
although real
seems a dream.
A BOY AND GIRL IN A SUSSEX  LANE IN 1961
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