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Fleur Mar 2020
The thrum of a city’s streets; the lifeblood of the foyer’s rack.

A simple lobby to most in passing, yet—to some—a trap of loss and lack.
A meditation on people coming and going in life. Social circles, stations in life, and how permanent it all seems when you can't accept the process.
Wellspring May 2019
I often get a little bit of inspiration,
Just here and there.
And I can pump out products
With great amounts of confidence.
But soon,
My precious inspiration,
My lifeblood and soul,
Shall leave me just a shell of my former self.
literally the only reason I write poetry is misery and occasionally rain.
The demons dance,
ominously disguised
as Monsoon clouds,
hovering above the
slick, crimsoned altar.

One more heart,
one more soul,
one more sacrifice
might make the toll.

Life-blood River
deposits iron
on the pyramid's
sculpted stone
cascading, absorbing deep, flooding the gates of hell.  

On a canoe of bone
the King embarked
to negotiate peace
with the underworld rule.

"No more blood,
no more skulls
no more souls",
said the Lord . ...
"your time has come.
No more bargaining fool"
Poem to complement a recently completed blow-torch, pencil and watercolor painting on raw edge wood.  See profile background pic.
adriana Jun 2018
to my favorite infatuation,                                                     ­                           

you told me that i was holding on like it was my lifeblood.
i said you weren't wrong.
right before i left, scared of what might happen next,
you told me that my voice gave me away.
that there was a certain naivety to it.
i hadn't yet been tarnished by the harshness of the world,
and that's what you thought was most beautiful about me.
i will never forget your words.

                         with love,
                                                                ­ the stranger you said was perfect
KM Hanslik Apr 2018
Sometimes these worries paint themselves
in vibrant colors, right behind
my eyelids.
Sometimes they manifest in
the folding-up of old skins, skins that don't quite
fit the mood anymore.
I want to break open those colors and pour
their meanings into the holes chewed open by
late nights and red eyed mornings.
I want to tuck myself into your side like
a barrier against the stones this world
might cast at us, I want to run away with you planted like seeds
under my tongue,
warm and wet enough to grow
a life out of, enough to draw
roots into this soil and to grow
home into these walls.
I don't care if the mice chew holes all the way through, I only care about the way your eyes
dance over the secrets we've built up together in the warm-stickiness of
enmeshed bodies and dreams.
Put my anxieties to sleep, we've had enough
of those to last us a lifetime.
Draw the lifeblood through these walls and tell me
dreams do have a place here and that
all these things we wrap our skin around
can make a home in us
for good.
Driving to work
Feeling a little blue
Thinking about
A life without you

Trying to breathe
Without any air
That's how I'd feel
If you didn't care

Your love is my lifeblood
The fire to my soul
If I didn't have you
I wouldn't be whole

Together forever
On this you can rely
One day without you
I surely would die
Tanisha Jackland Dec 2015

Feed the licks of the Sun
with your immortal womb

Sieze the comfort
of the light before it dies
tried woman
waiting in the amniotic fluid


Show up in the afterbirth
before the hours
have gone fetal
deliver yourself from gender

Live the unknown gaps
free, black and forever
Womanhood It ain't always pretty, folks.
Listen here:
brandon nagley Nov 2015

Her affection I needeth
To sustain mine living's;


Her smile I beseecheth
Which is vital to mine breathing;


Her laughter is mine medication
The herb to mine being;


Her blood everafter
Is lifeforce, is life to mine eyesight and seeing;


Her loyalty meaneth the world
O' how perfect she is a woman, the image of a queen, a real girl;


Her amour' is the path on which I abode
O' mine wife, mine soulmate and life, without thee I wouldst not be whole;

©Brandon nagley
©Earl Jane Nagley-Filipino rose dedication
©Lonesome poets poetry
TD Aug 2015
Each shattered bit,
it drags like chafed skin
inside my throat
irritating--in vain against
a mindless wash and blend.

Pull out the heart of me,
watch liquid fire seep through winding
tubes, the ***** cries out in silence.
"Here, see my ugly mass?"
Follow the stench
to find a seething need
an aching want.

Claustrophobic twinges,
snap like twigs as words
spark to light on a page.
Forget to breathe,
each pointed thought,
places a salve of truth
on a mountain of pain.
The I.V.--the life force?
The thread to an eternity.

Consciousness gravitates
towards a vessel to
free yet frame the soul.
Stretching writhing,
against constraints,
relishing in its abandon.

Saturate the page,
dab at the embers
of our scattered eyes,
pulsing masses of emotion.
Still we fill--coagulate,
the aloe into the cracks.
Feelings release,
to churn and build.

Our Tourniquet is silence,
milling thoughts with no escape.
Blood letting is encouraged in writing.
"There is nothing to writing. You just sit down at a typewriter and bleed." -- Ernest Hemingway

— The End —