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Extend your hand and pass through wind's light hairs.
Brush against the lump of a cloud and listen how it speaks of absence, its power upon the mind.
It is the revelation to solace you in the womb of water - the freedom of our kind.

a lump in my bed

sheet covered, toe to head, alive or ?
call it lumpen woman, though shapely,
the thick coverlet says yay, let’s suppress!
what lies sheet-deep, let everyone wanna guess?

two arms snakily shoot/emerge, straight out,
from besides ears, to aerate treasured tresses,
blonde mane, lioness locks, somehow sun colored, of the
rest, a-guessing kept, I man of reason, am’nt a speculator

reasoning that when the world was 1st created,
there was a holy hole in my side, missing a ribbing,
leaving me needy for a plugging, a poultice covering,
a bandage stitched, so my breathing unimpaired

thus this how and why the lumpen woman is come
into bed and body, to patch and complete, warm and
stoke me, wake up us to freshly chilled spring atmospheres,
and other supposed reasons to compose only love poetry

Fri May 22
early morn bedecked bed
isle of sheltering
Ken Pepiton Jan 2019
A 'cuse me?

I lie, eh? I know the way, but let me be the one

to wonder why
would I lie,
do you
read or listen or look or stop when al you can do has been done
al read y
and stand
to catch a breath

Up ag'in the wall?

If Dunning Kruger is all they got to throw,
you know what
you know, wrong ain't evil,
lying ly real calling right wrong is something only

a left hand wishing to make some noise
could imagine

clap clap clap, and **** Feynman
on the bongos
backing us up with a little James Dean ditty from
the Naked City

Times change, reality may be
de or re ift

in a rich man with a satisfied mind.
(if you'd only known.) Take another question?

chew and swallow and wait,
this will get your guts grinding reasons
the frontal cortex always gets

chirality inhibitions about letting the right hand
do anything the left can't imagine.

You know how it is. we get by.
Equality of out comes as I pondered what a good person with Dunning Kruger would respond to being when outed by a *** professing peace is beyon a kuna mootada. Y'know fun to write, fun to read, or your stupid id.
Brent Kincaid Aug 2017
You make my heart thump,”
My grandmother said
As she patted my young head.
She’d give me a thump
Not hard enough to leave a bump.
It was her term of affection
To call me sugar lump.

An old-time phrase I grew up with,
I’ve used it through the years.
It means you tickle me.
It also means you are dear.
True the guys get a bit out of shape
When I say sugarlump to them,
But then I’m not their grandmother.
I am, after all, vey much ‘a him’.

You make my heart thump,”
My grandmother said
As she patted my young head.
She’d give me a thump
Not hard enough to leave a bump.
It was her term of affection
To call me sugar lump.

But I find some people as sweet
And as delightful as homemade candy.
They are what triggers me to say
“Sugarlump, you are just dandy.”
So I use the phrase judiciously
For the fellows I happen to know
But for women a heckuva lot.
Every few comments or so.

You make my heart thump,”
My grandmother said
As she patted my young head.
She’d give me a thump
Not hard enough to leave a bump.
It was her term of affection
To call me sugar lump.
Alan S Bailey Feb 2015
You're still so far away I don't know where to start,
How hard it rained the day I left
And the pain driving into my heart,
I remember her sitting there, staring at me,
A lump in my throat, it was near Halloween,
Her short hair, her brown eyes so keen, so sharp,
Like she could cut right through me,
Like that day you broke my heart,
And only I know who you really are,
And this empty dryness still wont leave,
I don't expect your loving me although love is free,
Don't forget though that my love has always been near,
I've always been watching and waiting year after year
It's just a little bit farther, reach for the sparkling stars,
It can all be over soon, but I'm still not sure where to start,
The suffering in your life and your pain can all end soon,
I'll be in your arms just call me, find me, I'll be waiting for you.
Scared of what life has planned
Thinking back to the past
Already been dealt a hard hand
Thought it was good at last

A lump in my throat
Scared to jinx the scheduled test
Too soon that I spoke
Holding hope too close to my breast
Another poem for my confessions challenge...  Just another things adding stress and depression to my life.
Zaynub Aug 2014
you had a lump in your throat every time you spoke,
it should’ve disappeared but your voice became a croak

you cleared your throat a lot,
for every word that got caught

you stopped talking about your passions;
i think your heart had run out of its rations

you helped others out many times before,
but suddenly your reassurance was no more

your silences grew longer;
i should’ve known you were a goner

you left all these warnings,
yet here i was, in mourning.
nnylhsa May 2014
camera around my neck
tears in my eyes
a lump in my throat
a pen in my hand
notebook in my lap
glasses on face
ponytail in my hair
headphones around my head
and yet, you are still on my mind.

Daylight 4U2C Apr 2014
I want to run.
Be free.
Be the little girl they see in me,
but plot-twist happen frequently,
opening your eyes to things you didn't see.
Burning the cheerful into your mind.
If only I didn't once leave that behind.
If I could return to those naive, fun days.
But fun was out and sad was in,
so I figured "well okay."
I dived right in,
singeing my skin,
turning me to the pit.
I was told,
"don't follow your instincts",
so I guess this is what I get.
Now I sit alone,
a pitiful lump of coal,
as a dog without bone,
or soccer ball with no goal.
I'm heading to "God knows where"
on a train called "Oopsy Days,"
and when I arrive,
they will all be amazed.
For I am the writer
who will give them a story,
for I am a lighter,
and my flame gives me glory.

— The End —