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Broadsky Aug 2019
Adding honey to my tea and grabbing a stirrer, I see you out of the corner of my eye, baseball cap on, nose buried deep in a book.

Walking on these downtown streets today I thought to myself “I’m happy, and I’m happy without him”


See, the pain of our love crashing and burning doesn’t matter until I see you.


My stomach drops, my veins seize up, I’m stopped dead in my tracks.


I wish I could’ve said hello, I wish I could’ve asked “reading something interesting?”

But this is our reality, pretending we’re strangers and forcing the nights we spent under the moon out, out, out of our heads.


I don’t think I could look you in the eyes, I think it would immediately tug my heart down to my feet


The idea of us being friends is bittersweet like lemon drops, but no one talks about the bitter aftertaste.


I wish you well, I wish you happiness, and I hope you enjoy your cup of coffee with your read.
Saw you sitting in a coffee shop.
Broadsky Feb 2019
"So tell me how you're so confident." You say with a glimmer of seduction in your half shut eyes, your head leaned back- I want you. I want to watch you melt in my hands. I'm slipping on snow on the patio but your glance keeps me steady, I want your hands on me already. You're 10 years older but I've caught your eye, I make you want to say "she'll have another" on your dime. We're standing outside, you'll never see me again therefore I'll sink my teeth in. You move a little closer, I'll hate when this is over. I bite your lip- you breathe deeply and put your hand on my hip. I feel the soft ****** of your 5 o'clock shadow, you're hardly callow. I force myself to pull away- this is casual I say- I turn on my toes, my hair sways, and I toss one last hedonistic gaze to the man responsible for my daze.
I kissed a stranger in a bar, he had light hair and light colored eyes, he was a man and I'll never be the same again.
Greg Jones Jun 2018
When I found you on the rooftop
Crumbling at the knees,
You confessed to me the air
Made it hard to breathe.
You felt complacent
But knew you had somewhere you had to be,
Just getting harder to leave.

We found some solace
In the undergrounds of Charm City.
You said “These basement shows relieve the angst inside of me.”
I said “It’s gonna get better, love, just wait and see.”
It’s getting hard to believe.

Wandering hearts.
We were lost in the Art Space, the soul of the city.
Looking for answers
All we found were strangers and bands bonding over riffs.

She’s still waiting for the air to be breathable again.

There we were, sardine packed,
Shouting out for the band.
Vibes of Old Bay Punk echoed off the walls.
Jimmy’s worried the neighbors might call a noise complaint.
Tommy’s laughing as he turns up the stereo.

After the show
We stumbled out of the basement
Off balanced and content.
Smelling like sweat and Natty Boh.
The high wore off and we were back to where we began,
Wandering the streets with shattered lungs and dreams.

On Charm City rooftops
You broke down all around me
Along with the railings in the basement of Art Space.
By one or two we wandered into the Ale House.
We were just in time before they had last call.

Somewhere on Pratt street
We ran into Remy.
He was looking for Megan and a taco truck.
Found our way, unwinding on a bench by the harbor.
I swear there was magic in your midnight eyes.
You held my hand, and breathed a bit lighter.

The air is not so bad...
Betsy Garris Feb 2018
He said to me
I'm gonna get outta here
Check out a different sphere
Of reality
Unless I meet
One of those county girls
Who wants to stay in this county world
And raise a family

Well that got me thinkin'
About all of the small town life
Everywhere there just seems to be a fight
To not get stuck.
You know I've been thinkin'
Bout all of these choices
Bout all of these voices asking me
Where I'll end up

The more I stay
The more I find
My piece of peace of mind
Comes and goes like waves
In this
Tidal Town.

|b.g.|
A song lyric I began over the summer, that lingered through the fall, and has been buzzin in my brain ever since. A friend yesterday said something that inspired the first few lines and it fit so perfectly.
Here's to small towns.
This one is for St. Mary's County.
Betsy Garris Oct 2017
Little white sails
Skimming the horizon
Little white clouds
Whisped throughout the sky
Little sandy pebbles
Tumbling through my toes
Little loudening thoughts
Of life just passing by.
|b.g.|
Just a MoCo girl living in  SMCo world.
Andrew T Apr 2017
We walked through the woods,
when it was growing thick with shadows, the way smoke funnels
out a chimney. She wore a hoodie and yoga pants,
attire to match her mood: relaxed and comfortable.
Her eyes reminded me of what lies beneath puddles,
after a rainstorm had passed through
the small hometown, which disowned you.
We wrote songs while sitting on tree stumps,
chewing tobacco and drinking gin.
Because, we wanted people to write movies about us,
like the ones they played before the explosion
took out a half of Paris, DC, and Sydney.
Test me again, and I will never talk to you,
you said those words and you meant it.
I regret ever running
into you at the house,
and falling for you,
like how I'm falling
over on my ***.
And now we will never text,
have a conversation,
or hold each other in bed.
Kiss me goodnight,
but don't say
that you ever cared about me,
because I don't believe
in the lyrics,
your favorite musician sings.
maggie W Feb 2017
It was winter of 16'
I met a boy in the land of Mary,
We went on our first date in the diner,
With my boy, boy from Detroit.

We shared an omelette, he put on extra ketchup
A scene I'll keep reminiscing.
We talked and laughed, as if no one's there
Suddenly I felt something so familiar
On the way to his car, I asked if he's cold
He said, No I'm fine, I am from Detroit.

In his car to the movie, in downtown Washington, D.C.
The movie is  called Manchester by the sea
I looked at him while he talked about how his parents met in Annapolis.
My first blue eyed boy, oh Michael from Detroit.

He said that he would leave, in the month of February
To China, to pursuit his dreams.
I said ,it's fine, it's not like I am looking for a relationship.
Little did I know, I will fall for this boy from Detroit.

It was winter of 16', we always liked to have some ice cream
Wandering in the city of the district
Sometimes we didn't, sometimes we did
Know where the street is taking us to
We may stand in the cold, try to figure out which way to go
But with him I'd never get lost.

My boy from Detroit, it was never a fling
but why are there so many" what we could have been"?
Before you left, you asked my when do I know,
When do I know that I have feelings for you?
Well I guess it was the moment I unexpectedly agreed
to go to a movie with you after dinner
In your black Ford on a late Friday night

It was winter of 16'
We are both at the crossroad,not knowing where life
Would take us to
But we will be fine, after some time
We will meet again without tears in my eyes.
This is for you, Mike
Oh my boy from Detroit

When the day come,I would gladly
Change my last name to Olevnik.
New attempt on writing lyrics like John Prine did.
Tim S Aug 2016
For the smallest of stature,
She was the biggest in the room.
It lit up whenever she entered,
And I did all that I could to not make a fool of myself.

It only took a weekend for me to fall hard.
She was quirky, but serious,
She was cute, but beautiful,
And I tried everything that I could to not get reeled in.

Less than seventy two hours...
That's all it took for me to feel like I had fallen seventy two stories.
And just like that,
I had to leave her and Ellicot City behind.

It was the longest three hour drive.
Back to New York City I went,
Leaving her and the weekend in my rear view mirror.
Heaven only knows when I'll see her again.
Sometimes you meet someone at the most inopportune time. This a story of one of those times. Here's to you, Alice.
JR Rhine Mar 2016
Traveling (with Frost) down the lightly trodden path,
with shoed soles sauntering over thawed earth,
twisting down the narrow trail,
away from the prying eyes of tour guides—

Encompassed by flowery heads who mirror the sun,
who burst forth with fluorescent green necks
craning from the dirt,
delineating our path in cascades of springing splendor.

Sensing the ostinato of ambulant waters crescendo,
we soon break from the budding foliage—
To be greeted by gentle winds
and the lapping of placid waves

who break onto the languid shore
onto shoed and socked feet,
who sense holy ground and immediately
kick off their bindings—

To sink into the earth,
and gritty sand reaching up between toes;
the water deceptively inviting,
is greeted with delightful shrieks in its refreshing chill.

Secluded in our cove,
we gaze over the waters where to our right
rests a breathing reconstruction of the Dove;
we stand awed before these waters
both the settler and the native.

What gods were praised on these lands,
and in these woods,
and in these skies,
and in these waters?

And on March 25, 1634,
in the promising onset of spring,
what had they to sing in the calm airs
as the settlers crossed the threshold of the Potomac?

She whispers,
“Funny how the water appears green on the shore,
and clear on the river.”

--St. Mary's City, March 10, 2016.
JR Rhine Mar 2016
If you drive down route 235,
the lonely parallel line of route 5,
running through St. Mary's County, Maryland,

between the intersection of Old Three Notch road
and St. Andrew's Church road,
and the liquor store at the corner of Mattapany--
you must do so with a fat wallet,
and a growling stomach,

who barks at the flashing signs
of the sparkling chain restaurants--
wafting their familiar scents out the windows
and onto the busy street.

Utterly beleaguered every which way by these olfactory factories,
your mouth waters and your wallet lightens
as the tantalizing sensations
permeate your vehicle.

So you cave;
another lost soul vacates the street at Restaurant Alley,
under the prowling searchlights
and the intoxicating smells lingering like a dense fog;

You linger in your purgatory with glee.

You exit satisfied, patting your abdominous belly
and lifting your smiling face to the sky
in thanks to the gluttonous gods
who rain down these chain restaurants
from the heavens.

A satisfied sigh seeps out of loose lips,
barely hanging on to your fleshy face,
so ruddy and fat.

You act like your stop was something novel,
like it wasn't routine to acquiesce to these temptations;
you return to your car to continue your roamings
down restaurant alley.

Sadly, a full stomach won't stifle a querying nose,
and your senses are soon at it again;
just as the waiters and waitresses,
cooks and busboys--
are back at the window, leaning outside
with their clamorings and bustlings and cookings--

You pretend to entertain willpower as your copilot,
but even if that were so,
your senses would still be at the wheel,
with your mind bound and gagged in the trunk.

Restaurant Alley goes on for miles and miles and miles,
seemingly endless in the permeating fog of
burgers and pancakes and pasta and chicken and fries and burgers and soda and ice cream and beer and pasta and wine and America and pancakes and steak and appetizers and desserts and entrees and specials and kids menus and burgers and chicken and pasta and fries and burgers and ice cream and salad and burgers and soda and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat!

There's nothing to eat;
there's nothing to do but eat in Restaurant Alley,
on route 235 in St. Mary's County, Maryland.

So fasten your seat belt,
and loosen your waist belt,
and take a doomed trip down the endless roadway--

where you are dragged, shackled to food chains
that haul you from the perdition that is the lobby's waiting room
to be seated with loved ones at the mercy seat of Ambrosia.
And you'll see me there, too.
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