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I am a creature
Of movement and pain.
In movement and pain I exist
And have always existed.
To cease movement
Will be to pass from existence.
I am a creature
Of movement and pain.
A marathoner's mantra.
Juhlhaus Sep 24
Animated by twitch of muscle,
Electric spark through live wire,
Humming rail and synapse,
Wheels spin at the fingertips of maybe
An ineffable humorist,
The mastermind of this beautiful prank
Pocketwatch of silver and gold
That explodes in the hand
And leaves you stranded on the platform
The second you go to check the time.
Mark Rohlf Sep 9
***** through the tube
baby to the ****

instant mobility
of the noob

shuttle to the moon
rocket to mars

life is motion
under the stars
Just a quick thought on how life requires motion, in many different ways
It's okay to not be ready. To want something but just not know if it's a good fit. Doing everything the right way also doesn't mean that it will all turn out perfect. Making such a permanent move can change your entire life. Is it worth it and will the change be painful? It's easy to stay in the same situation. The comfort of knowing what will happen everyday will keep a mind at ease. Yet, if change comes what will the day look like? The transition should be easy and without questions.  To live in fear of what could be equals emptiness. It could also leave one stagnant. The heart wants change but I'm just not sure.
Not sure, what happens next, is it worth it, is waiting okay? What if perfection never comes?
When you say sorry;
When you start to care
Emotions are set in motion
Thoughts, pain, memories come crashing back
Seeping through the cracks
that I never knew existed.

I never knew I was broken from within,
Until I felt my emotions bleeding through the edges.
I never knew my thoughts were suppressed,
until they came crashing down upon me like turbulent waves.
I never knew I was sad,
until I tasted the pain that was rotting like venom in the corner of my brain.
I never knew darkness brewed within me,
until it diminished the light within as it stretched over the bright sky.
Kat Jul 15
Dallas days, smoking in your acura legend,
your face veiled, watery eyes.
Tom, I asked you to teach me poetry.
You opened your dictionaries of devotion -
for me to run away, again.
Under a weeping willow, we dug a hole for a time capsule.
Our lives were small enough for this rusty lunchbox.
See, mine was never a kids’ drawing on the refrigerator,
but a western, a shoot-em-up.
Can you understand, just a little,
how it was home I was running towards?
And still, in strange places
I spoke your language of tenderness,
my extinct mother tongue. With words
so ordinary, so simple.

Those memories
                  the warmth of you
make it hard to imagine 
that you are buried somewhere in Iowa.

I revisited that cow pasture with our tree,
my hands clawing at the frozen earth to get time back.
Tom, you promised me poetry, yet all I can write is
please come back to me
in a hundred variations. How I long
to bargain your soul for mine.
Your little toy airplane, the one you gave me
when we were kids, still stands on my nightstand.
This time let me teach you
about the cruelty of freedom.
Rendition of my poem "Kate's Toy Airplane." This corresponds to something I call poetry in motion – poetry that is not fixed but fluid, there is no such thing as a finished poem. Like O'Keefe who painted her patio, again and again and again.
elisabeth Jul 14
I think the feeling of being truly alone
is what draws me
awake at 3am
no one speaks my name
a distance from the motion
a certain stillness
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