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Phoebe Jan 2015
Daddy takes me to the greenhouse,
behind our rotted trailer, deep in sovereign backwoods.
Marsh voices, thick like tupelo honey.

The coo of a loon, hiss of a cottonmouth, shiver of a snapping turtle.

The silver of swamp lilies lip the land in wild haze,
a veil of ochre moss tickles my nose like gauzey ginger ale
and soil clings to my ankles like a lonesome hound.

Daddy’s greenhouse is a shed, a haven.
A milieu of magic and fleur-de-cannabis
where pixies pull my curls and gnomes dance
under mushroom parasols.

My hands dip into a hollow of muddy earthworms.
I feel akin to the yellow blood of a butterfly
or pale jade of perplexing geckos.  

Daddy is a shaman.

He trims holy blooms that come from spirits
who sing in the wind like the whippoorwill at dusk.
Snipping sticky bushels, he pads tufts into his pipe,
carved in the shape of a sullen armadillo.

I watch him inhale.

                          His breath
                                               stiff
                            as a braid of mangroves.

                      He exhales a ligneous cough.

                              I don’t mind,
                                                   much.
Ady Jan 2015
Not long ago, I dreamed I was swimming in the most beautiful water I have ever seen. It was a crystalline, pastel tangerine which was the product of the reflecting sun. It was too clear that it felt like air. I was underneath, swimming in its deepness and yet almost teasing the surface with the underwater ripples of my moving legs and hands.
There were iridescent green trees protruding from the side of the pool rooted barely to the edges of the patches of earth at the sides. Almost glowing from within with a light of their own. They were big and its leaves were plentiful. Evergreen, full of richness and budding inside this water world.
I felt content. At one point I was swimming with my head towards the surface but I was still submerged and the caramel rays of the sun caressed my body and filled me with euphoria.
I was floating underneath further and further mesmerized by the beauty and serenity.
I saw myself from somewhere above as I enjoyed the sensation of the embrace of the water and swam immersed in mirth.
It felt like swimming in my aspirations and inspirations. The softer side of imagination.
imagination, inspirations, aspiration, dreams
Brittle Bird Jan 2015
The room feels heavy,
sleepy morning smiles
and satiate English words
clinging to to air.
They reach out,
trying to pinch me,
as insistent as
the professor's smile.


Some of us still feel
as we do at 7 a.m.,
though our minds are
overflowing fountains
of new knowledge
as we try to hold
and scoop it back in.
they're drowning me,
the letters are drowning
and too tired
to swim.


It's the feeling I get
of a stomach ache
and not being able to tell
whether it's because
I'm actually sick,
or just overwhelmed
with possibilities.
*What will I do?
What will I be?
Maybe I should
just try to focus
on what's in front
of me.
This is how I procrastinate, write poems about the exact thing I'm procrastinating on... well it's a start, right?
Amitav Radiance Jan 2015
Words flow languidly
Stream of consciousness
Enriches the memories
I am with me, in silence
Realization dawns over
Every idea sprinkled
Over the garden of dreams
Many flowers bloom
None the same
Multitude of colors
Fills the space
Otherwise, devoid of meaning
Mesmerizing dreams
Wake me up from slumber
LittleFreeBird Jan 2015
That summer was hotter than any of the others before. The county was dryer than it had ever been, and the kids more restless than years past. I was sitting on the front porch at my granddaddy’s, swinging slowly with the breeze that offered no relief from that God awful heat. I was in a little black sundress, which was hard to find because most people prefer pink or yellow or orange  - anything but black during the summer. But you can’t wear pink or yellow or orange to a funeral. So there I sat, in my black sundress, black sun hat and black heels. I even had black sunglasses, but I opted for those on my own. I had no desire for every eye in Harlan to see me cry. The sunlight hurt my eyes anyway; I had one hell of a hangover. The night before was the first time I’d drunk anything but sweet tea or water in my life. My body did not take kindly to it. I was doing a lot of things my body did not take kindly to as of late, drinking being only one of the many vices I’d begun to partake in. “Come on girl, we best get a goin’. Ain’t gonna do to be late for this one.” Granddaddy offered me a hand and helped me up. The car ride there was silent, but I would catch him every once in a while glancing over at me to make sure I was “Keepin’ my **** together.” He knew about the drinking and had my hide for it.  It was far too soon that I had to step out of the car and walk to the front row where your family sat. The rest of the day went by in a blur. Your momma hugging me. Your daddy shaking my hand. Your sisters clinging to the skirt of my dress. I don’t know when I started crying, just that the tears seemed like they had been there since the day I was born. The songs we sang were all wrong and the sky was too blue and the birds sang too loud. The wind blew too much and not enough, because if it had been enough it would have carried me far, far away from that place, but too much because it’s sigh sounded far, far too much like yours. I kept it together until that first handful of dirt hit the lid of that ****** box that was going to hold you for the rest of eternity. I remember being jealous because I wanted to be the one holding you, not that hole in the ground. When it was my turn to throw it in, I fell. I fell as hard as when I fell in love with you, except you weren’t there to catch me this time, you were too busy in entering into the arms of our Good Lord. So I kissed the dirt I held in my hand (when it finally stopped shaking) and threw it in, then I tried to throw myself in. But granddaddy caught me before I could get to you and they covered you up before I could claw my way in. It hasn’t been the same since you left; the air doesn’t smell near as sweet and the sun doesn’t burn near as bright. I haven’t had the heart to wash the mud off that dress yet and I’ve had too much heart to throw it away. You left me to live in a world full of contradictions, Darlin’. Left me to live a life that knocks me to the ground and waits for me to get back up, just so it can kick me in the teeth.

And, I suppose, in your absence, I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Dylan G Nov 2014
Pushing a key oh how it brings me glee;
Content even happy in simple existence;
Many may not want to be just like me,
For a dry dreary job takes a work of persistence,
But each button I press is a step to success.

Merely a man without a choice,
Only a puppet with no voice

As I wait for direction with keen apprehension;
I stare at the screen first perplexed then distraught;
I see no coworkers it fills me with tension;
What was that? Was it just a thought?
A voice in my head, now it fills me with dread.

He must choose to make a choice,
To give his mouth a voice

“Stanley,” says he, “walked out his office”;
‘Stanley’ is that honestly my own name?
This voice I don’t trust, I will be very cautious;
I shut my closed door so all will stay the same;
The voice has not parted, I’m back where I started;
How?

The end is never the end is never the end

“Stanley,” says he, “walked out his office”;
Shall I play with him in his own little game?
My other decision was not quite that flawless;
I walk outside and am filled with no shame;
“Rejoice, you’ve made the one right choice”.

Now he’s a man in a world of choice,
The one employee that has a voice

I come to two doors and feel a great sensation;
“Walk through the door that's to your left”
What should I think of his clear calm narration?
I walk to the left, trying to be quite deft;
“You must not try to be uncouth, my words they simply speak the truth”.

Does he really have a choice?
Are the words his own real voice?

The constant dictation is no consolation;
I am led into a secret new door;
What I now see is a mind control station
But how do I know what is real anymore?
Does this place control me, or the voice within me?

This is the chance to make a choice,
His opportunity to put forth a voice

"Will you close down the station boy?
"Or put its full force into motion?
What choice do I have but to follow the story?
'Mind control', I'm dismayed at the notion;
I think I heard the voice inside me just scoff,
I turn the station off.

Only a character in a fixed plot line,
He does not see a contrasting sign

Now I am free but it brings me no glee;
Maybe I should have put up some resistance;
Merely existing means nothing to me;
I must now question my unclear subsistence;
The voice has not parted, I'm back where I started.

A man with a choice,
He has a voice
A narrative poem I wrote for school based off the game, "The Stanley Parable".
Storm Nov 2014
In a glade the size of a potted plant,
On a blanket the size of a napkin,
There sat a pair, the queerest of all,
Pieris and little Rotkaepptchen.

One was a goldfish,
But not just a goldfish.
The other was a plant,
But not just any plant.
(He was a fern, get it right.)

These two had a mission only they could complete,
The Quest for the glorious NumNums.

The legend of NumNums
Was told far and wide,
And all NumNum lovers
Wanted them inside.
(Their tummies that is, don’t be inappropriate)

ANYWAY,
The NumNums were glorious,
Such a yummy treat,
Until they were poisoned,
That wasn’t so neat.

Pieris and Rotkaepptchen,
The task now at hand,
Set off on their journey,
Through strange, distant lands.

They navigated bedrooms,
They slid down the halls,
They were chased by vacuums,
And trapped by LEGO® walls!

This impossible mission continued,
Until, at last, success!
They found the trail’s end!
What joy! What bliss!
(Huzzah)

Now all that was required
Was to figure out the poison.
So they, without the antidote,
Could eat NumNums again

What a task that would be,
What work, what a chore!
Yet near the store of NumNums,
Upon the ***** floor,

They found a scrap of parchment,
With clues inscribed in black,
To reverse the candy’s poison
And bring them NumNums back
(Hollah!)

Into the woods they ventured,
They searched day and night
To find the precious antidote
And to relieve their plight.

For days, the land they scoured,
For ingredients rare and odd
Until they finally saw it,
Held captive by the frog!

The gleam of silica crystals,
The shine of his mucus
His curious croak was answered
With a meek “Help us.”

“Why should I?” he croaked again,
Staring them down drearily.
“I know not your quest,
I’ve only hints at the best.”

“Then surely you can help,
Surely you can try!”
Little Pieris yelped,
Looking about to cry.

“Don’t worry my friend!”
Rotkaeppchen declared
“For I’m he cannot resist
our plea, and most surely will assist.”

“Then, my dears, I solemnly swear
To help you in your need.
For here, this little draught of pear,
Will help you to succeed!”

And then, procuring a vessel
of the clearest glass
The wise old toad
Cleared his throat,
And promptly passed some gas.

“Excuse me,” he rumbled.
“Excuse me for that faux pas.”
And then he amphibiously
Handed over the pear draught glass

“Egads!” the two exclaimed,
Taking the glass cautiously.
But at last! They had the pear
And thanked him graciously.

At long last they had the cure,
The pear to fix the poison.
They took it back to the glade,
Where their lips they proceeded to moisten.

And that, my friends, is the last of our tale,
The tale of Pieris and Rotkappchen
The daring elves of yore.
With NumNums three,
Under the TumTum tree
They lunched and brunched once more.
And now, we’ve reached the end.
Written with my dearest friend Ginger (aka undeadfairiegirl) for creative writing.
Maliyah Bernard Nov 2014
To Him:
I can honestly say that this is the truth in its entirety
And that it needs to be said.
It needs to be said even if it absolutely repulses you.
Even if it’s only whispered at 3 a.m.,
When you’re hardly awake- much less listening.
Even if I have to write all this down
And poke these words into your auditory canal with my tiny fingers.

I am so sorry for what you’re about to read,
And I am endlessly apologetic that
I will be forever too sheepish to find the words to apologize to your face.


I’m sorry that the way you hold me during bad times makes up for the
Five thousand days I had to face relatively alone before I met you,
And I’m sorry that your kiss makes up for the nightmare I put myself in.
If truth be told, I’m sorry I’d get on my knees
And beg you not to leave if I had to.
I’d have words spewing out of my mouth, ears and nose- probably.

That was overly dramatic, maybe, but this is getting relatively important. So, if you haven’t stopped reading at this point, PLEASE continue. Sorry. You don’t have to. That was too demanding- I think.

I’m sorry that I get jealous most days and don’t tell you,
And I’m so sorry that I noticed that the lyrics to your favourite song
Are in her twitter biography
And that sometimes that makes me want to puke.

I have to worry about her reading this now, too. I’m sorry to the both of you; I didn’t actually think this through at all.

I’m sorry that that I’m a lost puppy without you,
And I’m sorry that I took your statement
“Three thousand things is a lot of things to like about someone”
As an excuse to start writing a list.
I’m sorry for not maybe making a big enough effort to make friends with your friends.
I don’t think they like me very much,
And I guess I should apologize for that too.
I promise to try harder.

And I’m sorry that I feel the need to tell you that when you said
“Your heart beats faster when I kiss your back”
I fell in love with you nine times over
(Once per word)
And I’m super, duper sorry that your friends will probably read this.

I just really, really love you
And it’s important you know.

Sorry.

To Her:*
I can truthfully say that I am being entirely honest and that this needs to be said.
At this point, we both know that it is not now-
Nor has it ever been-
Repulsive.
It is okay to whisper things at 3 a.m.
Because I will be awake and I am always listening.
I appreciate you writing things down,
But poking the words through any of my canals might hurt.

I am not sorry for what you are about to read.
I don’t feel as though I will ever have to be apologetic to you about my feelings
Because I love you.
I promise to find words to tell you this every day.

I’m not sorry that every second that I hold you
Makes up for the fifteen years of loneliness before I met you,
And that your kisses make up for every bad decision I have ever made.
Truth be told if you wanted to leave me, I would let you-
Because if you love something let it go.
If it ever loved you it will come back.
I know there is not a universe in which
You would not be in my arms again.

Yeah, maybe that was also pretty dramatic,
But it’s just important to me as it is to you
So I guess it’s okay to do that.
But please, keep reading.
I’m trying my best with this, I really am.

I’m not sorry that I let you into my life,
Because it was the best thing I’ve ever done for myself.
I always thought it was weird that another person could be
The source of all my love,
But it’s true.
I’m not sorry that I had to let some people go in order to
Make it possible for us to be together.
I have never felt an ounce of regret.
A song is a song, my dear.
I love you more than anyone on the earth. Ever. You know that.

I think you should keep this to yourself.
If anyone saw it, I wouldn’t want to take back anything I’ve said,
But you should keep it just for you.
Read this when you want to know how much I love you.*

I am not sorry that as a person I have never had a good sense of time
Or direction.
So, we’re really just lost puppies together making our way through life.
If you listen to my favourite song (Wish You Were Here, by the way),
It will mention something about that.
I am not sorry that every morning
Since the day you gave me that list of things you love about me,
I have read one, appreciated it,
And placed the paper gently back on my shelf.
I am not sorry that I appreciate you.
Friends will come and go.
You are who you are.
Don’t change- for me, them, or anyone.

“Your heart beats faster when I kiss your back”.
I am not sorry about telling you that by the time that sentence left my lips
I was completely in love with you.
I have fallen in love with something about you every day
Since the first time I turned around,
Saw you standing there,
And was totally terrified.

I just really love you, and it’s important- you know?

Sorry.
Darren Oct 2014
Auburn introversion
Will by its arm hold on
Stationary sanction
A constant fissure line

Coming insurrection
Feathered scavengers intrude
For complete cessation
Between the vein and valve

Cutlass complication
Devised the elements
Defiled justification
Wilt into a hardened blame

Fuller indentation
Wreak an engulfed compliance
Its gestation
A bitter control

Chipping fortification
Nails its own mimic
Boweled duplication
Inflicts compounding mirrors

Slowed decimation
From flesh unwilling
Adorn fancification
A scream its teeth

Separation
Impending with haste
The nullification
By removing all proof

Divination
Demand nothing less
By holy vindication
Come clean and silenced

One simplification
As fall essence from claw
Heavy by degradation
Left behind lessons

A home desperation
Cleansed opened to breathe
Now that implication
Is taken in the wind
Originally written on October 31, 2014.
Deviantart profile: http://monocephalized.deviantart.com
Gary Oct 2014
A dark clump of ice
Blocks my soul, melting quickly
Turning my once clear thoughts
To unseen milky  visions
A body that once use to hold the warmest of hearts
Has now turned cold.
Like the sun, on a cloud covered day
The light doesn't  shine like it use to
The city's weather is uninviting,
Tonight.
So is my heart, that barely beats
To keep me alive.
It pumps the infectious thoughts of my mind
Filling my veins with blood as thick and dark, as the filth covered chunk of snow.
Lying in the middle of the cold darkened city street, slowly melting
Like my heart slowly deteriorating
Without the warmth of your soul.
My life is now an elapsing of fate.
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