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MJ Sep 2020
Is it the red crescendoing of trees lining the icy lake?
Or the pebbles popping under the rubber wheels of my old car?
Is it the warmth of picking up wool scarves from their summer cocoons? Being shaken out and wrapped around cold necks?
Is it this lower state's familiar weather, blending brisk wind with bright sun? The way it heats the second-floor windows in the frigid mornings?
Is it the scents of sage and roasting meat floating through the door, welcoming me home?
Or the mismatched pairs of shoes kicked under the hallway bench?

It might be this last bit of Cabernet slowly tumbling to top my cup, or the ceaseless squeak of my childhood bed.
But yes, something calls me here, back to the beginning.
Back to the autumns of our home.
Shawn Dec 2019
Oh, how you spin
the words
I wanna hear
Soft and gentle
the whispers
lightly reach
my waiting ears
and vowel sounds
vivid adjectives
and strong nouns
They reverberate
and flow
thru me...

Amazed I am
by you
by tales
and fables
I wanna believe
Tell me again
how you

Riddle me this
a setting of
poetic bliss
with a
who makes me
this is
a dream...

Let the
unfold an
full of precarious
and a
rising action
that leaves me

As we reach
the ******
Don't you
drop me
as the
falling action
brings me
to my senses
I moan....

Elena Jun 2019
changing profile picture
being on instagram
not texting me
forget me
me being paranoid that you don’t love me
body hating
you hate me
forget me
I’m stupid
i’m scared
i’m sorry
forget me.
seeing you be on every social platform but not being able to respond
am i being lied too
does he really feel how he says
i’m stupid
i’m sorry
i’m not okay
forget me
Brendan Roher Feb 2018
Quick, blockbuster ride,
Drive in food and fries
A café coffee with whipped, white lines
Around around we go now,
Riding a caffeine’s high-strung periphery
Sight and a strong sensory flight,
Going where the wind goes: free kites
Open window, downstream upstream shifts
And we’re riding next to other highway street shining glyphs.
A call is never enough to stop our rides
A high so high we see no downs
Here on our feet riding on tops of cars
With our hair wild, topping our heads like windy crowns  
We know our bass booms and sounds rounds
But you may not hear it long
For this freeway has endless bounds
Where we play these booming sounds
With no end in sight
On an endless night-
Boundless air flight
Brendan Roher Feb 2018
A ghost at my feet
Billowy and brave to
The last of its will
Lies influence its all-encompassing candor
It follows around, omnipresent
As if not here yet, not gone
Either, dispelled at once
By the wind’s spacious strokes,
Yet it finds its way back and
Trips this buckle I’ve left
To the wire
To the bone, striking
It’***** home, yonder
The older woman crying but
Beyond her I hear it galloping
The ghost, lounging
Its smirk omnipotent, lush,
But in the silence that reigns
The death of grandma's face
Feigns a shadow, below
It’s taken its toll, as it’s done before
But the ghost still wanders
Like it’s sworn to me,
Torn between leaving
And haunting me, forever
In eternity
Brendan Roher Nov 2017
Is it a little pitiful thing
Shut and lock
My shutters rock slightly
And a light enters, subtly
I know what beckons me
And recognize it well,
Fear and anxiety
Haunt my walls and furniture
Like a putrid odor:
I harbor what little will is left,
Do you still think me pitiful, yet?

It slithers in
A flowing, glowing sinner
It is the true winner
And a shining, plundering wonder
Eliminates my incense
Showers me
And makes me cower
In my own existence
Foster, don’t I still foster some adopted hope?
Outside strength
Inside weakness

And it's all blocked out of me
And I'm left alone in the colliding powers
And it explodes in my face, flammable
Understandable, for me.

And I'm homeless
Again, it seems.
Brendan Roher Nov 2017
Is it a word or a feeling
That I can gift to you,
Mr. Fleeting?
Drops upon a wooden floor,
A trickle down a metal spout,
Wait, wait
A second drop,
It will soon come out.
Deathly and growing,
Looking down, the sky screams
And sounds all around.
I'm weary of it all
And soon may I sit back
And let this house fall
To its bitter end.
A notice, a forgiveness
Have you let me borrow,
Mr. Lend?
Give me your helping hand
Be my railing up the slippery step
But don't be cold:
I've to forgive you for the last one,
The last lie that you told,
Mr. Bold
Will you listen to me now?
You're getting old:
You scold,
And I’m here to listen through it all.
From the top, though
Down, down, you fall
A crash, a boom, a bang
What a blush in your white armor
What a change.
Alex Greenwell Aug 2017
quiet. still and silent, a little taste of mystery to hold us over in panic. let the fear drip from the walls as they close in, bandages adhering to our cracked and breaking lips. a silent screaming sigh, that plays out the cords of misery's disappointment in discovering that speechlessness has found us first.

a cold touch down our spine like the drip of winter water from a decade old rain pipe, set on a roof of rusted, warped tin. a scrape of nails down iris purple shoulders pushed deep into the skin, but we are told to stay quiet about the truthfulness of things.

but little consequence, and little fear. for much longer we won't be left down here, though we might miss the quiet. voices travel better through cement and rebar walls. little whistles of laughter and slight mania, but left alone who wouldn't find comfort in the crazy.

for we have lost the longing for fear. it seemed to disappear after spending a few years resting here.
Alex Greenwell Aug 2017
sputtering and submerged. choking on baptism water, salvation salting my throat. a coliseum of lapis and jade, shadows solidly shifting while swimming, brushing, and lifting against folding flesh.

it's sudden, letting the world sink above you. letting graves enclose you, letting rose vines entomb you. a quarry, a chisel, a graveyard - they all shallow out the earth, ethereal in nature and uncomfortable to the nurtured. necessary.
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