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Rhiannon Clare Jan 2015
I looked to the sky and it spelled out your
each gesture, the clouds were your hands,
moving with a silent ease to earth, spilling
down to touch me. There is much I wish
I could pluck from my heart and my bones
and construct for us our own city.

But it is you who will be building, and
maybe my words are the bricks you will use
new worlds, places of beauty and wonder.
I feel myself turning to gold, an ancient effigy
to all that love beholds; an advocate of you.
A living tribute to the glow that surrounds
my each move, it is all

all for you. I have stumbled from the cave
and found you there. But I do not think
a lifetime would be enough, (though you are  
a talisman that protects me from all ill wishes)
a lifetime is too short to return this charm
this hope: the shining compass
under my skin that points always to you.
Harsh Sandhu Nov 2014
Not so long ago
She told me
I want your hand
Please hold me!

In a very few time
She expressed her feelings
I can’t believe
Even don’t want to keep
Her words were fake
Girl with false face
So expert in such dealings!!

Were so far away
I thought it doesn’t matter
If you are enough better
To make a way
From heart to heart
Not to keep them apart
With the flow of love
By cleaning doubts’ dirt!!!

My words were alive
I was committed to keep them
Hers were only part of discussion
Of no value so shame!!!!
One girl with many faces..northeast girl and north indian boy..
Amelia Nov 2014
It is near Minocqua Wisconsin,
along Lake Placid,
on the Lac Du Flambeau Reservation.
Majestic Pine Trees,
Maple Leaves,
and the haunting echo of the loon.

The district attorney of Illinois
my Great Grandpa, George Hall
this was his cabin.
My grandmother, Georgia and her sisters
on the walls, her sister Rosa
looks a bit like me, she died at 16.

I have a relative,
can’t remember who, but he died in
the chair I still like to fall asleep in.
They say he had a peaceful slumber

My father’s sailboat parked within the trees
what adventure this boat entails
the wind and water, lets me feel free
Can’t wait until I can sail on the sea.

The old canoe lays by the lake
I always imagine, the Native people
here before I, their land,
which I now call my own.
The Lake of Torches Casino
now what they call their own.

I admire the
beauty of their tradition, rich in spirit
finding peace with mother earth--
musical flutes and tribal drums,
I am connected to my creator.

A family jewel,
I hope it always remains
rich in history,
the enchanting sound of the murmuring pines
a part of me, my favorite place to be.
Andrew Wenson Nov 2014
Amongst the monardas
Horsetail, Susan's black eyes
You can almost feel it:
freedom, life.

It could just be the heat.
MK Ulton Nov 2014
Heavy with dew the branches converge
And when it is night these creatures emerge

With diligence they saunter through crevices of flesh
And feed upon bewilderment wherever it’s left

While the moon jeers at the sun for attempting to hide
Hymns of laughter and silhouettes of creatures collide

They flourish the sky with a euphoric light
And cast a spell amongst the silence of night

The creatures thrash against skin to announce their goodbyes
But what shall we call them? We shall call them fireflies
Joe Woodhead Oct 2014
“Yorkshire! Yorkshire!” I hear the EDL scream,
as if somehow the county, relates to their regime?
Trying to push on others their far right views,
and tainting Yorkshire with their taboos
cos Yorkshire to me, is whatever the **** I want it to be,

I do love a bit of local pride...
maybe to revel in the comfort it provides,
and even though stereotypes say we're tight,
as well as stubborn, argumentative (they're prolly right),
But I'd rather that, than be uptight,
like a stereotypical southerner might

I recently read a quote from Stuart Maconie,
“England has a bottom half,
but there isn't a south, in the same way there's a north”
The North in the south means desolation,
A cultural wasteland with deserted stations,
a place built on violent, aggressive foundations,
With mid summer Arctic temperature fluctuations,
Nothing that comes close to a nation....

But that's not what I see,
To be from the north means good fish and chips,
with tomato sauce and vinegar, it's glory on the lips,
I see people willing to lend a hand,
A honest chat about the weather as you stand at a bus stop
that you never planned,
It doesn't matter whether it's a cob, bun, bap, barm or roll,
Or that the north was ****** over by the outsourcing of coal,
Or your opinion that we're all just sat on the dole, drinking tea out of a ***** bowl.
We should still all have a similar goal,
To have a good time,
and not hurt a soul

Sometimes I do like to revel in the divide,
but I'll always welcome people from the other side,
Acceptance is not sin,
and if you let it,
it generally ends up with a win : win

What's Yorkshire to you? I haven't got a clue... but come sit down so we can have a chat and a brew! And hopefully we'll both learn something we never knew.
Poem about the North South divide in the United Kingdom.
Brianna Oct 2014
I sometimes pretend you were just a vision-- something I made up to keep me happy.

But I remember it all so vividly-- your red pants, that grey shirt, the cologne you wear and you leaning on the wall waiting for me.

Did you move around a lot trying to find the "right" way to stand on the wall? Did you get nervous when I arrived? Did you feel the pressure I felt?

I'll never forget the humidity and the way I stared at you when I first saw you again.

I'll never forge the butterflies when I tried to smile but frowned instead. I'll never forget the way you asked how my trip was and I replied awkwardly how I needed coffee.

I'll never forget the way I looked at you... Knowing we had only one week and then it would be over.

And I'll never forget how by the end of the week I lost myself completely... And let every wall I ever built fall down for you.


you kissed me goodbye... And meant it.
JadedSoul Aug 2014
In the darkness of a long Friday night shift
Making 100 pizzas an hour
my energy drains, my mind wanders

I leave my body behind to cut the pies
and I happily flip between dimensions
memories, lives and possibilities.

3 physically grueling hour later,
I return to find my poor body exhausted
Ordered to some random task.

The REAL me responds out of my broken body
with a smart-*** quip about linear time
and temporal mechanics.

Suddenly, I hear myself!
Suddenly, I see myself!
Suddenly, blindingly, I feel a light!

Bright, all encompassing, radiant light
Like the North Star,
but undimmed and unhindered.

In all its splendour, it shines
a leaf-covered path
suddenly clear as day!

What I would love to do
is to study physics
and obtain a master's degree
in Quantum Mechanics.

Energised by naught more than this realisation
my body works effortlessly on a record long shift
while my heart sings
and my mind dances happily
and I, the true me rejoices

For finally, I have realised
and allowed myself to accept
what excites me!
* First written on 9 October 2010 while working at Dominoes pizza
I walked 1009 feet
And reached the comfort of
Your tippy toes
Soon I'll be rubbing
Your knee
Gadus Jul 2014
Lifted on a wheelchair
while trying to stare at the toonish heads inside.
A bright light appears.
I'm hoping I can tunnel in.

But my legs won't move.
Every time I reach for the light
a large hairy arm restrains.

A smooth utterance follows.
My muffled ears and the seeping quell.
This is as close as it gets.

Fold the sheets in toward you.
A cold that won't leave the bones
keeps up.

The old brain governance was a relief
until I realized I was back where I started,
with a makeshift ash try
and an innate sense of urgency.
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