Peter Roads Apr 4
Help yourself
to the words we left out
in this sunburnt tree
we call them a well turned phrase
because tree corpse
makes books feel macabre
and we love books
like we love words
like we love giving trees
hugs to release oxytocin
but none of this will help you read
between the lines of your unease
so do not look for help
between murderous sheets
self-help is called living
It doesn’t come from a book
and yes I’m aware of the irony
of writing that in a book of poetry
help yourself
to these burnt out words
and please
stop cutting down dreams
Self help, wellness, being, meaning, understanding, trees
CGW Jan 19
Painter sits down
Strokes sun light dipped in moon light upon fjord.
Crystalline blood blooms from valley.
Bird flys high in the sky.
Wind speaks for the earth.
The waves crash amongst each other like uncontrollable dominoes.
In the forest
Alone are the spirits
Wolves and deer stand restrained by there own silence as the golden sun rises.  
The painter redips his brush.
shane Nov 2017
you were
peter pan.

and i was

you were always seeking
for the intricacies of
compunctious realities,

that you considered
the one standing before you
as a vestige of existence.

and when i finally let you go,
you still searched for
the great mishaps.

you were
peter pan.

and i am merely
a surfeit of mirrors
that reminded you
to grow up.
you refused to let go of youth.
apiwe Nov 2017
When i heard
I felt
You had gone home without me and left me behind
They said: just a slash to the wrist
The pills quickened the numbness so that the blood could just flow out
Until there was none.
We're suprised it didn't happen sooner...strange one that one was
I didn't think of you strange
I felt betrayed so
I didn't go to your homecoming but I could imagine
You, dressed in white, the breeze blowing away the stench of death, your face ridden of all worries
I could imagine you were content
As you lay in that box
All I knew was that
you had gone home
And I
So that closes it off
apiwe Nov 2017
That night, as we walked in the dim light of street lights
darkness all around us
You kissed me,
my lips.
Your taste metallic on the tip of my tongue
Your hands, those cold bars of ice
Locked their way around my neck, waist and wrists
Your heart, that barred block of ice
Beat violently against my chest as we collided into each other
You pulled back abruptly,
looked me in my eyes
And said:
I don't want to die
apiwe Nov 2017
There we sat,
On that old fallen tree you like
In the middle of the woods
The wind, wove itself in between the long threads of grass
Making an ocean underneath our feet
But we didn't drown
You said: perfect place to hang yourself, all these branches
I looked into your solemn face that speaks so easily of death
and you smiled, shrugged
...and jumped into the green Grass Sea
We walked underneath the waving leaves of trees
Wind, so steady and flowing
I looked at the roof,
an ocean ebbing with tranquility
and there we were, caught in between two oceans
but we didn't drown
We found shade underneath a solitary tree with branches that kissed the sky
The cool of the wind kissed your sweet skin
And as we lay on that earthened floor,
You said: one day I'll make a blanket of the soil and a home of the granite we step on
I turned to you and stared into your orbs
And you said: we were born into dust and in the dust we will die
So then we watched the clouds, the sun setting
The rays of that star, a halo in the heavens
And it rested on your head
and you finally went home
This poem confused even I. As i was writing it, i felt a sensational surge of emotion that didn't really allow me to work with logic
serpentinium Sep 2017
“quo vadis, domine?”

i. you’re saint peter on a cross,
hung upside-down, staring at the
bright blue and if your arms
weren’t pinned to rotting wood
you’d reach out—

(petrus, dear petrus, why
hast thou forsaken me?)

there’s iron in your grip,
fingers curled in supplication
as you, the fisherman from Bethsaida,
bears only his own sins

the pain fades for a moment
under the sunlight and  
you’d smile if your lips didn’t bleed
at the harsh stretch of skin

they poke your side with a spear,
but only red pours out and the
barren ground below you will receive
no nourishment

you are no god, no holy deity
walking to and fro amongst mortals

(O’ you of little faith, why did you doubt?)

martyr, martyr they’ll chime with each
bell toll, thousands of years from now—
long after your body has perished in
the valley between Sodom and Gomorrah

you are simon peter, the betrayer, the liar, the
you are oh so human, and the world will
never forgive you for it
bedrock, they’ll call you, and mean it

you’ll be hailed a saint and people will kiss
your bronze image, dust oil against leaden
feet and imagine that your gaze is not fixed
solemnly to the earth

(now, nothing but a false idol to some,
draped in velvet and handed a crown—
the rooster crows, and so god too will
denounce your existence)
peter's one of my favorite disciples so here have a poem about him
Seanathon Sep 2017
Eventually you forget how to escape
To open the door at the back of your mind
And walk on though it
Into the new
And that is why we should value our innocence
And our children in such a way as we do
I was speaking of imagination...
Fire Jul 2017
Sorry babe I lost my shadow
Just like Peter Pan
I may be a little bit hollow
But I can fly
I can show you why
A hollow shell
Find me captain hooks hell
Mr Smee
Find me please
I'm hiding here in pixie hollow
Finding peace without the sorrow
The mermaids tried to drown me
Peter Pan tried to save me
But you can't save a sinking ship
The Jolly Roger on a dip
The Indians fighting them
Never land comes to end
Wendy has grown up
John went off to college
Michael is a drug addict
And Peter is a saddist.
Say goodbye to neverland
As Captain Hook gets his wish
And Peter dies,
Drowned like a fish.
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