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Michael R Burch Apr 2020
by Michael R. Burch

I caress them—trapped in brittle cellophane—
and I see how young they were, and how unwise;
and I remember their first flight—an old prop plane,
their blissful arc through alien blue skies ...

And I touch them here through leaves which—tattered, frayed—
are also wings, but wings that never flew:
like Nabokov’s wings—pinned, held. Here, time delayed,
their features never merged, remaining two ...

And Grief, which lurked unseen beyond the lens
or in shadows where It crept on furtive claws
as It scritched Its way into their hearts, depends
on sorrows such as theirs, and works Its jaws ...

and slavers for Its meat—those young, unwise,
who naively dare to dream, yet fail to see
how, lumbering sunward, Hope, ungainly, flies,
clutching to Her ruffled breast what must not be.

Keywords/Tags: album, photos, photographs, pictures, mementos, keepsakes, cellophane, yellowed, leaves, pinned, held, imprisoned, time, delayed
Alan S Bailey Feb 2020
This is my special day,
Smack dab in between yesterday and tomorrow,
I see the example of it made known to me
directly forming in between myself and
the void that is space.
That will be my destiny you must have gave unto me,
and I guess I always owe you one great big THANKS...

Now, for the TOUR D' HELL, I
(some reason) must always get inside.

Going down...
Ingram Feb 2020
The space between us
is substantially bigger,
and your tight grip  
is no longer pinned to my emotional trigger.

You knew that in the past
I would have jumped off a ledge for you,
but now I am strong enough
to say ***** you, too.
Danielle Apr 2018
My fury would wash you down and away.
Tumbled red and broken dry,
Til you’ve been laid out flat
And pinned to cork.
No better than a butterfly.
All mine to display.
Sometimes unleashing anger is good and writing it out is really good.
Gilang Perdana Aug 2017
a singer — he want to go to the moon
and I pinned on his head. he wants
to sing with all the heavenly body
and allege about love to his lover

another singer who like to dance
also pinned me on his head. he walks
like a moon — hard to tell the contrast
of black and white from a cubit

and again, a singer. I am as cursed
too lazy to go everywhere — to like forever
I want to be pinned on his head — sing along
and dance from a stage to another

and I am —
they'll refuse me
if I'm not me
: but do not
Aditya Shankar Dec 2015
When two black wheels crashed into four
Two legs stretched out behind a silver door
He lay, pinned down on the dusty road
Clawing at her face in vain, he choked.

My conscience asks, "What troubles you more?"
"The mask of anger that she wore?
The circle of people watching the show?
palindrome poem #5
once read, go from bottom to top

— The End —