Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Nik Apr 29
8 billion people in the world—
and here i am drowning in an infinity pool of self-pity.
i tell myself one day i will stop.
swim back towards the edge, gasping for breath, a new life to transform into.
and here i am drowning in an infinity pool of self pity.
The world is too heavy on my shoulders
Cigarettes and coffee and you.

If I had to name three things I couldn't live without,
I guess those would be the things. But it’s not an addiction,
per say. I only like cigarettes when your callused fingers
offer them to me,
your wordless expression showing concern and contentess.
I blow away our pain and worries and pass it on for later,
thinking I’ll make some coffee again today.
For both of us like I usually do.
Coconut milk in yours and creamer in mine, right?

My toes are suddenly cold
I dip them in these tender aqua waters,
juxtaposing itself with the Tampa humidity
that laces my cup. I can't tell if
you resting your arms around my waist
brings a fire within me
or if it gives me chills.
I start swaying to some synonymous tune
that happens to play in both of our heads at this moment,
even though the only music is
the wind whistling
through the shells and stems of the palm leaves.

My lips are, coffee and cigarette and you stained.
The painful heat always disrupts this heavenly time for us.

So we’ll meet here, same time tomorrow.
I wouldn't want to live without it.
Cam Feb 25
Splish Splash with Tired arms
Inhale Exhale with Tired breath
Yell and Argue with Tired coach
Whine and Complain with Tired swimmers
Loud Static from a Tired radio
Bubble and Pour from a Tired coffee ***

At the pool,
sound became music, and music
a Tired cane for them to rest their weary limbs
I’m trying to read more so that I can enjoy all of your poems as well:)
Just Maria Jul 2018
When I was a kid, Summer was so much fun
Playing and laughing all day in the sun
We would all gather for a game of tag
Or running a race to the finish flag

We would think of ways to try and stay cool
Like going for a swim at the public pool
Drinking tall glasses of cold lemonade
While sitting under a tree in the crisp shade

Riding our bikes up and down the street
Waiting for the ice cream truck for a popsicle treat
Staying up late with my best friend
Hoping that Summer would never end

I'm grown up now but it's just not the same
The loss of innocence is such a shame
It's been a long time but they're still  very clear
Those summertime memories that I hold so dear
Summer is here and it got me reminiscing about those fun days I spent as a kid playing  with my friends having so much fun during summer vacation once school was out
Juno Dec 2020
Oh, the sweet warm nights of summer;
     barefoot on the pavement but for once it doesn’t burn,
          walking side by side under the newly born night.
I reach out to hug you and i laugh as i realize
     your hair still smells of chlorine from the pool.
Sharon Talbot Nov 2020
Happiness is an empty street
And a fast car.
Happiness is a clean, cold pool
You plunge into on a hot day.
Happiness is someone in your bed
Who’s gone in the morning
If you don’t want company
Or who stays if you do.
It’s someone who is happy to read the paper
Or take a hike with you.
It’s not worrying what others think
About you and your beliefs
And the wisdom to know who counts.
Happiness is strength,
Enough to fight the world
Or luxuriate in things gone well.
Happiness is attracting and repelling
Without having to try.
Happiness is a an aching fist
And an attacker’s black eye.
Happiness can be a warm gun,
Depending who gets hit.*
Happiness is not waiting for love,
Then falling in love in seconds.
It is knowing that you are fine
With or without a vow,
Yet being able to say “yes”,
When lightning strikes
And “no” when it’s just a cloud.
Yet happiness is not being sure
And bathing in uncertainty,
Of the pleasure in mystery.
Happiness is loving, faults and all,
An intensity so focused
That you’d gladly die for the one
Who was sent by some mixture
Of sunlight and shade,
On an ordinary afternoon,
Happiness is his body in yours,
His sweat on your skin in summer,
And body heat on cold nights.
Happiness is loving a little boy
Who looks like both of you
And knowing that love can transfigure
Time, exceed itself and encompass
More than one.
Happiness is contentment
In realizing how much you’ve had
And say you’ll feel rewarded
When your random life is done.
Happiness is the legend they tell
About you when you are gone;
The feeling is theirs and maybe yours.
Happiness is knowing that, if you go too far,
That there is no heaven or hell,
Or if there is,
Then anyone can play guitar.

September 9, 2020
I was reading about the Beatles' song "Happiness is a Warm Gun" and then listened to "Anyone Can Play Guitar" by Radiohead. That reminded me of how much the traditional idea of "heaven" has always bothered me, as well as the grandiose things we expect out of life. Why are humans so given to hyperbole about life and death? This was supposed to come out as a much simpler poem, but well, there it is.
*NOTE: 1-11-21 - In light of recent violence in Washington D.C., I wanted to explain that this line pertains mainly to an article about the Beatles' song (specifically, John Lennon's comments). I believe in the right to self-defense, but in no way condone gun violence, to make political points, vent anger or for any other reason!
Michael R Burch Oct 2020
NOTE: The Natchez Trace is the Nashville bar where I met my future wife Beth. We invented a game called "twister pool" which involved billiards, drinking and a fair bit of physical contortion ...

At the Natchez Trace
by Michael R. Burch

for Beth

Solitude surrounds me
though nearby laughter sounds;
around me mingle men who think
to drink their demons down,
in rounds.

Beside me stands a woman,
a stanza in the song
that plays so low and fluting
and bids me sing along.

Beside me stands a woman
whose eyes reveal her soul,
whose cheeks are soft as eiderdown,
whose hips and ******* are full.

Beside me stands a woman
who scarcely knows my name;
but I would have her know my heart
if only I knew where to start.

Not every man is as he seems;
not all are prone to poems and dreams.
Not every man would take the time
to meter out his heart in rhyme.
But I am not as other men—
my heart is sentenced to this pen.

Men speak of their "ambition"
but they only know its name . . .
I never say the word aloud,
but I have felt the Flame.

Now, standing here, I do not dare
to let her know that I might care;
I never learned the lines to use;
I never worked the wolves' bold ruse.
But if she looks my way again,
perhaps I will, if only then.

How can a man have come so far
in searching after every star,
and yet today,
though years away,
look back upon the winding way,
and see himself as he was then,
a child of eight or nine or ten,
and not know more?

My life is not empty; I have my desire . . .
I write in a moment that few man can know,
when my nerves are on fire
and my heart does not tire
though it pounds at my breast—
wrenching blow after blow.

And in all I attempted, I also succeeded;
few men have more talent to do what I do.
But in one respect, I stand now defeated;
In love I could never make magic come true.

If I had been born to be handsome and charming,
then love might have come to me easily as well.
But if had that been, then would I have written?
If not, I'd remain; **** that demon to hell!

Beside me stands a woman,
but others look her way
and in their eyes are eagerness . . .
for passion and a wild caress?
But who am I to say?

Beside me stands a woman;
she conjures up the night
and wraps itself around her
till others flit about her
like moths drawn to firelight.

And I, myself, am just as they,
wondering when the light might fade,
yet knowing should it not dim soon
that I might fall and be consumed.

I write from despair
in the silence of morning
for want of a prayer
and the need of the mourning.
And loneliness grips my heart like a vise;
my anguish is harsher and colder than ice.
But poetry can bring my heart healing
and deaden the pain, or lessen the feeling.
And so I must write till at last sleep has called me
and hope at that moment my pen has not failed me.

Beside me stands a woman,
a mystery to me.
I long to hold her in my arms;
I also long to flee.

Beside me stands a woman;
how many has she known
more handsome, charming,
chic, alarming?
I hope I never know.

Beside me stands a woman;
how many has she known
who ever wrote her such a poem?
I know not even one.

Keywords/Tags: Natchez, Trace, love, relationship, relationships, pool, billiards, rhyme, hope, pain, painful, solitude, drink, drinking, enigma, angel, stranger, ambiguity, woman
As I lay here, I allow the water to wash over me.
It caresses my skin with its delicate touch, as it laps against my body.
I let it flow through my finger tips, as my thoughts pour out of me.

I plunge myself down inside of it's depths.
Hoping that it will wash away my misery.
Praying that it will bring some clarity to my eyes.

My hair floats around me.
I watch the thick locks swirl around the pool.
I can feel it's slick form wrap around my frame in it's serenity, as my strength bids me goodbye.

One by one my muscles loosen with slack.
They allow the substance engulf my form in a hug.
It's arms are cold and smooth, as they envelope around me.
Without hesitation, the substance drags me deeper into it's inky briny.

As we travel further into the depths, my throat burns with thirst.
I allow the chilled liquid in with hopes that it will relieve my discomfort.
Bubbles explode from my mouth like silent screams.
I trail them with my eyes, and watch them run to the surface.

As I sink to the bottom, I take one last look at the crystal surface above me.
For once, I feel at peace with the world.
This rocky surface is my home until I have to face reality.
Ashley Rowan Sep 2020
I’m the pain in your back
I’m the soreness in your throat
I’m the cramp in your feet
I’m the ache in your teeth

I’m the grass on your lawn
I’m the water in your pool
I’m the ice in your drink
I’m the water when you sink
Ingram Aug 2020
I may never find the words
strong enough to explain
how you have made me feel
by pushing me away
and leaving me to drown
in this pool of loneliness and pain.

....I love you too, Mom....
Next page