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Derrick Cox Dec 2020
You ride the wheels in the streets
it’s the first of many risks you take
But you don’t give a ****
because fear is your *****.
Not every road you skate on is smooth;
most of them are damaged
to make you crack
or make you wise.
And somewhere along the road
there’s always some *******
in your way
to make you crash.
But you’re ready for it
kick flipping over it all
landing on your board
with a smirk on your face.
Life plays too many tricks
to make it ******* you.
But you got tricks of your own
to make it work.
You take flight in the air
like you’re Icarus.
Sliding down poles
scraping off edges
like you’re in an action film.
You fall and get hurt,
but you never die of your boardam.
You get board
and keep on skating.
Anais Vionet Dec 2020
I pound the pillow, curse the clock and mock injunctions to rest.

The sun finally rises and its rays slantwise fall through the curtains as I dry my hair.

A meal, like a forced dose, we soak ourselves in wasted, nervous time.

Finally! We arrive at the competition...

Tension is here and tireless pressure.

The players waiting stiff as straw, tongues playing over dry lips.

Teachers and coaches unapologetic in their pallor.

Music drifts behind us and occasionally gasps as imperfections play like daring circus tricks.

The sparkling prodigy returns disappointed, grimace of a smile, stricken, he stares away as we search for words, oh! clumsy, unrepairable prince!

Suddenly, its time and I wonder why we are hurrying, feeling weak, momentarily frightened to go there.

On this stage in this great, hushed hall, enormity suddenly dawns with mass enough to crush me.

At last I sit before this odd Steinway music machine - my dearest mechanical friend.

A tremble resisted - the reward of mortal afternoons - endless practices fruit.

Eyes closed I prepare my best self - pushing all fear, all doubt, to the margins - and begin.

I hope, to recreate, one note at a time, Chopin's ancient impact - with hands flying, like tethered birds, I hammer out his timeless melody explosions, his streams of crazily exact math exam fiery semiquaver motions.. then, almost suddenly, I'm done.

I stand, joyously, nearly crying.. The world hasn't ended.
competition maybe good for the soul but it can be ******* the nerves =]
Matilda Nov 2020
Where is the Messiah?

Are you there God?

It’s me, your pariah.


I’ve become something of a liar,

a mystifier, a cad, a fraud:

Where is the Messiah?


To deliver from brimstone and fire?

Against the one wielding the iron rod?

It’s me your pariah,


son of the dawn, prince of the nebula

the gates of Judecca have thawed.

Where is the Messiah?


I’ll take silver, like Judas and Delilah

their feet are swift; to shed blood.  

It's me, your pariah.


Your ***** for hire,

Oh, how I await the flood.

Where is the Messiah?

It’s me your pariah.
Please Critique! I would love to improve!
Mark Wanless Nov 2020
my philosophy
is kindness without quarter
i practice poorly
Isabella Sep 2020
Succumbing to pain
Growing numb to the ice chains
Forgetting the cage
Vi Aug 2020
I Have
With you
This faith
This love
This intimacy
This knowing

I Have
In you
My love
A lilt
A tune
A flowing

You are
Sometimes
My darling
Worlds
Of ache
And pain

You are
Right now
This moment
Forever
And
The same

I long
To tease
Apart
The me
The you
The thy

I want
To scream
And shout
You are
Not you
You’re I

I love you
Slow
And softly
With tenderness
Not shame

I always
Was you
Always
We are
one, And
The same

There is
A vast
Awareness
That seems
Not yours
But mine

There is
Some solace
In that
You are
My very
Mind
Loreah Aug 2020
The glass of water shattering,
in my imagination and almost beyond
like everything else in so many ways
but not me, never me;
I am... the safety
I am the padding of the cell
I am the broken fuse allowing all the light to shine.
I am the possibility that smothers the fear in cradle.
Paige White Jun 2020
Launch a caustic haiku turned flailed terzanelle
Three lines of blather from a piqued poet’s feather
Skillful syllables omit nature; gone straight to hell

Obsession sketching rhythms rhyme then measure
An ink blot parking lot commencing to swell
Three lines of blather from a piqued poet’s feather

Jot, “Not the verse that got away!” I yell
Prosodic and onomatopoeic
An ink blot parking lot commencing to swell

Fingertips that linger quips mythopoeic
Bring monochroic wars of subtle allure
Prosodic and onomatopoeic

My iambic pentameter’s amateur
I’m done with these words, ink, terms altogether
Bring monochroic wars of subtle allure

To ponded frog on a bough’s frond, any weather
Launch a caustic haiku turned flailed terzanelle
I’m done with these words, ink, terms altogether
Skillful syllables omit nature; gone straight to hell.

A. Paige White 6/1/20
My first Terzanelle.  Input is appreciated  (don’t know why my other one didn’t show up. Oh well. Still learning my way around)
Wither, weary eyes
  Come seek me here at high noon
    Blind, in the sunlight.
------------------------------------------
   Silver light sings now
  Shadowing the night so deep;
Called, I answer.
-----------------------------------------
Down where mischief keeps
  Its uncertain ***** laughter
    I build my garden.
-----------------------------------------
     ***** and stick, the thorns
  Growing lovely now, the leaves
Rarer still, the rose.
-----------------------------------------
Icy crystals of frost
  Lacing the window like lattice
    Fading in the sun.
-----------------------------------------
   Whisper, quiet touch;
  Your skin, soft and supple;
My world, beside me.
-----------------------------------------
Wheezing, hacking hurt
  That torments me like the plague
    Springs sweet gift to me.
Andy May 2020
Words at the tip of my tongue
At the nib of my pen
Refusing to step outside
And see the light of day
I nudge them a little
Encourage them to see the world
They don't have to be perfect,
They just need to be my vessel
My messenger
To contain and carry my thoughts
I just need someone
Or even something else to know

I don't force them outside
If they refuse to obey
I just **** them gently
Day by day
A scribble at a time
Until the words tumble out
Ready to come outside
Each step easier than the last
Tripping less often than they used to

Maybe on some days
The words become more stubborn
Revert back to their old ways
Refusing to be written
But it's alright
They just need a break
Give them some time
And they'll get back to their groove
Words dancing on paper
In perfect harmony
In sync with the rhythm
Of what my heart
Wants the world to read
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