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MRosen Oct 2020
You are the edge of the universe,
The boundaries of my existence,
A place where students love to converse,
But only from a distance.

I had to write a poem,
But I didn’t know what about.
My mind was at a tipping point,
So I settled upon a pout.

I lay on the soft green blobs,
As I pondered the task at hand.
My head began to throb,
for it felt like a bag of sand.




And in my hour of darkness,
I did not wince nor cry aloud.
For then I heard a harkness,
That pushed me off the ground.

My teacher said a sound,
That made my heart abound
“The stairs that lead to nowhere”

Now that is quite a title,
I chose to use it for my poem-
The words are the most vital.

You are the edge of the universe,
The boundaries of my existence,
A place where students love to converse,
But only from a distance.
MRosen Oct 2020
I ask them to chill out…

Or at least to stop screaming.

I say “it’s eleven and you will wake the neighbors”.

I want them to snuggle up with me on the couch.

I want to watch disney movies as a family

Or play a round of werewolf altogether

But all they will ever want to do is run around the house,

Screaming like chickens with their heads cut off
Datore Fargo Sep 2020
I watch you sleep,
as the sun wakes up.
You slumber,
as songbirds,
chirp themselves,
awake.
Is it odd,
if I count,
the eyelashes,
that fall on your cheek?
Wishful thinking,
for time to pause,
even just for a moment.
Love,
Me.
This is the second poem of the letter project. I hope it reaches you.
Datore Fargo Sep 2020
I could,
send this letter,
but you’d never read it.
Instead,
I will write it,
and sweep it,
beneath the carpet.
Maybe you know,
possibly you don’t,
I could never tell,
even if I wanted.
Why is life,
so unfair,
leaving bitterness,
on my tongue?
I desire,
to know,
the answer.
Love,
Me.
This will be the start to a series of poems written in letter form. The letters will come, they may be often, or not, but they will be written.
When I first met you, I cried.
Looking upon your silhouette, I wondered.

Reading your articles, I wanted to know you.
Searching for hours, I would find you.

A traveling boxer, just breaking into fame.
A husband, a father.

She moved from Pennsylvania to Oregon, and was your demise in 1902.
I moved from Pennsylvania to Oregon, and I will remember you.

A decade younger than her, but I feel the responsibility heavy on my shoulders. The resemblance to me, uncanny

She took you to your grave and I will celebrate your life.

Why did it have to take this long?
Check out the Alonzo Tucker Project on Facebook and YouTube to learn more about this man.
Arcassin B Mar 2020
By Arcassin B


I could see my dreams and anguishes,
seeing them as I go further,
your world is ****** in so many languages,
that you might be okay with ******,
I could see that music is failing to secure you from
all the bad,
famous people die so much , but just think how did
they get like that?
Big whoop right ?
do you even care?
is this fueling you?
take out your phone and record someone dying here,
do you know the stupid **** that you do?
Big whoop right ?
do you even care?
is this fueling you?
take out your phone and record someone dying here,
do you know the stupid **** that you do?

I manifest and push back,
the negative **** that lingers,
illuminate and attack,
my mind will shine like veneers,
take allegiance to myself , you should hear the words
I'm saying , is this thing on?
I should have guessed it , they rigged it,
As long as my mind knows,
then my imagination shows,
wondering off to the plane,
flying off into the sky, I'm too cold like an eskimo,
will the evergreen forever grow, i guess nobody knows,
My love will show though so
Big whoop right ?
do you even care?
is this fueling you?
take out your phone and record someone dying here,
do you know the stupid **** that you do?
Big whoop right ?
do you even care?
is this fueling you?
take out your phone and record someone dying here,
do you know the stupid **** that you do?

©abpoetry2020
https://arcassin.blogspot.com/2020/03/big-whoop-featured-on-upcoming-lp.html
Sabila Siddiqui Sep 2019
I come from a place of empathy
where perceptions
is a mix of colors
of hers, his and their
perspective.

I come from a place of empathy
where ears are made of patience,
drums sensitive to the change in wavelength,
de-weaving complexity
into simplicity.

I come from a place of empathy
where the emotions lacerating
hearts – sliced,
run parallel through me.

You lock into my embrace,
finding the comfort of compassion
amongst the rusty and scraping conditions.
  
When you project anger, fear, and angst
I start dissecting your past,
your rearing,
justifying and understanding
the origins of the
hand and experiences
that shaped you.

You render your mind open,
as I step in
walk among the stars, darkness
and the turbulent waves crashing within.

Your emotions tingle my skin,
and linger within me
as I understand wor(l)d apart,
developing cross-cultural understanding
and objectifying subjectivity.

Though I begin to understand
the origins, stem of your being,
swaying with your words
and hazing in the paradox of other’s being.
I choose to succumb to gravity,
and remain sturdy on certain beliefs.
This poem is on the challenges of empathy along with the benefits/importance of it.
A Simillacrum Aug 2019
who am i to say if the mozzer's lost touch?
what does my rough draft have
that is missing from his manuscript?
nothing. so, i'll sit down here
before the microphone and say,
Dream Fisher Jul 2019
I've had a cut in my brain for a while,
Put a bandage on it but words still leak out
Drew some scars on my side
So I've got some phantom pain now
I might be a spaz, working really fast
"I wish I had an ounce of your energy"
Once that wish was granted,
They might see that they can't stand it,
I can't sit still, I can't just chill.
Even when my body is in stasis,
My heart is racing, my mind is chasing
Like kids playing games in a school yard
Then I just runoff like a sentence
But I never get too...

Far from perfect but worth a second glance
Adrenaline pumping, I'm on my twenty something chance
I've been dancing with the devil
And I could swear I saw Goodie Proctor there
I put my pedal to the metal,
Hit a witch switch and blew off the witch's hat
Then jumped through the golden vase.
Getting jiggy in my own craft.

I'm glad I have today,
I would love to see tomorrow too
Every day is someone's last
I just hope it's not me, or you.
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