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never knew how blinding the
sun could be before I hid from it.

the dark is a dangerously
safe place to be isn’t it?


I think I found a new emotion
it comes from experiencing
the beauty of things I find
repulsive

all the dream house
developments nestled
like cheap toys

sun glinting off the bumper
to bumper traffic
arcing above the horizon
semis blocking out the sun

parking lots
fractals of shiny beetle shell
car bodies disappearing into the glare

countless things
somewhere between awe and loathing
it’s kind of like a scream
stuck in your chest.


also,  I think I keep seeing people
who aren’t real.
they exist. other people see them too.
but they just seem out of place.
or maybe too in it.
too predictable

I say I hate public transit
but ya know
I think half the time
I like sitting on bart
more than doing
whatever the **** I left
the house to do

my mind wanders best when
my body is hurdling through
space at high speeds
it’s been weird
going thru an old journal
I sit with intravenous headphones
             a dopamine drip          
my dress pants are torn at the inner knee
my hair smells of yeast
my face itches
my eyes wander

we screech to a halt
and it hisses like a feral cat
the platform then filled with bodies
that funnel in
              shuffling        
bright as the undead

one seat from me
              he's balding        
and in the absense of hair, scabs
polka dotted,
uneavendly.
He barks to a younger man about his dog
but the younger man just stares straight forward

In the disabled seating, sits
a woman
who is not pregnant
             or crippled        
             or elderly        
her toenails are a browny-yellow, and curled like the petals of an uprooted daffodil
her breath is audible, from the tenth row back
            even over the bald man        
            even over the chugging motor        

At the front
a boy sits with his older brother -
who points at pictures in a tattered laminate book
and grunts
           yes        
and makes sounds
          yes, thats right, bus        
and groans
         it's okay, you'll see mum soon      
in discomfort,
snot seeping from his nose, spit
falling to the floor

Again, we screech to a halt
the alley cat hisses
only one at this platform

Her hair is neck length
her slip is long, silky and sky-blue
          as are her eyes        
fingers fiddle at the purse
         pursed lipped, she smiles      
... at the bus driver

Her boots sound the isle
they watch like its a runway
finding her way
Next to the boy
with the greasy hair
and the torn pants
and the sauce stained uniform
and the wandering eyes
and the inability to start a conversation

          and she sits      
          and they sit
all poetry is personal
some more than others

to just spread out your private feelings
     in your verse
may not be everyone's delight

but if you choose words
so that the many find their voices
    in your own
you may be lucky
to achieve all poets' dreams

your personal voice
becomes the public
Chris Heidelberg Dec 2019
Inspiration comes from history trials,tribulations that our minds creates...The productiveness is the principle of being a responsible father!!sometimes in life we have to be  presented as a nobody to become somebody...God is the author of our mominium the foundation of his principles is having faith!!life is very complicated with strange events on our minds and the stage events we have to appear on seemed frighten in many ways!!There will be low levels beyond high levels that will approach our characters but we have to choose what way we need to live for our family our heart overflows with the roots in our generation all we have to accomplish is faith to be what God wants us to be in his eyes.
Chris Heidelberg Dec 2019
Discrimination against my abilities are against the principles of my rules due to the account of success..The power that's in my character is my future!!The atmosphere around me is clouding my focus due to her dangerous plots...God hand is moving in all directions based on healing for the lost souls that's looking for peace..The dark side that's in the sunlight is defeated from the blood of Jesus Christ that's attached to my life..It's about boundaries when your mind is focused on principles about the past and pretense..The move your mind picks is totally due to your work on divine secrecy of society.. These words that my tongue brings to existence are reality but the force of negativeness is a battle vs positive...The gossip is a tolerance against the lost knowledge that's becoming a dream to our adventures..We will overcome the principles of all enemies with faith that's given from Christ cross..
Tizzop Dec 2019
December 16th, 2019  


Hereby it is stated that December 16th
Shall be proclaimed as a national holiday.

From now on this holiday shall be called

POET'S DAY

1.) On Poet's Day, poets do not have to work and receive a publicly funded donation.

2.) On Poets Day, readers don't have to work and receive a publicly funded donation.

3.) On Poets Day, poets and readers are encouraged to meet in public to share thoughts and love.
POET'S DAY. A HOLY-DAY. LET'S WORK ON IT TOGETHER.
Amanda Dec 2019
I am a walking talking PSA for the incorrect way to live
Number of dollars in my bank account matches how many ***** I give
Counting change
Pay for gas so I can go to work
I get stuck behind the transit again
I'm gonna go berserk!
A little ****
Start my day
..Or more like a lot
The location of my pipe I've somehow forgot
Mismatched socks
Greasy hair
Bloodstains on jeans
For breakfast had coffee and a bag of jellybeans
Bearing ***** nails and even dirtier mind
A hole in my pantseams right in the behind
Positive thinking not doing me any good
Failed everything I have tried believing I could
Negative thinking has not worked either
Applied both
Found success in neither
The marks humans left on skin and my feelings
Turned my pride into a pile of peelings
Where am I going?
Haven't a clue
Trying to climb out of the hell I fell into
Going crazy searching for an escape route
That does not exist because there's no way out
Just venting
TMReed Nov 2019
Initial here.
Pen your name
as they did,
as I did.

Now, sit still
and stay quiet.  
Focus on a point
if it helps,
hands buried
in your lap,
legs crossed
at your ankles,
mouth sewn
across your lips.
Let the plaster
steal your skin.

Shhh.
Don’t breathe
so loud.
Inside voices please.
Play by the rules.
Can’t you see
where we are?
Our garden of statues
deceives you.
Our garden of statues
has open ears.

Despite me, you speak,
you laugh, you sing
and pierce their stony skin
They hear you.
Everyone hears you.
Our garden of statues
slips away.

Screams smash
their balled fists
against their teeth,
against my teeth,
in our toxic wasteland.
Are you happy?
You’ve ruined it.
You’ve ruined me.

Now I hide my face
Cowering from thoughts
I pretend to know
And muttered curses
I pretend to hear
Why oh why
couldn’t you
stay your tongue?

We were happier in silence.
A B Faniki Oct 2019
While waiting for your date, you brought
Out your car key, then wiped it on your shirt
Sleeve and began to pick your ears with it.
I shook my head.
Done with picking your ears clean with your
Key, you used your handkerchief to clean
The key, then put it back in your pocket.
I kept staring at you.
Our body left to itself is in constant motion;
So you blinked, scratched your chin, and shifted from
One buttock to another: on the chair outside the cafe.
I smiled at you.
Done with the motion, you looked around you
To see if someone was watching you; satisfied
That no one was, you started picking your nose.
I peeked at you from behind my book.
When you realized what you were doing and
Where you were doing it, you quickly removed your
Finger from your nose and straightened your tie.
I shook my head.
After a while you began observing your
Nails; before you know it you have started
Biting off your nails, one after the other.
I kept staring at you.
As you put the finger that you used to pick
Your nose with into your mouth, realization
Dawned on you. Quickly you removed it.
I smiled at you.
You spite air three times, while cleaning
Your tongue inside your mouth. Using your hands
You covered mouth and nose, and then breathed into them.
I kept peeking at you from behind my book.
Your date arrived and gave you a peck on your check.
I, your observer, sitting two tables across from you,
Took a sip of my tea then stood up and left: thinking cats
Are not the only animals that groom themselves publicly.
From broken souls.
Nat Lipstadt Sep 2019
Unabashedly Public (return of the babies; my broken ribs, Zenith poem)


~for Sue Huff~

“unabashedly public,” the accusation,
causes me no blushing consternation
for it’s true, no secret kept worse, than this,
my sleeves, all outside-stained, heartfelt red,
the poems hide so little, with exception of my multifarious,
multivariate, semi-secret identities y’all mostly ferret out

“had no plans to look you up,”
but you kept sending selected of the eldest children,
even from 2012, I remember an afternoon well,
the odors, the food, my friend Al, now passed,
who made me think, indeed,
where do the poems come from?

a bequest to my eldest, who still never calls,
never writes, but will call me for help when
he finds himself in jail, or needs my (car) services;
its been a couple of years, but suspect time
is on my side, life makes needs, those **** happenstances,
that are never happy, but require your lawful presence

and on and on,

men & women, discovered, by their poetry reveled, revealed,
in thigh highs and backhoes, keepers of tortuous promises,
doing the quiet way, always asking, what’s the honorable thing,
all uncovered here, and secret sharers, these poets grab a holt
of my eye ducts, gifting insights that my brain tearfully inquires,
how did they know that bout me, these new kin and kindred?

my broken ribs?

the knowers know i am a summertime creature.
What they do not know, that on the last day
on where I summer shelter, a thin ring, a tree ring,
appears around my chest, marking my annualization,
some rings thick, thin, a year of seasons, all at different paces,
a year of rain & pain, thicker, slower did it pass

What they do not know, these fateful poets, all of my one faith,
these rings deep go, beyond the surface, constricting contractions,
they tighten, squeezing the lungs, slowing the breadth of my breath,
breaking ribs, reminder to write better, now that time is shortening,
labored breathing is a breathtaking experience, do, be better, chances for kindnesses lessened, why hide, time to be unashamedly public

had no plans to write today, especially this one, but circumstances
of my added-on circumferential measurement appearing, triggered by y’all sending me my poems of long ago, played mind-gotcha, this rambling emerged, to celebrate my being nearer to thee, thee, my passing, nearer than thee, this, me old-crust pieces, cutting the mouth’s soft-inside, inside softness, place where weeping & writing
leak on the poem tongue directly

to live in harmony with the
unending quests that yet, always need doing,
all in, are you, am I, awaiting your best attentions,
giving you thy own reparations, given to yourself;
if this then be my own equinox, autumnal equinox,

when the sun is at zenith, directly above,
the equator, this then my reparation, my

                                          Zenith poem**


9/24/19 12:15p
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