Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Do we know what time
How something
Amazing will arrive
Feeling to be brave
A voice inside do you know
To love- run- or hide
Do we smell a rose

Do we know a true love

Heavenly power turning
  God above
A fruitful taste of grapes
  or a cruise ship lip to lip
  Escape mind- trip
New birth celebration show
What do we really know?

Your birth or what's now
A wish give it all you got
Wake up call or last shot  
Godly light angelic face  
Big candle to blow
Step forward you are the big show
Chosen one  pray to rejoice

Embrace your age
Every facet heart of a magnet
Bright sunset how you met
Eyes focused all mind-set
Meditation all healing wet
Godly voice to transform  
But God knows

Sweet serenity lifted gravity
  *     *     *    
To envision with all conditions
Dressed on a mission
But nothing to confess
Your self worth in uniform
Somehow you smell the fire  
Darkness feeling a hint of low
But you rise up different world
Maturing growing

A healing flower
blooming*
A world of fighting pins
of a cactus
Mind it fits like a genius
God only knows
What do we know?
A life do we really have the answers and what do we really know appreciate what we have
"It's not a bad life,
Only a bad day"
To which I respond right away,
"Okay,
But what if it's everyday?"
Their reply?
"That's just life"
"Oh, ya don't say"

©2024
Jeremy Betts Apr 15
I'll be right here
Or thereabouts
Have to fight fear
Endless bouts
Year after year
Who I am is denounced
The end is near
Shamelessly announced
The truths back there
A mute man shouts
Doesn't matter where
The blind will pounce
A future seer
Only raises doubts
The amounts one drowns in
Could be less than
A powder or liquid ounce

©2024
Jeremy Betts Apr 12
Searching wildly
Mind and heart
Panics arrival forever untimely
Becoming flailing limbs in the dark
Desperately feeling for a way toward a way to put it mildly
Never finding more than a question mark
Tripping on everything I should have already put behind me
Blindly trying to look over everything said from the start
Only finding it's the same as before the start mark
I'm sorry to report
All I can find,
All I really have
Is another sorry sorry
One more weightless apology

©2024
Steve Page Apr 6
As a kid, was I
as accomplished a storyteller
as I remember?
Did I truly evade consequence?
As an adult, was it a little similar?

Is it just me?  
Or lately have I found more truth?
Do the stories seem to you
to be intertwined with unexpected twists?
Do they immerse you,
despite their incompleteness?
Do you find that this gives space
for imagination, for permission
for grace to flower?
Are you surprised by the colour?
Does the sweetness of the fragrance
stagger you as it does me?

Have I always been a storyteller?
A teller of stories?
And are they really unfinished?
Is there more fragrance to come?
I was reminded of the power of questions and so wrote this version of the previous poem (Story To Come).
Anais Vionet Mar 24
I babysit the daughter (Ivy) of a doctor at the hospital where I volunteer (to accumulate ‘clinical hours’ for my med-school applications). According to my mom, the purpose of my current existence is to get into med school.

That may sound crazy or theater-mom-ish but she has strong arguments - like Aristotle (all things strive toward full potential), stoicism (there’s a role for all living things) and vitalism (there’s a purpose, in life, beyond survival) - so, who am I to argue?

Straight brag, I’m a certified, Girl Scout Safe-Sitter®. Little Ivy and I will be eye to eye (metaphorically) for three hours today - no phones, TV or Internet - just paints, swings, barbies, a Montessori math game and a new toy called “MyFirst camera” which lets her take pix, and then print them, low-res and smeary, on ultra-thin paper.

I met Ivy when she was 4, now she’s on the edge of 6. She’s got large chestnut brown eyes that match her hair - which is cut in a shoulder length angled-bob. She’s about 3½-feet of cuteness, in her pink ballet-flat shoes. I’d describe her clothes, but she changes about every hour. “What are you wearing now?” I find myself asking the princess or jedi. “Can I help you officer?” I ask the business-like cop in a ballet tutu.
We’re old hats at this babysitting gig.

When Ivy picked up her camera, I asked, “Can I take your picture?” reaching out to take the thing.
“In a minute,” she said, lining me up in the viewfinder. “No,” she said, suddenly turning into a photographer highly critical of my look, “(pose) Like a model,” she directed, before striking, for a brief moment, a perfect, indifferent, hands-on hips pose herself. Kids pick up on everything. I took her direction and struck a pose.

Later, as we painted dragons that looked like flowers, she asked, “Why’s the sky blue?”
When Ivy asks questions, it’s like she’s getting a second opinion or testing to see what I know.
“Blue?” I asked, acting like I was confused. “The sky is GREEN.”
“NNOOO,” she said.
“You’re colorblind!” I exclaimed in alarm, “Does your mom know?!
“The sky is BLUE,” she said, with the seriousness of certainty.
“We’ll see,” I said, like a doubting thomas.
I held up five fingers, “How many colors am I holding up?”  
She looked at me, side-eyed for less than a beat, then said “No.”
We had hours of fun.

Later, when her mom came home, she asked “How’s it going guys?” As she set down her purse and keys.
Ivy looked up from her work, gluing a collage of the day's photos to poster board and said, “Ok.”
“We had fun,” I reported, “I’ve been teaching her some comedy things.”
“Like what?” her mom asked, nonplussed.
Ivy eyed me suspiciously.
“Like when she falls, she should wait for the laugh. She can’t just - hop right up.”
straight brag = shameless self-promotion
Jeremy Betts Mar 23
What I wouldn't give to be normal
Well,
Let's be real,
I know nothing about normal
Is there an actual definition that could be written in a way to make it simple?
I've tried to define it but I don't think it's possible
Forcing this to be rhetorical
But here we go,
What is normal?
All I've been able to conclude is it's normal to question what's normal
Other than that though,
It may be undefinable

©2024
Bekah Halle Mar 7
Where shall we go?
To get our fix?
To get our relief?
Peace?!

To the fiz?
To the *****,
To the fax,
Pals,

Or to our faith?
Wherever 'it' is, is our saviour.
The gods of this world,
Masquerading as possible solutions,

But leaving everlasting aches,
Not true peace.
Leaving us, searching, in
Purgatory.
Anais Vionet Mar 4
There’s no substitute for life.

I find myself,
seduced by yearnings.

I’m flourishing here,
contemplating sin.

I’ve nothing to do
when I’ve nothing but time.

I’m reusing solitudes -
they’ve become ragged.

What’s the answer then?
Should I seal my girly heart,
engage in uncaring kisses
like it’s ‘casual friday’ -
connive brief excitements
- just to feel a pulse?
BLT Marriam Webster word of the day challenge: Connive: to be secretly sympathetic to something wrong or unacceptable
Ghostverses Feb 21
heaven on earth.
a strange phrase for such a dreadful place.
i always ask myself, "what makes earth so.. peaceful?"
I have yet to get answer.
sitting here, hearing the rain drip down buildings and houses.
Maybe I can count to a thousand reasons why.
maybe I'm just delusional.
heaven.
that word.
makes very many people happy.
but why not me?
am i afraid?
or am i just dull.
earth.
a planet we humans call home.
but are we really home?
questions like these keep me up at night.
heaven on earth.
why is it so cold?
honestly, I thought about this while my boyfriend is peacefully sleeping. I don't know.. maybe i think better when my partner is a ease. :)
Next page