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Zywa Oct 2023
My poet friends sleep,

it's quiet, I look at them --


eat a banana.
"Desolation Angels" (1965, Jack Kerouac), chapter 2-1-13: Mexico City, written 1961

Collection "MistI"
Dani Just Dani Sep 2023
This morning I woke up
with music rolling
down my sleeves,
I sit up and as a soft ballad
That the universe sings
Runs laps on
the rims of my ears,
Making me jump up from my bed
To slowly put out my arms,
I can barely keep my eyes open
As I look to see
My right hand holding
unto the hips of the non existent,
My left hand grabbing
Tightly unto the hand of memories,
I waste saliva to ask the quiet room
If they are ready yet,
I don’t wait for an answer,
I slide through the path
That has been walked upon,
I twist and turn and smile.
I let the emptiness
rest upon my arms
As I let her down
as close to the ground as I can
Just to bring her back up
In a subtle graceful movement.
The music stops
and I let go.
lua Sep 2023
summer passed
quietly in the night
said his final words
in a mumbled phrase
drunk off of a morning haze
stuck in a dazed state

it didnt phase me
at first
nor did i notice
when his body turned limp in my bed

summer passed
and he did so in silence
because he wanted me
to sleep
and to rest.
Andrew Rueter Jul 2023
I’m not stupid
I know I’m quiet

and I’m not quiet
about how I know I’m stupid.
Anne Molony Jun 2023
heavy air,
a body beside me,
it's face buried in a pillow, resting
the two of us like sprawled starfish
on a sea bed of blanket

here we lie, centered in our narrow room,
a room made bright by the single skylight above,
clouded  

the following forming the soundscape of this moment:
- Sam's breath, my breath
- a pair of bluebottles buzzing and bumping into the walls
- an itch every now and then of sunburned skin, a leg brushing itself against the sheets
- a distant Tristan singing songs to his daughter down in the kitchen

there is a bucket with sick in it
there is a ***** laundry pile
there is a red, sun cream stained bikini hanging on the door handle
there are two clean, white towels and
two holiday cameras: the first's film already finished, the second with a little yet to go

Maybe we'll go to the beach
Maybe we'll go to the town or discover
a new town or ride our bikes out again until we find somewhere just right

the day has so much promise and
I have so little I have to do
but lie here and be grateful for time
Ariana May 2023
When I die
plant me like a seed at the roots of a willow tree
so that I may be reborn amongst Her roots,
and travel to the tips of Her ever swaying leaves;
Let me fervently fight the stillness of death,
forever whipping and lashing,
together,
with Her branches.
xavier thomas May 2023
Internally I blame self-consciously self-inflict imaginary damage to lower my bright soul into a box
externally unconsciously making
my body sick
blaming other elements
around me
as seasons change
When I think about it,
I replay your words
I shouldn’t have to answer to
knowing truthfully I did nothing wrong to make you think I’m untrustworthy or that I’m a threat.
But because guilt exist,
It causes me to think I actually did you wrong.
Nigdaw Apr 2023
I'm going through a quiet patch
the voices have lost their urgency
turning to annoying whispers
sometimes they give me a line
and I ignore it, try to remember
then regret not writing it down
it's almost nice, the quiet
I still have the urge, but not
the spark to carry it out
like an old dog that lies
on the step in the sun dreaming
that once he could've herded sheep
but it's beyond him now
so dreaming is all he has left
but the sun is warm on his back
and there's always tomorrow
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