Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
George Krokos Nov 25
When the loss of a loved one causes you much grief
and so you can’t for a while seem to find any relief,
it’s very likely that you have been too long attached
and possessiveness must now be in ways dispatched.
From 'The Quatrains' ongoing writings since the early 90's
Malia Oct 18
I sigh as I breathe again,
Finally, I finally
Made it out.
Made it through.
The storm’s behind me
And even if
I see another one brew
I know
I 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 what I can do.
That I can do
Do as you might, you
Cannot sully the beauty
For me; you'll add some.
Louise Sep 23
They are both orange or gingers, as in my dreams
both crazy and funny, like you and me
and in our faces, in the morning, they won't scream.

In the apartment we'll never split rent together,
between the rooms we'll never kiss in
the kitchen we'll never cook in, not for each other.

The litter boxes we won't take turns to clean
the food bowls we won't refill, like you and I never did
wiping mirrors until they glisten and gleam
and looking back now, it's a relief indeed

The bills we won't compute, pay and solve,
the fights that we'll never have.
I find comfort in our inexistent marital issues
and the divorce that we'll never have to encounter.
There's joy and pain in every relationship that ends. Grief and relief for every connection that's not meant to be.
Lacey Clark Sep 18
i keep a tight grip around
everything that hurts
i keep asking my therapist
"how do we let go?"
and what does that even mean?
she says
to only allow yourself
maybe 10-20 minutes
to think about all these things
and inhale
I never realized I had that power
to do that
and exhale
A draft from 2020. Pandemic feelings. and revisiting this in therapy again. now. and again. always
Jamesb Sep 7
Its strange how sound exists,
How silence fits around
The noise that may be far
Or may be near,
Yet always in the gaps
Within the noise
There is the sound
Of nothingness

I am noise and action
An assault upon the senses
Of everone it seems
In earshot or worse yet
Within the range
Of touch or eyes meet,
Close enough to sense
My inner turmoiled demons

Well soon enough,
Albeit not soon enough
For some,
My noise will diminish
My actions still,
And where I once crashed
About there will be purely
Blessed quiet.

There are times when even for me, enough is enough
Anais Vionet Aug 2
Our summer fellowships are over! We learned a lot - for instance - how summer’s a lot less fun when you’re hemmed-up, inside working. I mean, we preesh’d the clinical experience, the learning, and especially how good these fellowships will look on our med-school applications - seriously - but there were a hundred rules - aren’t rules incompatible with summer?

Hmm, Ok, let’s see, something poetic..

As the summer sun's blistering radiance waned, shadows,
muscled by sunrays to the marginal edges and corners,
gradually spread, like water - soothing, lenifying and assuaging
simmered nerves with their refreshing, canopied touch.

If sunlight scorched with heat, twilight soothed and gentled,
while varnishing, the dimming world with rainbow, event-horizons,
larger, more inventive, colorful and glorious than any mere mortal art.

Night gradually squeezed, unseen, through those vivid sunset cracks,
and refreshing night-air, drawn in by the last, escaping updrafts of heat,
rustled cooling relief to weary workers seeking the solace of evening and home.

back to unpoetic realities..

When work was finished, we’d retreat from the heat, racing up to the rooftop pool, like two happy porpoises out of school.

Whoever invented poolside food delivery, should win the Nobel Prize for ‘thank you very much.’ We wouldn’t go back to our rooms until it was dark and we’d started to prune.

Now, we’ve a month to relax before our Junior year begins. We got letters from Yale that said, “As upperclassmen..” “Upperclassmen!” We shouted as we danced in hand-holding circles, singing, “Upperclassmen, upperclassmen, upperclassmen, upperclassmen. upperclassmen.”  
We’ve grown so much at Yale.
BLT Marriam Webster word of the day challenge: Assuage: “when the intensity of something unpleasant is lessened”

hemmed-up = trapped
preesh’d = appreciated
event-horizons = when the horizon is an artistic event
Ash Jun 25
for once, I have known peace
and it has known me.
Louise Jun 19
I am filling my days with tick boxes
and to-do lists
Entertaining myself with others' inconveniences.
To save my heart from further
crack and freeze,
I play games and reward myself
with my own prizes.

I am burying every lingering question,
like you kept yours
locked inside the closet.
Like disposing our shared laughters
of their echoes and sounds,
I cover my own mouth as I cry
so no other soul hears it.

I am reducing my feelings to logic
Even my poetry and art have
become awfully calculated.
Compartmentalizing my daily plans
into sorry yet efficient lists,
I survive the nights by believing
losing me makes you elated.

I am weighing in the pros and cons,
like dancing with my own body
on a brittle balancing act.
Whispering lullabies
to my own weary heart and soul,
I find comfort in knowing
it will never come back.
Carlo C Gomez Mar 22
Ragged mist of stalled horizon,
from dry dock
to disadvantage point

second hand shops
of sackcloth and ash,
they contain multitudes

treading the outside edge
of perception,
rehearsing disaster
in fistfuls of earth,
and the immaterial:
the stuff of pure shadow

a bevy of dead buildings
resemble a fallen actress
in the throes of dance,
with emaciated figurines leaning
forward in the temple,
listening for clues
too far to whisper

work will never resume
on the tower,
and it will remain painfully scanty,
a place to bury strangers
or raise up cholera

the third world summer
sun on sacred walls,
red before orange,
let the rays burn away our sins,
we contain multitudes

but one step inside doesn't mean
we understand anything

Next page