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Tony Tweedy Dec 2019
When I was young life came at such a pace that choices were often ill-considered.
Now I am older the pace is easier but the important choices are all made and they can only be made to change by actions ill-considered.
The choices were often difficult as is the route to change the consequences.
Most of us choose to languish in the discontent we made and we ask ourselves... "is this all there is?"
LC Dec 2019
the people who should protect her
stare into her exhausted eyes 
and hammer nails into her heart.
chains bearing obligation and trauma
coil tighter and tighter around her ankles. 
resisting worsens the sensation -
almost cutting off the circulation
until the pain is so great 
that numbness takes over,
which leads to not resisting,
which feels like resignation - 
and the cycle keeps going.
all she wants is to run freely 
until the nails and chains
are distant memories 
that she will never
pass on to anyone else.
Pedro Dec 2019
Maybe it's fate
for me to be
only ever seen
as a shadow on the wall
of people's minds and memory
Sometimes I wonder if not being of worth to none is a blessing... It sure feels lonely, tough (also, once again, my rhyming *****... Sorry 'bout that)
Sam Arin Sep 2019
Focus.

Just try to
Focus.
I’m hearing,
but not listening

Focus.

Why cant I
Focus?
maybe because
Im writing this poem
or maybe…

Focus.

Youre not even trying to
focus
im not hearing anymore
im sure not listening

focus…

i cant
my mind is too
gone...
Part one of two poems written in class one day both expressing very different emotions and reactions to the same situation
Arthur Habsburg Apr 2019
In the midst of thoughtless sand
Just off the coastal road
Where systematic palm trees
Provide just about the only distraction,
Ronnie runs a run down hotel
There in the gulf of Aqaba.
He knows his job well,
He's letting the place cool down a little.
He often sleeps in the day, at reception,
And he's got a glass eye that doesn't blink,
You can book yourself in for one night only
Unless Ronnie has know you,
Has seen you before,
Someplace shady, perhaps,
For it is said that,
Ronnie's tanned for several lifetimes..
Stay a night and
He'll treat you well,
For he's always up for a drink
And his pocket holds more than one light,
He says he used to be Egyptian royalty,
But now he's got his own cabin here
A bit out of sight.
But that's not where he keeps his things..
His cupboards are blank
And his blinds are eternally drunk,
They never come up.
He says he's known this bunk a while,
About the time fame went  aside
And the rain got into the swimming pool,
And now  you can watch it bloom with niffy pride.
And so half a bottle goes
And midnight it arrives,
And Ronnie sits you down in his dimly lit back room
And begins to tell you about the kind of people he can find:
Those who want to bring you luck,
Other who'd sell you gold at half the price,
No muck,
You may shrug
As he claims to know where the good times dock
And the bad times kept at bay,
And though he admits that he never had a close shave
You notice a scar on his cheek.
He was a minion in the spice trade
Before that war in Mozambique,
A model soldier he was
Credulous & meek and
Conveniently stupid,
So he raged and looted
And his ***** got him booted
To sunny California,
Where he got Cupid tattooed on his upper arm,
He drank with philanthropic truckers
Smoked with greedy hippies,
And he still wears these bracelets
That look like the end of a shredded sleeve
And a pinched fedora
that had its ex head murdered,
It was down town LA that instilled in him a feel
For rough bourbon
And sweeter-than-perfect promises,
He says he'd known love
Real love too,
And sank with it
Bottomless.
He watched dreams become skeletons
And skeletons become dreams
In the cities that took shape of parodies of yore
Upswept.
You notice that he's got almost no nails left,
But he swears he never stole
And he never wept
He says he begged in his bead,
But his pleas weren't quite potent enough
His visions too misty to get handcuffed
And put to work,
So he scuffed for joy
In the midnight murk
And morning slumbers,
Safety in lascivious female numbers,
Action in cursed bottles & pills,
Castrated wonders & faceless thrills that meant nothing but fills
Merging into chaos
He was disappearing fast,
Diving towards greater liberty of thought and speech,
Skedaddling from basic options,
Throttling in gaudy plastic oceans,
Without a map, without an anchor,
He says he finished school with rancour,
The only thing he took to end..
He takes a swig before he brags
That even death might overlook his self
Eventually..
Potentially, maybe,
But you know for a fact that actually,
He's 16 years to live and that is it.
And 4 years after that nobody will remember ****.
And when you tell him that,
the morning comes,
But he doesn't **** or argue,
He smiles, puts up his thumb
And calls it a fair bargain.
Tommy Randell Apr 2019
Forty years ago I parked my car
At the bottom of my 2nd wife's drive.
She watched me, as I walked away,
As I turned and waved goodbye.

She hadn't guessed that I would leave
With nothing but my pride
And the look of confusion on her face
Made it all worth while

I didn't and don't hold it against her
I still look back and smile
She gambled and won all she asked for
But nothing I gave her was mine
All true.
JJ Inda Nov 2018
another ink blotch,
a sentiment in darkness,
timeless.
yet, one you forgot.
just a speck
trying to sound off.
a heart- restless,
learning to let go.
another drip of pen onto paper
and then,
type it up so (they) can murmur
and lie aloud again.
A
My hatred simmers in a *** on yesterday’s stove. The store was out of what I needed to spice it up and I left my Visa card there. My neck is sore from keeping my chin up. I’ve hung the acid soaked sentences out back where the wind and sun will dry them. I marked a map and programed GPS but somehow I  still managed to get lost. There is no future, only now, and I can’t read the instructions Google won’t translate for me.  I have a dollar bill to keep me fed with manna in the morning and a hamburger at night. There is a screaming fit locked up in a closet in the basement. Resignation looks around and wonders who resigned - It couldn’t have been me.  The dam that won’t release the tears shows signs of cracking at the bottom. The bow that shoots the vengeful arrows has a broken string. Standing tall will only render me a better target. •The pillars that support my worth are festooned with poison ivy. The waves of loss and terror crash and roll but I’ve become a cork.
I float.
                      ljm

                                                            ­      
                                                                ­                                            B
•NOTIFICATIONS•

•M­y hatred simmers in a *** on yesterday’s stove.
•The store was out of what I needed to spice it up and I left my        
   Visa Card there.
•My neck is sore from keeping my chin up.
•I’ve hung the acid soaked sentences out back where the wind and
   the sun will dry them.        
•I marked a map and programed GPS but somehow I still
   managed to get lost
•There is no future, only now, and I can’t read the instructions
   Google won't translate for me.
•I have a dollar bill to keep me fed with manna in the morning and
   a hamburger at night
•There is a screaming fit locked up in a closet in the basement.
•Resignation looks around and wonders who resigned - It couldn’t
   have been me.
•The dam that won’t release the tears shows signs of cracking at the
   bottom
•The bow that shoots the vengeful arrows has a broken string.
•Standing tall will only render me a better target.
•The pillars that support my worth are festooned with poison ivy.
•The waves of loss and terror crash and roll but I’ve become a cork.
•I float.
                           ljm
WHICH FORMAT DO YO LIKE BEST?  I can't decide.  Please give me your vote for A or B.   Thanks
Jimmy Solanki Oct 2014
Two pieced
My bones are wilting away
****** inside the wonderland
Two pieced
My two souls are drifting away
Stuck inside a corner on the edge

Up and down is immaterial
Only thing real is then and now
Two pieced
My heart has been tormented
Pieces don't recognize
The wholes of themselves

Like shattered remains of children
From a warzone dismissed
Everything is broken
Two pieced is my name
This way I still remain
Depression lurks close.
Poetry is an escape.

— The End —