Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
helena alexis Oct 2017
it’s 9:30pm on a
chilly autumn night
i step into the
passengers seat
of your car as you
start the engine

music blaring from
the speakers as the
thundering bass
vibrates through
the entire car
i couldn’t get a word
out because it was so loud

we stop at a red light
I turn to look at you
as the red light
hits your face
i wanted to take a picture
it looked so aesthetically
pleasing with your side profile
as the red light shined in your face
making your face bright red like
the blush on my face when people
ask me about you

your grip on the steering
is so strong that i can see
your veins popping out
you look so focused
when you drive
it’s ****
with only one hand
on the wheel
the other i wish
was gripping my thigh

late night drives
with you are
my favorite

- night drives
made it a little longer and detailed :)
elizabeth Feb 2017
Remembering the songs
I hummed as a small child
Remembering the innocence
Of my mind as a small child
Remembering the joy
Imbedded into my heart as a small child
Remembering the love
I believed in as a small child
Remembering the stories
That took me away as a small child
Remembering everything
That I was as a small child
Reminds me of everything
That I'm not as a young woman.
January 31, 2017.
I revised this poem after I got some feedback from a wonderful young lady named Hannah who runs a blog called "2B or Not 2B: Creative Writing Tips and Tricks. Please check it out, it really is a wonderful blog. (P.s. I won this month's poetry contest with this revised version of "Remembering"!)
aniket nikhade Jan 2016
Certainly there are moments when something seems to be possible
This is then followed by moments when the same thing seems impossible

Anticipation is followed by risk,
a failure to get the required thing done,
an uncertainty, an anxiety,
all of which makes the heart beat much faster.

Important things become much more important when importance of important things is realized, understood and accepted.

Time passes by, more and more new things come up
Time is running out
Time now to think about something specific
Something definite along a definite line of action
Lot of things happened up until now,
more things will happen along in the future.
Definitely the present needs to be separated and sorted out with regards to the future. .

Something like this has happened,
something because of which the future has come into focus,
then something similar to this much have been in existence since the past.
Something like this seemed to be certain, then the next moment with regards to the same it seems as if there was no way out.
For a few moments it seems as if everything is over.

Either of the two,
one thing remains for sure,
some sort of development was happening in the direction of an inevitable thing that has happened and is in existence in the present.
Something which cannot be averted, neither ignored, nor denied or even avoided.

What happened in the past was an experience while what is taking place in the present is a lesson.
An experience is gained when lessons are learnt and revised.

Definitely when the lessons learnt in the present are revised in future,
then they will add to the experience,
which is in existence then,
enriching the experience gained from past.
Experience helps in getting an insight of what else and what more seems to be possible in the present and in doing so the future gets revealed.
Anthony Perry Nov 2015
I go where ever the wind blows, I keep running to where no one knows.

Everything is in chaos when I become part of the world, I have to find a way out because my logic is always being burned and curled,

sometimes when my head feels unwound I shred my skin then my mind feels unbound.
No one really stays around for long so Im trying to get used to life without sound until the day I'm gone.

There is no beast inside my cage only an animal incarcerated in rage,
like a demon from an endless age,
I learned to conjure myself from every dark place I know, like a story with an endless page. I live my life for myself and accept every experience until the end of my days.
Thanks to Kaitlin Floyd for helping refine the way I position my final draft.
aniket nikhade Nov 2015
Everything you know and all that you have learnt in the past,
one thing will always be there to remember, never forget the past.

Lessons learnt in the past need to be recalled, revised and remembered
No one knows,
no one can tell,
no one can predict,
when the need of the hour arises,
when it becomes necessary to recall and remember a thing from past.

True, absolutely true
A thing from past better remain in the past, but that also means never forget the past.

Always remember all that is important from the past,
never erase and forget everything about the past.
No one knows when a thing from past will come to rescue in the present.

When you learn new things
When you try all the time to remember something in a different way
Always remember one thing, everything belongs to the present
So no need to worry about the future.

It’s important to keep learning
Important to keep in mind that over a period of time the present will become a thing of past,
the future will then become present and everything will change simultaneously.

So whatever you have learnt and all that you know,
Better keep in mind and always remember
Nothing lasts forever.

Neither the past, nor the present and also in the future things will remain different
So even with all the changes that have taken place in the present as well as in the future, always remember, never stop learning new lessons.
It's Time Again to Learn Something New - A New Lesson Begins..........
Esteban D Pitre Sep 2014
Cockroaches in striped pajamas
stained by the scent of snow-melted blood
under a compassionate moon.
No reflection to admire
other than the eyes of a thousand
miserable and sordid puppets
with shaven heads and wooden clogged shoes.

God and their souls
murdered by a vile evolution,
crucibles of Jewish remains.
Rabbis and priests,
scholars and the poor:
moving targets with stars on their sleeves.

Naked souls waited,
listening to the gods of old Germany.
“Zieh dich aus! (Take off your clothes!)”
They shouted, pushing
them further into the chamber.
The doors
closed shut behind them.
A deathly fog clouded
among them,
putting them to drown
under a thick green darkness.
Agonized voices
shredded apart
as their nails clawed
at the concrete walls.
Women and children held each other tight,
whispering Kaddish,
hoping and praying.

Twenty minutes
of shouting and stumbling,
Twenty minutes
of spluttering and gargling.
The little ones witness the eyes
of their guardians writhe and turn white,
as their bodies jolted
as their lives were stolen.

The gods finally entered
to clear the room,
to pile the dead onto the carts,
to visit the crematorium.
To finally shovel the mounds of
striped clothing,
to recycle and burn the rest.

But this end comes
as a sweet release
as their ashes
were sent through the chimneys
and into the air
to rest in their graves.
Aron Oct 2014
The overwhelming sadness that had covered my heart,
that day it melted away into the summer sky.
I am thankful for the hope, love & joy she has to impart
to me, and the promise that she will never say *goodbye.
revised version of Summer Sky.
Moon Humor Oct 2014
I woke up to the sound of a train and it was raining. I might be dreaming.
My mom has always loved
the sound of a train and here I am in someone else’s bed thinking
about how much I love the taste of blood and the smell of sweat.
My plant has a pulse but my eyes might
be playing tricks on me, I have a way of forgetting to separate my dreams
from reality. Sometimes
I share too much of myself with people too soon. I told
him that my grandma had green eyes
and that’s where I got mine and that I’ve got nightmares that test
my patience night after night
with grotesque new realities on display before my eyes
and that my nails are stained from pomegranate and that
I got straight As and I told him to bite me because
I like it
but I shouldn’t have said it all so soon.
When I’m hurtling home in my metal death trap
powered by explosions I take pictures of the sky to show myself that
I’m alive and beauty is only here now and a deer
could leap or someone could swerve and ****
me or the airbag could rip off my jaw and I’ll
spend my life bearing my ******* way that I didn’t intend. I’m the writer
with no jaw that everyone reads out of pity and to get a glance
in the windows of a ******’s life.
When I wake up my jaw is still there
but I’ve been clenching it again.
No adderall, no *******, no caffeine, just the pressure
I put on myself and the weight of life knotting up the muscles in my back
until my ribs start to tighten and constrict my breathing so I pull at the ribbons
laced up and down my sternum
but it is too late and the bone corset pulls me in,
pulling pulling pulling until
my organs burst out of my skin.
He tells me,
“You’re hard to read, you know.” I giggle
but I find it tough to explain the rich cascade of emotions that are tied
to the lunar tides and make me crave coffee at midnight in terms
that don’t make me sound completely crazy.
Well, tonight I am eating dinner and attempting to read while the television
babbles at me from another room
about something I don’t need to hear but I hear
a cracking sound and my teeth are sharp and jagged and crumbling
as I run my tongue across them. I wake up sweating.
When it was sunny I bought socks from the little girl section and I drenched myself in perfume. Later on we were drinking chai tea
and getting *****, so I **** on your fingers
while you choke me and in the morning you make pancakes
and I eat it
but I’m afraid of the flour and the substance because it rises up
under my skin and collects in unwanted pools on my body.
I shouldn’t have drank any beer but
I had three
and I spilled my secrets the second I felt the warmth of trust.
God ******* ****.
I drive in silence.
The poster’s eyes have been following me
all night and I don’t know if it is a matter of perspective
or some delusion convincing me that I’m not alone
word vomiting on notebooks and textbooks and gushing
piles of words onto my comforter. I pictured
growing a human being inside of me and my heart
started trying to run from my chest
I scared myself into an anxiety attack
picturing years flashing before me. Before I told him
that I’m not like most girls
he kissed my forearms
and then he kissed my neck. Maybe I’m crazy for believing in astrology but
last night I was hearing your moans
as roars like the lion you are purring, nuzzling me
until you fell asleep and I remembered
being five and wishing I was Belle, marrying the beast. I don’t know.
I don’t know if I’m crazy.
I kept losing my earring in your bed like I secretly wanted to leave something more tangible than my scent or stray blonde hairs for
you to find and remember me by. I think you like me too much and I’m
afraid of what you’ll find when you get in my mind and see the battlefield
that rages inside of a pretty head.
I used to see the world with the eyes of a child but today I feel like I’m senile and looking at the world from the future and dissecting the past
because I lost track of time again and no one knew where I was for seven hours. I might have been wandering but I think I was asking
a fruit fly for directions when she flew into my pupil and laid eggs on my optic nerve causing the light to fraction
and my thoughts to be projected onto the wall ahead.
People passing by could see it all streaming out of me,
every emotion, every desire, every fear and every image,
even the smoking **** on the cement
from when he left got stuck on my screen
and the dream I had the night before
about a man with gigantic hands
and a woman shielded her eyes
as I thought about the way you use your tongue on me. When I finally
stumbled home the projection had stopped
but the maggots had started and I stared at the mirror
and branded myself with the word ugly.
The pill is folded in the dollar and I whack it with a lighter,
the white shards scatter out and I lay the bill flat and crush crush crush
until the powder is free of chunks. One two three
making ten perfect lines, five on each side and my nostrils are on fire.
I **** smoke from a pipe and get so high that my entire face feels like melting
off and I’m so determined to sleep that I can’t
and I anticipate
gritty dreams but I never drift off.
Three glasses of white wine later I drive to his house and I can hear the train hitting the breaks while we throw empty beer bottles at the moving cars
from the roof of a crooked house. And then, the willow tree
draped over the train tracks
grabs the wind with her branches and she summons
sheets of rain that come blasting down.
I’m afraid of heights and I’m not sure why but I think falling
from the apple tree at age thirteen was the first time I realized that
bones break and they never heal the same way and my hands are shaking but

I stay on the wet roof with you and I let myself melt into this
momentary reality.
One of the most personal poems I've ever written. Thank you for reading.
*revised 10/3
Pierson Pflieger Mar 2013
Waiting    listening    watching -
senses strain against
the darkness.

Dark gives way to gray
enough to see
deceptive shadows.

The woods stir slowly.
Chickadees speak, still sleepy.
Leaves rustle in the distance

alerting vigilant ears and eyes; inciting hope.
Scanning the ridge and shooting lanes, my eyes - then ears -
lock on rummaging squirrels.  

Cold hands slip back into pockets;
it tries to snow.
Ravens complain        back        and        forth.

Stillness -
then the rise of wind
through the trees.

Around eleven I walk to Dad’s stand.
Quiet talk and hot soup -
no deer.

The afternoon is spent, back against a Maple, with cautious thoughts comfortable enough to creep forward and linger in the peace of the woods.
This is a poem I wrote on my stand opening morning of deer hunting, two years ago.  Hunting is a family tradition I cherish.  I don't have to see any deer for it to be a successful hunt.  I enjoy sitting in the woods, an invisible observer, alone with my thoughts.  It's also the one opportunity I have to have some candid moments with my dad.

— The End —