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Jamesb Jan 2022
But rocks are hard
And buttocks are soft
And the two do not
Good bedfellows make
And I cannot remain here,

And so I climb,
Again,
Scrabble painfully up the scarp,
Again,
Towards the light

Of a sun which seems
So very far
And unfeeling
In an azure sky that
Holds little hope

But each painful inch
Is one less in the shade,
Every focused lever against the
Gravity of pain and loss
Removes me from its grasp

A little more,
Until eventually the suns rays
Start to penetrate the cloak
Of my depressed state
And even my wracked muscles

Start to warm and,
At the cliff top from whence I fell,
I spy that rock which my back
Missed still stood in place
Where it always was

Did I lean the wrong way
Or did it wobble?
Or was it a bit of both?
Either way it feels stable now
A rock

On which I pause to lean
Kind of closes a loop this one
Mark Wanless Dec 2021
i stood on large rock
someone asked me for small help
i weakly chose no
Mysterious Mind Nov 2021
What is poetry?
A form of self expression?
A release to the emotions bearing weight on your soul?
A chance at hope in the most dire of times?

I find myself asking these questions as I stray towards words during my visits to rock bottom. When life has once again wronged me, and these emotions are brewing into an unforgiving storm. There are no expectations here. There is no room for outside judgment. It is just me, a pen, and an empty sheet of paper.

So why is it, that through the thunder of this storm, as the rain pelts me to my core, I find myself met with expectations of my own self expression? Trying to mold these feelings into something presentable, acceptable, beautiful, even.

These emotions know no boundary, they feel no sympathy toward the rules of the world, they only crave release from being locked inside for far too long. They are messy, angry, chaotic, uncomfortable. There is no perfect format to present them in. There is no time to mend them into something pleasing. There is only expression.
My poetry has always been a form of my deepest expression. If you can even call it poetry. This site has given me an opportunity to release these trapped emotions in complete anonymity, which has been a great gift. Even despite posting non-poetry on a poetry site.
Khoisan Nov 2021
Message
in
a
bone

silent
the
thought
left
alone

Ancestral
pre - fone
Karijinbba Sep 2021
in Tom Jones rocks on stage.
You rock bestest longest,
at Taj-Mahal peoney cave
I swear I only see you;
my rocking sensually!
lover rock dancing your
fifteen pumps into
our heavenly midsts
and back or make it last
****** fifteen times four
nutty Third Rate Romance
Rock me all night long.
lay I sip your willow tea
oh tea of me make too..
I'm in love with your mind
your syllhuette ink heart
Rock me at Ginny baby inn
I grant your every wish!

Oh sweet lover mine
conceived in sacred
temple paradisical womb
ruler king God's named you.
Crafted above endowed
in gold elastic generous thread,
the measure of your pride,
bestest among all kings,
amongst mortal men.
even Angels envy you.

Women sigh with just one look!
You walk a sway unique
istoic celibate you chase me
I'm sinner in your courts
my veil of chastity falters.
come fill my buttercup.
Loving you mornings long
days long the nights long.
my breakfast in bed you
I long for you.
my Tam Tam my base drum
glued to me evermore.
~~~
By; Karijinbba
@t Mr and Mrs Andrews
https://youtu.be/Au6c-Xtab4Q
Thomas Steyer Jul 2021
Dug up an earthworm
the longest I've ever seen
while paving a garden path
to make my home look clean.

Thought it wouldn't suit the worm
to be trapped under so much rock,
so I tossed him over to my neighbour
who has lots of lawn around his block.

Hoped the worm would appreciate
that my strategy has saved his day,
when a crow came swooping down,
picked him up and flew away.
Mel-VS-the-World Aug 2021
Kulang ka sa tulog,
Kaya 'di ka nananaginip,
Mulat ang mga mata,
Ngunit sarado ang isip,
Lumilipad sa kalawakan,
Habang humihigop ng hangin,
Mayrong puting usok,
Pumapalibot sa paligid,
May batong gumugulong,
Pinapaikot yung plastik,
tik,
tik,
tik,
Dinig mo ang pag-ikot ng kamay ng orasan,
Para bang may nagbabantay,
Andun sa dilim,
Pati yung nakaraan,
Dinadalaw ang buhay,
Takot ang sumisilip,
Ayaw kang lubayan,
Pag huminto ka saglit,
Mauubusan ka ng laman,
Gusto mo ay palaban,
Maglalaro ka ng apoy,
Kahit magka-sunugan,
Dahil matindi ang pangangailangan,
Yung tawag ng laman,
Pag nariyan sa harapan,
Hindi mo na matanggihan
july hearne Aug 2021
he was the kind of guy who would have willfully participated
in the ****** of Sylvia Likens, and very much have enjoyed the interaction with the rest of the gang while doing so.

he is still that kind of guy,
just a lot older now
too good for most things
and all the women who now hate him
for all the discomforting memories he had left them with.

his mom had been a nurse
and now his sister was too
perhaps whatever woman he was with was too,

his mother loved him, how could she not,
she had been a nurse,
so he was absolutely sure that masks, social distancing, and mandated vaccines were how it should be.
anyone who didn't know these things was too embarrassing for him.
his mom told him so.

at the age of 44, he still had the exact same job he had had for the past twenty years. he was too good to do anything else other than making deliveries to restaurants, which were all requiring vaccine passports for dine in and perhaps soon delivery.

most of him felt very important
every time he unloaded his delivery van
or posted on twitter or instagram

or wrote about how many of those woman had deeply loved him
even though they were not worthy of his importance
and could never be

he was too desirable for them
and they needed to learn that
so he had taken the time to teach them that
long ago, they needed to learn
so he had taken the time to teach them that
if they had been worth remembering, he would still find a way to continue teaching them that.

life had been good lately, he made $95 CAD
on a baseball card trade, he was a good person
who had a lot to offer the world and only deserved
the most smoking hot of non-throwaway women
when there were so many throwaway women who needed to learn

he knew what all the good music and writing was
and knew when something wasn't worth listening to or worth reading, jack ketchum's **** was certainly no good, he knew it,
all the fun girls knew it too,
he knew a lot, so he taught.

he was a good person with a good life and smart with his baseball card investment strategies, he didn't need an undesirable life
he had good advice to give to baseball, football, hockey, and soccer leagues
it was easy to make all these excellent observations

as a good person,
he reached over for his smokin hot queenshit
earlier this very night,
kissed the nape of queenshit's sweet, whip-smart neck
and fondled queenshit's girl ****

while listening to the queen's vaccinated breathing
tomorrow he would make a youtube playlist for queenshit
that included drunken one off's he had recorded with his band 15 years ago
then, one of them would make an interesting, important dinner
they would both eat and talk about.
*David Bowie - 'Tis a Pity She Was a ***** [Audio]
Merlie T Jul 2021
I need not use full sentences
I cannot if I want to express
The structure confines, represses, degrades
the integrity of the cries
Help me speak
My throat, mouth too dry
so dry, I do not have tears

Salt crystalized and formed the rock
mounds glowing orange
in the dessert sunset
my spirit rests, crushed to rubble
like ash
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