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Cory Williams Apr 2018
Cliffside sunsets in the North Pacific's eyes-
Glistening glass beaches are formed with bottles and rolling tides-
Comfortable coves house today the stranger of guests-
My still life humanoid soft shell pest-
With pockets full of rocks that I have collected-
Smooth, heavy, and colors inspected-

Man, whoever finds me here unexpected-
My face towards the sun and my red pools collected-
Will honor my wishes and let me keep what I've selected-
To mingle with pores, a sediment element for a sedentary stationary-

To let a part of me be a part of it-
Roll with the tides and spread where I sit-
Die and dye where salted breeze blows-
Making blood stone pebbles for traveling flows.
I'm a dead guy enjoying the sunset.
he or she
the him
in
her

her misery rhyme hearse
nursery timee curse

he or she
he
calls

it words channels
who greets
satan

what cult shoe strings you lace
**** this poetry

here


here


here


there are only flames you shall **** from me
this life's lesson
of
words
you try
to
breathe

i
am
an
three
year old child
being filled
with things
very vile
hold
my
hand
while you stick it
in my mouth

what spirit are you
channeling your members
into your mouth
did you channel
my
rapes

did or could your foolish nursery rhymes soothe me

did you wipe my chin
of
the
fluid
we spit
up

we're you an good little girl
before they made you channel
he slaps me off the bed
my face feels his palm print
he made me turn the channel
was that you
we know
who
you
are
we
are no
longer an child

that you would let that channel into you
call me now
to my face
call
me
see the channels get changed

we found peace
in
an
name
?


















...
..
.
good morning good morning
toss on your socks
we ready
to
chunk
...
..
.
in
three
days
if
you
find me
?

















...
..
.
changed
...
..
.
Lady ꓘ Feb 2018
Black coffee, clay mugs
Old sweaters, whiskey jugs
Aged wine, rusty fence
Copper pennies, nickel cents
Careworn shirts, timeworn sneakers
Fragrant wood, evergreen cedars
Dusty trails, decayed logs
Chirping grasshoppers, croaking frogs
Heavy rainfalls, splashing rocks
Whizzing insects, scattered flocks
Herb of grace, steady pace
Welcome to my happy place.
was
me
the mirrors confession
resulting in shards
in
my
back
blood trinkles
as i walked away
remember me
cry the shards
they began to cry
very hard
oh my shards

break from me these chains
what comfort have i in thee
blind me folded from corners
what arms
of
disbelieve

songs sung through the factors
the blood
of
my
love


what is this blanket of affection
have your clothes all been laundered clean
repeat me
repeat after me
never to return
have we left
answer me
circling
them
take
me
as
i
am
this mere image
an mortal-less man
he had
an
candle

but he
could never
blow it
was
he
that dead poet
?




























...
..
.
from here
to
there
same distance
...
..
.
poetryofdhiman Feb 2018
I like watching how the rocks
float on the wet and dry grounds
along with the time that passes by
I like watching how they break sometimes
how the cracks on them
become visible
but somehow they survive
days and months and years
even when their cracks open up
raindrops and sunshine
enter into their old broken bodies
they bear the pain and stay silent
for they still find their way to stay
for as long as they wish to stay...

~~©Dhiman
Shane Willey Dec 2017
Colors of yellow flood the room
Birds fly by with vibrant plumes.
The walls are studded with glowing rocks.
The sharp edges of the wall give me shocks.

Up and down the corridor, they shimmer.
Reflecting off each other, they glimmer.
Amber, cyan, cerulean, amethyst.
Colors like potions of an alchemist.

They diminish and increase with time.
But look stunning and full in their prime.
Like hearts of the cave, fractured in millions.
Each one is a different civilian.

They radiate beauty, energy, light.
Not one corner remains dark as night.
The tunnel is long, twists and turns.
Walking this length, my feet have no burns.

This cave of wonders has it's value.
My experience turn this from profit to view.
The cave is a city of lively animation.
I have stepped into the next dimension.
How did you feel when reading this poem?
Arihant Verma Nov 2017
It feels like the effort of scree's fiction against gravity,
the rocks on the mountain slopes,
doing everything they can to not erode down
When you aren't a person of your word
gravity plunges everything on the road downhill,
The cars passing by
your confidence to ride through the trails

It's amazing, that we always have a choice
to choose to act on something or not
heeding to the acts of God, memory lanes,
rising above the pressure of your lowers
to make you keep sitting down all day,
devour chips, seemingly infinite time,
movies and entertaining videos,
and on fine days, getting stuck
to the text an author put their time into
years ago.

These days the heap of regrets
is enough to act as morning alarm
lest everything falls into being undone.
Natassia Serviss Nov 2017
I used to think I was starving for love.
There was a gnawing pain in my chest.
My tears fell from above
While my nerves felt shocked and pressed.
My body under pressure
Turning me into a diamond one day.
I felt starved.
I felt bordered by such labels.
Now I think I’m insatiable.
Your love to fuel me.
When I drove to you the sky is always beautiful.
My new diamond edge cuts through my old walls.
Now with you I’m vulnerable
Because I’ve always recovered from my falls.
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