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The sounds of tiny footsteps patter the roof of the car.
We sit inside protected from the winter elements.
The frosty rain comes down more extreme
as time goes on.
I feel comfortable.
Safe while you’re in control.
You dazzle me,
Venus in the flesh.
The dove of my life.
The serenity of our drive collapses
With your screams.
The man in the window
Wrenches on the door handle.
Panic rushes through our bones.
Movement not at all possible.
I want to protect you, but what can I do.
The word drive is the only thing I can cry.
The man in the window.
The man in the window.
A Poem about something that happened that made me scared and feel weak.
Matthew Orellana Aug 2018
We are the soldiers
Of iron and led
We are the men
That steal all your bread
We take and we steal
What cares and what feels
We never stop thinking
What’s fake and what’s real
With steel jaws and bronze feet
We bite and we tred
On this barren land.
We rake and devour
Every thing that matters
We put up our flag
We sing and we wept
For a place and a home
Where no one will know
The hate that we’ve grown
We are Death’s assistants
Her breed and Her tool
To wipe the earth clean
Of the things we called cruel
We’ve lost all our names
We’re a thing and a number
For a government and state
That knows not our plunder
We fight and we die
For a hoax and a lie
That appears in the stories
And myths of child
This thing that we seek
It’s not Roman or Greek
It’s a thing that most search for
It’s called calmness and peace.
Arianna Jan 12
He emerges, crestfallen,
From the crowd,
Shuffling along
Among the suit-and-tie mass
Through the bleary-eyed morning,

Massaging circles across his brow,
The moonshadows beneath his eyes
Etched a day darker and deeper,
A poem in themselves,
Witnesses to another long night
Passed languishing over the locks
Of Corinna's gate;

Features overcast
With the shadow of drunkenness
And disgust,
Churning with nausea and fatigue
After the tainted feast
Of last night's vexatious dinner party.

Garland in hand,
Trailing defeatedly at his side,

            Is the grey-green hue of wilted laurels tumbling in the wind

            Is the rose red of wine, waning, but bright
            And feverish, still, upon the cheeks.


I order the coffee
As he steps through the door,
And I watch him
Stumble listlessly between the tables
To where I wait
At our favorite spot by the window:

               Another morning
               After another tomorrow-turned-to-yesterday,
               People watching, pondering...

The both of us,
Over bitter coffees and bittersweet loves.

To unattainable muses.

What and who we can but strive to capture,
If not in person, then in portraits from afar.
Just for fun. :-)

Recently encountered Ovid's "Amores", and have found the comic absurdity of some of the pieces as refreshing and thought-provoking as they are amusing. In particular, "The Dinner Party" was an interesting read:
Arianna Dec 2018
"... gazing upon the Morning Star,
wondering whether you see it too,
although we are so very far

Imagining how bright my Morning Star
must shine there
as your Evening Star,
radiant at dawn
and luminous at dusk

⸺ Heralding day and night at once! ⸺

Does our Star know what it means to us?

And it's in these moments:
My mind wanders into thoughts of you,
Yet farther into dreams of you.

And I wonder: Are you dreaming too?..."
How fitting this star should be Venus in disguise. ;)
Euphie Dec 2018
Let's **** Caesar and call it a day.
Brutus is laughing and Mark Antony is crying.

Calpurnia cries and Portia rejoices.
The people sing and some weep.

Wow, what a great day it is to be a Roman.
one of the most sarcastic poems I ever wrote. Still makes me laugh.
James LR Nov 2018
Dedicate heart and hope
And then abandon both
No dark without light
No hope gives no grief
No owner means no thief

And with your back against this wall
Don't be afraid to fight
Swim all you can
With strength that you lack
Save nothing for the way back
Ken Pepiton Oct 2018
Testudo. The Turtle forms, we

Stand. Hunker down under your shield/my shield
Now and then shifting smartly left or right to ****/hate
the enemy.

Could it be
Enemies you love?

Ought not so to be.
Something's wrong,
the Turtle's misformed, deformed, in form

the center cannot hold...

And that was the lesson, war don't make things better,

Nobody, God Almighty included,
ever looked on war's results,
at a human-dirt level, and said "That's good."

If I am average,
I may make certain assumptions based on self evidence,
things mine own eyes witnessed, as it seemed.

I can stand ready to give answers to every challenge to the faith.
(Stipulation, mine, the faith
That is in me.)
I cannot so stand for the faith that is in you.

Rise to the challenge.
It’s your faith you’re defendin’,
I got mine covered.

Your hate shan’t hinder me, I shan’t let it.
Letters can naught contain.
Your hate has not to gain. Spell o' respect,

on you. R E S P E C T find out what it mean.
D I V O R C E, curse on you.
Spell o' bitter'n average ****** in yo' mouth.

Tammy and Aretha walzin' wit Matilda,
put a spell, on you, onus ennui, pay attention, fool.

Gainsay that.

Beyond the shell of your belief is all that’s called unbelievable,
Beyond the bubble of all you know is all you don't.
Simple to sublime.

Here’s this deal:
Your fair share of everything,
in return for nothing. Grace for grace.
Take it or leave it, makes me no nevermind.

Thank you, Knower of all, for what's granted.

You could stop there if that were your childhood prayer routine.

Amen makes it so.

A command from the bridge, “Make it so, Mr. Solo.”

This tortoise may bear the weight of the world, but

Can we believe it?
Standing on such tortoises all the way down?

Ready. Sistere.
(Google it, f’Cry’sake. E’en scientologists know
you gotta know what the words mean
when you read ’em or hear ’em or say ’em.) Define yer term.

Lies powerless, the idle word, bleeding from the wounds,
redeem them all. Sense and sensibility,
Pride and pre-
next, like yo judgment changes the future.

Sistere's the command to stand
given prior to the command to form Testudo,
the Roman version of the tortoise
military engineering adaptation
young Alex used to maul
Persian  shieldwalls. A human tank, back then.

Wallbuilders! Sistere.
Shield of faith.
We have the mind anointed for the appointed time.

Build another wall, or we will loose the mob,
after the futbol game.

Can you believe that?
Test u do, then wait.

Cool, it’s shady under such a cloud of witnesses.
Toying with lead soldiers. That, and lead paint. Maybe I am mad. Or only old.
Maybe, no, wait and see. Let patience have her perfect work.
I once watch stars creeping through my nostrils,
A plant turning god and breathing smoke through my mouth.

Today there are constellations colliding in my thoughts,
a battle of the gods, Sagittarius spending darts like bullets,
My life is named after a Roman god.

There are far too many gods in this world,
Some shine and some are shy of the light,
We talk shapeshifters, mind invaders, soul suckers.
There are far too many gods in this world,
yet non saved me from being burnt by the city street lights.
Brandon Conway Aug 2018
I have drank the philters of the oceans
inside the notches of your sculpted bust
chiseled to perfection by my minds notion
immortal beauty to never crumble to dust

Skin of ivory with curves carved by a god
my little ivory girl how my fire burns
breathless, stiff, and lifeless left me aw'd
a singular lonely lover forever yearns

Just one kiss to those stone cold lips
just one before I visit in my dreams
my lips upon yours, hands on hips
how you look while the moon beams

lighting your lovely void face
The lips how they grow so warm!
Your arms how they tightly embrace!
By the gods, a living art form
to forever love in this dark place
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