Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
through heavy mud and underneath the hate
be rо́
by ***** reeds and under leaves of fate
me, rо́
beneath your coldest fears, with monsters in my head
keep rо́
in spite of crooked teeth,
wipe away my tears, hold the gate

help me row
inspired by a song rо́rо́rо́ by of monsters and men
the word ‘ró’ in icelandic means calm

calmcalmcalm
Rowed a sinking boat
Barely made to shore.
Aiming to stay afloat.
Have you guys experienced something like that?
Nigdaw Nov 2019
She is moving away:
Not in any sense of going,
It is a spiritual thing
A space between us,
Like there has never been.
She sometimes looks at me
And I don’t recognise her at all
But still see how she once was,
Recounting stories of childhood
Which always starts a row.
For all this space between us
I feel she needs me more,
To bridge the gap that teenagers
Feel as they move away;
Not in any sense of going
It is a spiritual thing,
I must take the slack up
And see her as a woman.
But I can’t help always finding
That little girl inside,
And want to reach and hug her
Tell her everything’s alright.
But I am not supposed to do that,
Because the space is there
To prove she is a woman,
Who can survive without her dad.
If she keeps on moving
But not in any sense of going,
My spirit will be broken
And my heart full of such pain;
I love her as I always have
To me she hasn’t changed,
She’ll always be my little girl;
Here comes that row again.
Wolf May 2019
Nooses set up row by row
Holding heads that hang down low
Corpses swaying to and fro
Life passed on so long ago
|
|
|
|
|
|
|   |
|          |
|              |
|           |
|      |
|
Ken Pepiton Jan 2019
The son of Jung, Achilles

(This is after and during a second or third time through
Jung, by Anthony Stevens, via Hoopla brought to me by LAPL)

libraries with online audiobooks,
isn't that closer to perfect? Imagine
knowing CG Jung's dad was Achilles Jung,
epic, knowing that
back when only real, material-real, rich folk,

(they could not have known, but we can, on a smart phone)

of any sort of the many there were in the co-fusion's aftermath

much of the world may agree with things once hidden in tomes
being eaten by mindless worms, now

no known thing is secret, by right

truth makes free and it's a system.

dynamic
free true free true free

We ident-ify it or id

what ever I and d


these ids (letter i and letter d as a pre
fix identifying us, u'n'me but only I am re-alified,
set to iseate

(is-e-ate is individuation for an idea, this or that, which may be verbalized
prior to re-alization)

t' be for a while, as long as you wish, t'
be fixed ideas in the minds of all

minds culturally touched
by this particular
point of
been
as
in been there done that.

Time is nothing at all
like mortals think
ing no no nothing is re

alone is rare. For us, my pieces of the unum,

we are here as ever.
ever is our role.

guides are made
however, we have noticed a scarcity of read writers
aware of pin points of light expanding

on the walls of his nursery window, nur turer, real mmmmm

screen
really must we be limited forever is ly lying as in

acting positive while being negative and being

entangled
in your self for ever, never for now,

you don't know how.

do you?
ex
per
ienced, per se, are ye?

be yond. yes. be

yond. practice makes perfect, bact to the top

erie canalic real

tote that veil, hide that barge
camptown lasies sang some songs

wrong, as did the ******* minstrels
and gamblers and bedroll
cowboys and hobos
and plain bums,
like us.

You were curious. Does yellow mean anything
to you?
Murrillo, with y's for ll, maybe? ¿ se?

--- un told stories ---

none remain, in re al ity, if we agree

nothing is ever impossible, even
for sapiens sapiens, how much
more, the us in the unum

previously pluribus,
scatter-brained,
that is.
id est, at its best. Muse.

Homeostatic balance,
hot to cool, cold to warm

round and round
twisted in the middle
by Van Allen's belt, or Orion's?

I never asked. I could,
right now I COULD WISH SO BAD THA I'D

not notice allcaps from the teenage wasteland,
(mea culpa, I bury all my misses there, take one, free)
as I,
the grown up number two, I mean,
I was saying I could stop this flow, interefer, dam it

I could ask Google and follow ath
the real thing either real or
otherwise, yet

wise, still.

How well will we be? Should we not

agree, un agree disperse the mob?

become a one, with a mind
we may share, at will,

reason, count, measure, make, see, seek how, find how, learn how

now,
why are you a ware of me while I am
ware of you.

An unread, unspoken spell. What the hell, right?
What the chaos, entropy, dis
integrate
wash away, mud to dust to twisting spirtis seen dancing

dust, this highest part of the dust of the earth,
time will tell, the physician must heal himself.

---
the art of letting things
haps
hap
pen, pen or ready-writer mode,
we can do this, but we must

be leaving the ality re all o'this reality.

And it has been fun, un done
fun is never the final goal.

be yond that. Search okeh. It was
intentended in tension-ality

to be the key we
as u me mist

when we
lied about being
experienced in the comunicito, (wee ity bity)
do you know of
the transfiguration, I was asked that

southside of Sunset at Laurel Canyon, by
that TV kung fu cowboy guy's dad,
Carradine, the old man,
from scary movies,
circa 1960.

that was fun. it happened. nobody noticed,
but me and the elder Carradine.

Real, as best as my memory just
ifies me right there,
that day, there
is where

this point was proven to be
memorable, a point
of a pin, 'pon whose head
merry messengers make nothing of
darkness, shadow, thin light.

Member be, re member
we see you saw
re all ity-ness is fun, if you find time to do it.

Typical assumptions of a man born in his time
and so
cial class. Social, is that a joke?

Follow me, don't be ignorant of a fine refined use,
right use of ordinariable words which have
born the burden of the ages

patiently, awaiting meaning,
on your scale,
the me as sure of the other in the unem,
the measure of a man, any
old man, still standing

under all the knowing Eve ever knows,
hope and time and all this took.
The price of knowing,
is the knowing, learning is easy

At home by right of being, we are such
beings, in a word, two if you reason there is
measurable ratio twixt
iiii in and am out, yamiyam ah yeh

we do. Allatimenolie, my will. The inside
the numinosity of being

me and you in the midst of all we may imagine real,

no, hell, yesses, hell is still a joke you never want to play.
ax Mr. Boo, he was my guide in Bangkok

read the reports, they are more,
nevermind, let's not let the

lie live here. the the right man thinking this thought
at this time, right

Each magi's knowing is the only knowing he can share,
without playing I pious fraud and naming it
legion, re
legion ligated to ob la dee and dah?

Joke, jest, foolish jest. Not my best but better'n
never imagi-ing  bein' good at all.
Good for nothing but
being possible
ly
good to the sense-if-ative troglodytes

with one lit window on reality. It's funny. POV. Seriously

lighten up
you putin me

beyond your grasp… winsome, alas
If it makes you feel, good, y' know. 's all I got, fer now.
Rejected
Alone
Abandoned
Excluded
*
Unforgiveness­
Resentful
Grudge.
Ignore
, ***
Who needs enemies
When you have family who treat you like invisible.
Terry Collett Jul 2018
Netanya opened up
the deckchair and sat
looking down at the lawn.

She sat there
because of Benny's books.

They'd argued
and she had stormed out
of the house leaving him
gazing at her
disappearing back.

The lawn was yellowing
because of the long
hot summer.

It only added
to her mood
because of the heat.

Benny gazed out at her
from the window
of the lounge.

He focused
on her words:
“Why'd you read
those books?
I can' make heads
or tails from them?”

“I like reading them,”
he had replied.

“You read them
to make me look stupid,”
she had replied.

He could only
see her arms
at the sides
of the deckchair.

Fuming like
a steam engine,
he mused.

He'd let her cool off
before going out to her
with tea and biscuits.

“What kind of person
reads a book
whose title
I can't even pronounce,”
she had said.

“It's Latin,”
he had said.

“Why read a book
in Latin?”
she had said.

“Only the title
is in Latin,”
he replied.

She had glared at him
and stormed outside.

He opened the book
and gazed a page or two.

He couldn't focus now
and so closed the book.

He took the book back
to his room and put it
back beside his bed.

He looked down at her
from the back bedroom.

He could see her
dark haired head
and her hands
across her stomach,
and smoke from a cigarette
rising upwards.

He went downstairs
and made a *** of tea
and prepared two cups.

He peered at the deckchair
from the kitchen window.

The sun
was a bright yellow
in the sky.

He made two cups of tea
and plate of biscuits
and took them outside
on a tray.

She didn't look at him
as he opened
up deckchair beside her
and placed the tray
on a small table
to the side.

“Tea for two?”
he said.

She exhaled smoke
and looked at the tray.

She nodded,
but had nothing to say.
should they take objection
to the stylish comb others
show
they'll vacate the others
spot in the
row

many a time this course
of action has been
depicted
where others were so
suddenly
evicted

they weren't happy
no not at
all
on seeing the others
who'd so
enthral

every bit of veneration
had to be kept on
them
even though the others were
far more exceptional of
stem

they thought that they
ruled at the
joint
so the others were abruptly
given their terse
point

we are aware of how
they
operate
which is to promptly
clear the others
plate
Terry Collett May 2018
You'd picked a fight
with the best man
and it was only
you being a woman
that it didn't turn nasty.

You stormed up the road
for the bus
and I and your children
followed.

It had been
at your niece's
wedding reception
and after the speeches
and toasts.

I had pulled you
away from him
thinking it some
misunderstanding.

A mouthful of abuse
hit the air
and him standing there.

You'd had a few drinks
and something was said
and off you went at him
like a barking dog.

Take her home, Mate,
the best man said.

We waited
by the bus stop
in the evening air
and you fumed
and the children stood
in silence
giving you the stare.

I said nothing
of any consequence
just a few words
of calming you down
but it didn't work
and you moaned
the more.

I had been drinking
and talking to the bride
now newly married
to the drip in a suit.

I missed
the row' s beginning
only caught
the language in the air
and you waving your arms
and I went to sort out
and calm it down.

The bus came
and we boarded
and sat down.

You were silent
but still fuming.

I sat wondering
if the bride was a ******
or if the drip
had been at it before
or some other.

The children were quiet
and gazed at their mother.
Terry Collett Mar 2018
Above the TV
you can hear
your parents row;
their voices sharp
as knives.

You lay in bed
wrapped tight
in sheets and blankets
pretending sleep.

His voice bellows;
hers shrieks.

You open your eyes
and stare in the semi-dark.

Street lights filter
at the side of curtains.

You hope the rowing stops;
you hope it will not erupt
into your room
and up on you.

The TV blares
in contrast
to their voices;
a smack, a cry,
then weeping.

The TV is switched off;
just soft whimpering
seeping the air.

You close your eyes
and feign sleep.

You lay on edge;
listen for other sounds.

Just her whimpering softly
in your dark.

A whole world turns
out there; a moon glows;
stars shine beyond
your sight.

A night
within a night.
Next page