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Ces Jul 2020
Inside me is
a quiet murmur
a steady mental rut
an unceasing
pain...

Continuously permeating
filling empty cavities
with tension,
worry
anxiety

This is a vague description
of this qualia:
my consciousness
in the present
Dez Apr 2020
Woke before the dawn
Think back to when we first met
Get ready then we part
Pour faire sourire ma muse
Malgré elle je fais le pitre :
Je me fais animal en extinction
Tamarin lion de jour
Et Ara cobalt de nuit
Et je fais constamment la mue
Entre Anodorhynchus leari
Et Leontopithecus rosalia
Et à force de mues
Je perds le Nord
Je me pends par la queue
Aux branches de mon nid
Je fais des grimaces
et je lèche le bec des femelles
En rut.
Mais ma muse raffole
Non pas de ma race folle
De tamarin-ara métis
Mais des gorilles, bonobos et magots
Et autre faune libertine...
Elle adore !
Elle est admirative !
J'ai beau lui sortir ma généalogie ascendante de mandrill
Mes trois seizièmes de sang bonobo,
Mes trois seizièmes de gènes de gorille,
Mes trois seizièmes d'âme de macaque de barbarie
Et mon blason d'argent à quatre fasces de gueules
Ma muse n'en a cure.
Elle n 'a d'yeux que pour ces bonobos,
Gorilles et magots légitimes
D'authentique Afrique mythique.
Dante Algheri Nov 2018
When the sun is low
and the breeze has gone
We will meet again
to sing our last refrain

Oh the never ending cold
you must have grown so old
But now the breeze has gone
and, too, the sun is low

Wrap around my sheets of wind
Set alight the self within
Strike out on my endless skin
I'll still be here when you rescind

Have you now sailed your fill
And tasted salt again?
Now the breeze has failed against my will
So I sing the last refrain

Shelter from my sheets of wind
Stow away the self within
Whisper now to spite the storm
Poison me forever more

Play a game you cannot win
I'll be here when you begin
Make a life that's warm and dry
Never stop to wonder why
Jacob Lyons May 2018
And It's true, I was on you
For a week or maybe two
In your arms, you know that's all
In your love, I couldn't fall
This shouldn't be a maze
To take the wrong left
And that is the past
Baby, that's the past
Everything was great
While we made it last
I still eat your go-to snack
And I still like that band
I'm still writing songs
That sound less than grand
Though I promise that I'm
Gonna hold this one out
My heart and my mind
Needed to leave the crowd
I've got jet black jeans
For a brand new waist
If everything still fit
I would never change
While I loved your company
My heart beats on my sleeve
And you know it's not there
You are not the one for me
Persephone Salix Mar 2018
On that day my soul grew drunk
The cooked curiosity craving
The passion never slaving
I crave the ******, sick spirit

Instead I uncovered the affinity
The vehemence smiled
What could there be more purely piled?
I crave the temptress, thirsty thing

Suddenly, I heard some feeling
My ambition, I could not awaken
While I pondered, bibulous and forsaken
I crave the tippling, touched target
daytime rhythms
of coming and
going


a-swish
a-yawn
a-slam
a-trudge


out the door
in the car
to the place


there


twiddled thumbs
swivelled chairs
barked-up trees
and morning teas
and banter


hands
on knees
and eyes to
clock


and this meeting
here
and that duty
there
tick tock


a-flow through
time and space
and light
as the
sun turns over
in its sky
and rests its
head down on
the other side


then
out the door
in the car
to the place


for something quick
to have for dinner


then


home




© 2017 Adelaide Heathfield
The march of nine-to-five sets the rhythm of the day, both soothing and begrudging. It causes flare-ups of activity at certain times and lulls at others.

Collective shufflings here and there make people cranky but keep them on track. And the sequence of sounds—predictable, as if orchestrated—makes music of the mundane.
Brittney T Feb 2018
I'm impatient.
And restless.
Something good should have happened.
I can't predict tomorrow,
So I hate today.
Yesterday hurt.
Along with the day before that.
I'm not haunted, or dramatically morose.
But I'm waiting.
Every day.
And every day feels the same.
The faces and scenarios are different.
Maybe these memories will
Seem important or joyful
In 7 years.
Right now I don't feel them though.
Changes don't rock me.
I'm not afraid of happiness or pain,
Just the same.
I might be stuck in a rut.
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