Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Frank DeRose Oct 12
What a grey, cloudy day
          It is.
Somber reflections of evanescent tidepools
          Flit by my mind’s eye.
“Be water”—
          Bruce Lee never saw a tsunami, it seems.
And in time ashy skies give way,
          And part their ethereal barriers such
          that Light might shine.
This ceaseless cycle of ourobouros
          Consumes each day.
And still I wander,
          Lonely as a cloud,
Betwixt the Earth and Sky.
          Forever beholden

Between

                      Here

   And


                                                There..
Jennifer Oct 9
dark’s peering into day,
wonder when the dew’ll lay;
time’s slowed as skies turn static,
least the hours are less erratic.
orange lamps glow
outside a misted window;
earthy rain’s falling hard
but fire’s lit and sky is starred.
sometimes mist deceives the eyes:
seen silent figures’ quick demise.
ocean spits over the pier,
almost as grey as the Wear;
lighthouse shines it’s steely beam,
illuminating the horizon’s seam.
heaven’s sealed with wrought dull iron,
far away seems unearthly Zion;
harvest moon’s not as vague:
illuminating an eight-legged plague.
crows spectate above and below,
you’d be surprised what they know;
change leers at every bend,
nostalgia seems an only friend.
the veil is thinner than before,
perhaps open is another door;
harvest season’s coming to an end,
fields of Elysium this way wend.
Nely Oct 4
I come to the idea of seeing you again, soon. I see you soon and come to the idea of when I'll see you again. And when again appears to bring me again to seeing you, I ask when's the next time I'll get to spend time with you. When's our next tomorrow. Our next next day. I don't get tired of kissing those same lips, again and again. Those same spots. Again and again. Then new spots. Again and again. That  same piece of skin under your chin. I want again, and again. & one more time, and again.
Sun over the mountains shines
The rose bush stands aplenty reds, since June

In July it rains, the season, like the year somewhat changed

Tea and coffee not the same
Nothing lasts forever, not even the change

August and September are soon to come
And they will bring rain

Will make a rainbow
That will shine out of the windowpane
Jennifer May 27
washing’s drying on the line, dog’s
curled up in a sun-patch; i’m rocking
to and fro,
letting the time pass.
Em MacKenzie Feb 29
I’ve got another cold night ahead of me
exhale and treasure the breath that I see.
Snow prints don’t lie,
dark tints the sky and I
still witness a star glimmer in my lazy eye.

Whipping winds lash at my face,
squeeze in my shoulders and pick up my pace.
Snow prints don’t lie,
my squints still try to magnify
and catch a glimpse of light to my lazy eye.

So I’ll wear a heavy sweater
and will double up on socks,
prepared for all types of weather
but I’ll be tripping over rocks.
No choice but to keep on going
even without water, shelter or a knife,
and though I’m done with all of the snowing
I guess I’ll just layer up for life.

I’ve got another long day in my view
hopelessly chasing a sunset, I miss each shade and hue.
Snow prints don’t lie,
short stints too high but I comply,
hoping to rest my head and close my lazy eye.

So I’ll wear a heavy sweater
and will double up on socks,
to be facing the outside better
but I’ll be crashing with the stocks.
And in order to pass “go” again,
you gotta trek through heartbreak and strife,
cold hands, do you have mitts to lend?
As I must layer up for life.

I’m determined to walk the path less taken,
and when we intersect it will be the one less shaken.
summer quietly creaks open the back door
slips from beneath your skin
records shattering
as you stare down from the
attic, living in
slow motion.
it's gone before you can
remember what warmth even is.
sadness warps an old yellow novel
you used to love, holding it close
as it twists and moans.
  now,
  rip the
  best chapter out
  because
  it belongs to
  you.
revision of old poem
Uka Nov 2019
Most days don’t end with less energy;
Half meant for gathering, collecting vague trifled tasks, or conclusive unwinding.
Henceforth; this day will be on such a category, different from exclaimed, for the time being.
As I have bogged my head down chiefly; I hesitate.
Coasting on a poor diet and alcohol, the air felt layered, entwined with a mild cold.
Only passing when the breakage through season sickened branches grant be.
So forwardly put that they could do a better job. I’ve stood long enough.
Locking my fingers taunt together to reassure them with warmth.
The pacing motion began at once; Not that this was intentional.
Although, my blood provided the temporary motivation to continue on.
Now walking away came to mind.
Past all the Nightfolk that watch their windows; waiting for streetlamps to show curfew.
Not for a person such as myself to worry upon now. So I press home.
Maybe with less energy, but at least another daunting stress done.
This day had been gracious with its hours alive.
jee Nov 2019
she lies in the curve of the crescent moon,
breathing blue mist,
drunk from the falling summer sunlight.

her gaze is lidded and waxing.

her voice is a thousand crackling leaves,
landing all at once;
embers from a time-worn firework.

she tugs at the rope around the harvest
and drags him from the sun-baked soil;
his struggles shake apples from their trees.

the orange dawn light is hazy,
peeking through the ghosts
lingering on the horizon.

and all at once, the world falls into autumn’s grasp.
you may see her, winking at you through the equinox
Blossoming in the
Snow globe are technicolor
Ornaments, inhale
The melting *** of sweet
And musky. Welcome, Flora.
Next page