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J Oaks Sep 2018
My feet straighten out as I walk up the road
A typha in my left palm and a worn warm stone
Sentimental?
Or just the dust of petals in my mind?
I just passed a great big pine
What is mine? Is that mine?
A great fine diner is up ahead;
entrance of town and once my homestead with
a paint chipped door schedule written in lead
Peering through the window
There's no breeze though
but the lights glow
but the plants grow
How can I know?
What do I know
The small bell dings and I crash back
The legs walk in let the door smack
I grab my chest and eyes wet my chin
When did the shudder begin?
Felt
Felt a soft red cloth wipe my cheek
Is it her or is it what they think?
a memory
it can be
and certainly hurts
like a memory
A sip from a coffee
she blows on it softly
a snapping blink in the glass
whispering with moments that pass
as much as I want to try to be
Faded gilding, rubbed through to cracking, flaking wood.
A glamour of ages, sliding, flies to the breeze.

The little bird perches on a once-fine moulding;
Head tilted, one bright eye turned towards the mantle
where a half-blind mercurised mirror barely reflects
an army of creeping vines, consuming naked angels
and the God of this house.

Our hero’s velvets are ruined, dripping and eaten through.
Where riches have lived, decay succeeds.
Nature’s velvets; opulent mosses and emerald lichens
are devouring damask
and smoothing over marbled hardness.

The bird listens for footsteps.
The lady would scatter crumbs on the windowsill
and he would flutter, unafraid,
to peck at her sweet feast.

Once, she drew him.
Fine-lining passerine delicacy,
her pencils fetched him,
and bestowed him an artist’s nobility.
He turned, this way and that,
flashing gold-touched wings,
miming a duchess snapping open a fan.

She’s gone now,
and so have the crumbs.
The bird senses no sugar on the sill,
nor the faintest reminiscence
of lavender perfume, glittering as star bursts
at the hollow of her throat.

He sings regardless,
a mournful beauty
longing to return to a glorious, lustful age,
where light refracted in cut crystal,
danced upon frescoes
and illuminated the ugly –
- to render them enchanting.

He swoops to dance on the mantle,
answered by the mirror
and sits a while, preening.

The gentlemen and ladies are gone forever.
Ejected from history to echo as ghosts of fancy and excess,
undeserving of remembrance or pity.

The bird will never forget.
And knots up secrets
kept tightly in his breast,
committed to his tiny, fierce heart.
The Goldfinch is my favourite bird - both owing to its numerous appearances in Renaissance art and as the silent protagonist in Donna Tartt's book bearing its name.
soph Aug 2018
I flip through the pages of old school notebooks
Just to see what can be saved
Memories come flooding back
From my last taste of normal teenage life
Quizzes, vocabulary, homework
The work becomes more and more scarce as I move through time
Absent
Absent
Present
Absent
Until I run out of pages
An empty entry for February 14
And no new entries after that
I long for the normalcy again
When I had the strength for everyday life
I never thought I’d miss the real high school experience
But looking back
Something in me feels incomplete
Just like that empty entry
February 14
February 14th was unexpectedly my last day of public school due to my health conditions. It’s weirdly sentimental to look back and see my public school life slowly come to an end as I missed more and more school. Since when do I type with proper grammar in the notes section of my poems? Here’s a key smash to make this more like me dhdhsjsj
TheWriterInMe Jul 2018
I'm no poet,
And this is no poem,
But it is my plea to the world.
Years have gone by
Giving way to months
Months have gone by
Giving way to days
Days have gone by
Giving way to hours
Hours have gone by
Giving way to seconds
I am in a predicament,
Thinking and thinking
If I have done justice to the time
The time bestowed upon me
By the creator
I wish pendulum of the clock
Stops just for a moment
So that I can reflect back to my past
But then again it matters
‘What we are as of now’
I think it’s time
I stop dwelling about the past
And start living in the present
Fully alive,
And fully aware.
Avery Glows Jun 2018
I want you to know that
no matter how
                irrational
                                  ­illogical
             dissociated
                                 disconnected
                 sporadic
                                 scattered
                    erratic
                           ­      brusque
          anticlimatic
                                 abrupt
        idiosyncratic
                                 volatile
   temperamental
                            and
                   ­               fickle
are your emotions.
To me,
they are valid;
they are whole;
they suffice.
Because,
you are only as absurd as you believe you are.

And absurdity's boundaries stretches linearly,
into immemorial time.
2018 June
Siouxsie Gagne Jun 2018
so sweet are your words
that a stranger may believe
you’re speaking from a script

cliche as it may be
one could say
that we were stolen from a movie
__

your clothes on my back
warm around me
not your arms
but enough
for now
__

texts, phone calls
pale to your presence
the ghosting feeling
of your lips
is on my mind
whenever i see your name
on that small screen
I'm a sentimental dope in a happy relationship that grows close to a year's duration.
mica Jun 2018
you've got something to say, why don't you speak it out loud instead of living in your head? it's always the same, why don't you take your heart out instead of living in your head?
song by The 1975
Lauren R May 2018
Do you remember that night?
This was moment I loved you.
I was so deeply terrified;
I cried in relief as I burrowed my face in your embrace;
So silly of me,
All that fear in being left alone for the first time.
You probably never knew.

I'm always taken by your memory
And we're long and over,
The people we were no longer exist.

I am in love with a kind man
Who is my world.

And you are a friend to me,
No longer the shining knight
But a sentimental bestie
Too far away to talk often.

But sometimes I dream about you;
Back when you were the safest place I knew

It takes me to a forgotten sanctuary
You put deep in my heart
I go there and I feel again.
I go there and I'm free.
I'm reborn a newer self.

And now I know why all the famous lyricists
Lament the great mystique of young love
For I find my former self anew
In the memory of you.
And though words fail to convey;
I am forever grateful.
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